#Spy!reader

[nottslove]

DICK PICS

Pairing: hacker!theo x spy!reader

3.7k words

Summary: unable to sleep after your boss puts pressure on you to catch the most wanted hacker in the country, you toss and turn until your phone lights up with a message from an unknown number. the stranger sounds oddly familiar, and before you know it, you begin to find comfort in this mysterious stranger and even begin to get a little...... vulnerable.

Warnings: QUITE LONG, 18+, smut under the cut, modern au, porn with minimal plot, voyeurism, somewhat stalking, exploitation, sexting, mutual masturbation, semi-public, dirty talk, cursing, not for minors.

Tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse @nottsstar

Author's note: preferable to read on camera first, but can be read as a standalone too.

HE had been watching you for weeks, watching you fail at your mission of hunting him down, over and over again.

After days and days of searching, you got a lead. Your boss had given you his name; Theodore Nott, Theo Nott for short.

You scoured the internet after that; checking every big, social media platform you'd ever heard of— Instagram, Tiktok, Twitter, Linked In, Facebook— all of which led you nowhere.

Little did you know, as you ransacked the online archives for any trace of him, he was watching you from his screen, with your special cameras of the highest quality, bought and installed in every room because of your dangerous profession.

A smirk on his lips as you typed his name into various search bars, over and over again.

"Enjoying the ride, pretty?" he muttered to himself, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. "I can give you something better to ride, and you'd enjoy it a whole lot more—"

He watched you grow frustrated; he watched you repeatedly bang your head on the nearest surface with every dead end you reached, he watched you throw things in frustrated after every phone call from your boss, after telling him you had made little to no progress.

He watched you skip sleep; he watched you skip meals, fall into quiet desperation, and suddenly... it wasn't so fun any more.

Being so close, yet so far.

It wasn't fun knowing he was the reason you kept reaching dead ends. It wasn't fun knowing he had been leading you on a wild goose chase the entire time, knowing very well he was redirecting you to the same 404 ERROR. Page not found message.

As he watched you on his screen, tossing and turning on your bed, unable to sleep, he suddenly had an idea to get you to relieve a bit of your stress.

He wasn't sure it would work; you were a smart one after all, and Theo knew that after observing you for months.

Still, it was worth a try.

Having been watching you for so long, it was only fair he had memorized your phone number, and his fingers dialed the digits naturally, as if he had done it for years.

And then, his breath hitched with nervousness, his fingers shaking, he sent you a message.

The past few weeks had been utter hell for you. Your boss had been calling you nonstop, asking if you'd gotten an update for him, and every time you explained that you'd reached a dead end, suffocating pressure surrounded you from all sides, closing in on you.

Yet again you found yourself in the same place, no idea, no clue who and where Theo Nott was. And your boss was getting impatient and restless.

So were you.

You hated this guy, for making himself so hard to find, for being so good at what he did that he was practically untraceable.

Hunting him had become something you did every day, and your entire routine was messed up.

It occupied your mind at all times. Any moment you spent not searching for him was considered wasted.

To the point where you were skipping meals and sleep to look for him. And you had a feeling you were close, so fucking close to catching the bastard.

You weren't.

Not even a little bit.

Not when you felt yourself grow closer and closer, only to reach the same dead end, the same bright, white page flashing in front of you, reading, Error code 404. Page not found.

It exasperated you, made your blood boil beyond control, feasted on your thoughts and sent you spiraling out of control.

And now, once again, like every night, you were awake at a time way past midnight, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Everything annoyed you; the ticking of the clock, the serenity outside, the rustling of the trees in the wind outside...

You wanted it to stop.

The next thing you knew was that your phone screen lit up beside you and a loud ping sounded, interrupting your restless thoughts.

You picked up the phone, noticing that the notification you received was from an unknown number.

Looking for me, pretty?

Reading it, your breath hitched as you stared at the screen, eyes furrowing and staring continuously at the message.

Instantly, your fingers flew across the keyboard as you typed out a message, turning on the bedside lamp beside you and propping yourself up on your pillows, leaning against the headboard of the bed.

Who's this? you typed back.

Answer my question first, doll

Perhaps it was sleep, or exhaustion, or something else, but your thoughts were most definitely clouded.

Normally, you would have blocked the number. But something, something told you to continue chatting to this mysterious person. He sounded so familiar, even though you were one hundred percent sure you had never come across him before.

Yes, you assumed it was a him. You couldn't explain it; it just felt like it was a him.

And the him sounded strangely.... attractive. Oh well, a little flirting wouldn't hurt... You could always block the number if things began to get a little freaky for you to handle.

You typed out your answer.

Maybe... Do you want me to look for you?

Yes. Fuck. I do

You stifled a gasp at his blatant response. He sounded desperate, wild, and you hadn't even seen this person's face.

Tell me your name then

Oh no, pretty. Not so fast.. It doesn't work that way

Disappointment flooded you as you looked at the screen, a sigh of defeat leaving you.

Until you saw the next messages.

You're not the only one asking questions here, doll. To get answers, you must be willing to give answers. Are you willing to do that?

Yes, you wrote.

Because screw it. You'd been overworking yourself like the only machine in a giant factory and you deserved a little time to just be yourself, even if you were talking to a stranger.

You were safe, you couldn't get hurt through the phone anyway. Besides, you had the world's best security system. Any intruder would be caught the moment they set foot even a mile within the radius of your mansion.

Throwing your job out of your mind, and your training, you let your guard down. You already knew everything about internet safety, you didn't need to be taught, like a goddamn child. You were no match for the stranger anyway, you could track him in minutes.

Good girl

The words sent a sudden jolt of surprise through you, and your stomach flipped.

My name is Laura. Will you tell me your name now?

You didn't tell him your real name, of course. Your co-worker's name was the first one that slipped into your head, and you typed that out without second thought.

Nice try, princess. Didn't know you'd be so good at lying

"Shit," you breathed, closing your eyes for a second, the feeling of dread coursing through you. Your heart stopped, and you knew you were fucked. Truly fucked.

He knew.

You couldn't even try to explain how the bastard knew.

How'd you know?

Because your real name is not Laura

How do you know that?

I just do. But I don't want your name I want something else

And then you'll tell me your name?

I'll give you my initials

You paused, your brows furrowing as you looked at his latest messages, trying to think of what to reply.

You were pretty sure you could use his initials to figure out who he was. Besides, a little bit of mystery was essential in order to enjoy life...

Fair enough. What do you want?

Right now? I just want to talk to you

Your lips curled up the slightest bit at the slightly sweet yet smooth reply from the other end of the phone.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, biting your lower lip, trying to figure out what to reply to that, when you saw the moving three dots again. He was typing...

My initials are T.N You can call me T

On seeing his initials, your heart stopped. You knew he sounded familiar, looked familiar, was familiar, but you were positive, absolutely positive you had never spoken to him before.

And then it hit you, where you had seen those initials before.

Realization flickered all over your features, and your breath hitched. It was so, so clear. You had spent the past couple of months searching for him.

How come you hadn't seen it before, the way had started the conversation with Missed me, Pretty? instead of a Hi or Hello, like any normal guy.

He was Theo Nott.

Theodore FUCKING Nott, the country's most notorious, wanted hacker.

How had he known, you had been looking for him? Should you play dumb? Or tell him the game was over?

Decision making had always come easy to you, but right now, you found yourself stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

If you told him you knew his full name, it might scare him away and make it harder for you to find him, and make your boss yell at you, overall making your life miserable.

If you played dumb... He could get bored.

And then an idea struck you.

What if you flirted? Used your powers of seduction to lure him out? To get him to fall for you?

That way, you could finally catch him, after asking him to meet you somewhere.

A slight smirk crossed your lips as you typed out your next message.

What if I want to call you... something else?

As Theo's eyes fell on the message, his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. His heart rate picked up, and he could already feel the familiar hardness ache between his legs as he looked at your message.

Were you flirting with him? If you were, it was fucking hot.

The question had taken him off-guard, and he had no clue what to answer.

Like what?

Asshole, you wrote back a little smirk on your lips, toying with him.

I'd prefer you call me daddy, Theo wrote back, his own expression matching yours, as he flirted with you with smooth confidence.

In your dreams

For that to happen, I'd need to hear your voice

And then it was your turn to stare at the phone like it was some foreign object.

You took a deep breath, unable to figure out what to reply. Part of you wanted to send an audio message, but you despised the way you sounded on a recording— it was too... cheesy, too embarrassing.

You could call him, but at the same time, it was far too soon for that. You weren't ready.

I'll let you hear my voice on one condition... you wrote, furiously chewing on your lower lip as you dropped your phone on your thighs and rubbed your palms on the sheets, trying to stop them from getting clammy.

What do you want, princess?

I can't sleep. I need help... relaxing... You dropped the clue as it was, you didn't know if you were being too forward, or not; the lack of sleep had most definitely messed with your head.

He was losing his mind, seeing you respond to him with such brazen confidence.

His need for you grew, and as he muttered a "fuck it," to himself, he stopped beating around the bush and matched your energy, adrenaline fueling through him, the sheer desperation of seeing where this would go messing with his mind.

What, your fingers too small to do the trick?

Your jaw dropped slightly. You couldn't believe the audacity. A light blush coating your cheeks, you pressed your thighs together without realizing, unable to come to terms that he had just teased you.

You couldn't let him win.

More like my boyfriend has a small dick

Holy—

Theo couldn't believe his eyes. He had always associated you with innocence, obliviousness. Seeing you through the camera go about your daily life without suspecting you were being watched had made his dick hard, more times that he could count, but having you flirt with him? Interact with him in such a way? That was something else.

He was suddenly rock hard under his sweats, his dick heavy and hard as he tried to imagine what it would be like to watch you touch yourself whilst texting him.

His blood boiled at the mention of your boyfriend... He had seen the asshole many times at your place, and he always activated the alarm system or the sprinklers whenever he came to your place.

You of course, always thought there was a glitch in the system, never once suspecting that it was all orchestrated.

And you're telling me this... why?

One thing you knew was that men liked to have their egos stroked, and what better way to flatter Theo than to tell him he was better than your boyfriend?

This was a sure way to get him to fall for you.

Of course, you had no clue about how big he was, neither did you care. All you cared about was catching him and handing him over to your boss.

That was what you thought of, when you typed in your next reply.

Because I get the feeling that you're bigger

Theo's vision was suddenly botched, and before he knew it, his sweatpants and boxers were shoved down his thighs, past his knees and were pooled around his ankles.

His cock sprung out, with a resounding smack against his abs, which clenched as he wrapped his fist around his girth, thumb stretching out to swipe a bead of precum dripping from the tip and smearing it messily across the length.

Are you always such a slut? Thinking of getting off to a stranger's cock?

Afraid to answer my question, T? Maybe you're not big...

You knew very well what you were doing, spurring him on, aggravating him, getting him hooked on you, getting him so completely drunk to talking to you.

You want proof, Princess?

Well, I'm not opposed to it...

You stared at the screen, and the three typing dots, your breath hitched as you awaited his response.

And then, it flashed across the screen.

A picture of his dick.

Your mouth watered slightly, and the slickness between your thighs grew. You couldn't stop the heat that suddenly filled the room despite the AC being on.

"Fuck," you breathed, your eyes glued to the screen.

You hadn't been wrong. He was bigger than your boyfriend— waaaayyyy bigger.

That good enough for you, pretty? he wrote, heart pounding in his chest, confidence dripping from him.

He could see you through the camera in your bedroom, staring at the picture longer than necessary, your eyes wide and your pupils dilated.

Not quite... Got a little problem now, thanks to you

Oh? he replied, waiting for you to elaborate, waiting for your next message.

My panties are soaked

Just with one pic??? I knew it. You're such a fucking slut. So wet, and you haven't even been touched...

The way he degraded you made you whimper, and before you knew it, you had wriggled out of your tiny, satin shorts, leaving your lower half completely bare, save for your tiny panties.

Are you gonna help me out, or not?

She's such a minx, Theo thought, gaze darkening as his gaze fell on his computer screen, where you were all spread out on your bed like a fucking feast, wearing nothing but a satin camisole and a tiny pair of panties.

And then, he unleashed himself.

Whatever you're wearing right now, take it off.

If you weren't turned on, you wouldn't have listened, but you slid your camisole off as well as your panties, your nipples hardening as they stood, begging for attention the moment they made contact with the cool air.

Now what?

He took a while to type the next message, and you stared at the screen with bated breath, watching him type for what felt like a very long time.

And then, his message arrived, and as you read it, you let out a quiet whimper.

Touch yourself, pretty Make yourself feel good Put your hand around your neck, and squeeze slightly, imagine it's mine Then let your hands wander

Little did you know, his eyes watched you through the cameras in your bedroom, lying back on your bed wearing absolutely nothing...

"Fucking slut—" he muttered, as your fingers applied slight pressure on your neck, blocking your airway and slowing your breathing. "Who knew you'd have such a filthy mind?"

He watched your hands wander downwards, watched you tease your nipples, watched your fingers pinch the hardened nubs until they were stiff, aching peaks.

The thought was enough to fuel his arousal, enough to get his dick harder than it had ever been.

He fisted his hand around his girth, his grip tight as he tried to imagine spilling his load all over your pretty tits.

Okay, you wrote back, one hand on the phone, the other alternating between teasing both your tits, trying to give them equal attention.

Does that feel good?

Yes

Such a nasty fucking whore, aren't you? So fucking needy for attention, even from a fucking stranger

His words elicited another whimper from your lips, and the ache between your thighs deepened; you were aching for relief.

Your fingers slipped lower, down to your slick folds, your index finger gliding so easily across the puffy lips of your cunt, and as your nail grazed against your clit, another mewl left your lips.

I need more, you wrote to Theo, hoping, just hoping he would send you another picture of his junk.

That's my little slut, so damn needy Put a finger inside that greedy cunt, doll I bet you're soaked Got me so fucking hard for you, pretty

Prove it, you wrote, challenging him into giving you want you wanted; another picture.

You finally gave into the temptation and slid a finger inside your sopping folds, a low moan leaving your lips as you arched your back.

And then Theo sent another picture, his dick stood tall, and erect, slightly curved, the tip angry and red and glossy with precum that bubbled out and trailed lower to his balls in a thin, seductive line.

God, he was huge, and you knew, you somehow knew that he was a goddamn fuck machine; he could ruin you.

Use your fingers to get yourself off, baby Think of my cock inside you You'd be so fucking full

Don't think you'd fit, you replied back, biting your lip as you gave him a completely honest answer.

You're too big

Fuck doll, you're driving me fucking mental

And then you added another finger, bucking your hips into your hand, your juices trickling down your thighs and your fingers, curling around your wrist and to the mattress, making a goddamn mess everywhere.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure as your phone slipped from your fingers and landed somewhere on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

You couldn't care enough to pick it up, your thoughts were completely clouded as you rode your fingers, arching your back and moaning like a bitch in heat, as your thumb pressed against your clit, your other hand teasing your nipples; pulling, pinching, groping, twisting, your eyes closed as you thought of his dick, filling you up and rearranging your internal organs.

"Fuuuuck," you groaned softly. "God, feels so good—"

And then, as you added a third finger into your sopping wet cunt, stretching yourself out more than you could handle, you curled your fingers until they reached that deep squishy space before you lost all control of yourself as your orgasm wrecked through you like a fast fucking freight train.

Your juices spilled everywhere, uncontrollably, drenching your sheets and your hands, the heady scent of your fluids mingling with your sweat and natural scent.

Then, you brought your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

Oh, you were so totally oblivious to the way Theo jerked off to the sight of you pleasuring yourself, his balls tightening to the thought of claiming you, filling you up with his cum until it was dripping out of you for days.

"Shiiiiit— gonna cum inside that pretty pussy one day, mark my words," he swore, dragging his fist faster up and down the length of his wet, sticky cock.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you cumming all over your hand, making a mess on your bed, pupils blown so wide that his irises were nearly engulfed.

And then, his quickened his pace, wrist flicking faster as he drew closer to his high, loud groans leaving his lips.

"That's right, make a mess— fucking slut— my messy slut, wanna feel you clamp down on my cock, gonna fucking come all over that pretty cunt..." he groaned, his words mere broken fragments that made better sense in his head than when spoken out loud.

And with a final growl tearing from his throat, he finally came, unloading a thick, hot stream of semen into his hand, his break coming out in sharp, ragged gasps, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon.

He didn't bother cleaning up as he picked up his phone, typing out a quick one-handed message to you.

Lick those fingers clean, pretty...

Already did ;)

Fuck, there's my filthy girl So fucking hot Bet you taste like honey

You didn't bother with putting your clothes back on, you merely covered yourself with the cool, Egyptian cotton sateen sheets, which you intended to change the next morning.

Wouldn't you like to know?

Feel better, pretty? He typed back, watching you adjust your pillows in a manner that suited your comfort better.

Much. I'm going to sleep now Have a nice night, asshole

You smiled to yourself as you wrote to him, flicking the switch of your bedside lamp, turning it off, waiting for Theo's response.

You too, princess.

Not so far away, Theo found himself grinning like an idiot as he looked at the screen.

Oh, he was so fucking whipped.

apologies for being missing in action lately.. have an essay due in three days and i've barely written half... hope you guys like this though. special thanks to @dearmisshoney for being the absolute sweetest and giving me the motivation and help to write this. not my best work. please comment, reblog and show me some love 🙈🙈

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hiii! Can I please request a husband!Bucky x wife!fem!reader where Bucky, Steve, and Y/n had been best friends since childhood, and Bucky and Y/n started dating and eventually got married (they were high school sweethearts🥹). When Bucky fell off the train, Hydra came to her door, pretending to be the soldiers that worked with Bucky and asked her to come with them by lying that they’d take her to Bucky who had been “injured” in a battle. Hydra brainwashed Y/n, much like they did Bucky, injected her with the super serum and turned her into their own personal spy, taking her in and out of cryo like they did with Bucky. Much like Bucky she worked in the shadows and was trained to perfection, so even when she was sent into SHEILD to help infiltrate it, Steve never noticed or recognized her, let alone even saw her. All Steve knew (after definitely researching what happened to her after him and Bucky were gone), was that she disappeared shortly after Bucky and Steve “died” in 1945 and was never seen again. But he finds out her and Bucky are alive and brainwashed in CA: Winter Soldier, and after Bucky joins the Avengers, Steve, Sam, and Bucky all work to free Y/n 🥺 When they do however, she doesn’t remember Bucky or Steve, even after the brainwashing is broken? (Bucky and Steve would be heartbroken) And her and Bucky fall in love all over again?

Forever Sweethearts » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband!40s!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader with Pre Serum Steve Rogers, Husband/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Spy!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America, Sam Wilson/Falcon, and the Avengers

Summary: You and Bucky are high school sweethearts. HYDRA shows up as Army soldiers at your house to tell you that Bucky is injured, but in reality they brainwash you and turn you into a spy. Years later when Bucky joins the Avengers, he gets you back with Steve’s and Sam’s help, but sadly you don’t remember him. When you do, you and Bucky end up falling in love all over again.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, language, HYDRA, brainwashing, violence, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the lovely request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

A/N #2: Italic texts are flashbacks.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

1943

You, Bucky, and Steve are childhood best friends. You three are inseparable. You guys do everything together. You and Bucky fell in love while you guys were in high school. He proposed to you the day you, Bucky, and Steve graduated from high school and you two got married that Summer.

Right now, you’re in an alley with Steve. You’re cleaning him up cause he got into a fight with a guy bigger than him.

“Stevie, I told you not to fight that guy.” You say while wiping blood off his nose.

“He wouldn’t shut up.” Steve says.

“So you resorted to violence?” You asked.

“Maybe…” He says.

You playfully rolled your eyes at your best friend and continued to clean him up.

“What happened this time?” Bucky asks as he walks in the alley.

“Stevie fought a guy bigger than him.” You tell your husband.

“I swear you like getting punched, man.” He says, looking at Steve.

“In his defense, the guy wouldn’t be quiet during the Army film.” You say.

You threw away the tissue in the trash can next to you before properly greeting your husband. You gave him a kiss on his lips.

“You look incredibly handsome in uniform.” You complimented in a flirtatiously.

“Thank you, doll.” Bucky smiles.

“Did you get your orders?” Steve asks, chiming in.

“The 107th, Sergeant James Barnes.” Bucky says.

Steve looks down and sighs sadly. He’s been trying to enlist in the 107th.

“It’s ok, Stevie.” You hugged him. “You’ll get in eventually.” You say positively.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Steve says.

“You’re welcome.” You say.

“Now, stop being sad and let’s go.” Bucky says.

“Go where?” Steve asks.

Bucky hands Steve a newspaper that says something about the Stark Expo. You looked at it too.

“Stark Expo.” Steve read aloud.

“Sounds interesting.” You say.

“That’s why we’re going, doll face.” Bucky says.

You giggled and Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. When the three of you got to the Stark Expo, you guys decided to walk around for a little bit.

“So when do you leave?” Steve asks.

“Tomorrow.” Bucky answers.

“No. That’s too soon.” You say.

Tears filled your eyes when you realized you only have tonight to spend time with your husband before he leaves for the Army tomorrow.

“I know, doll.” Bucky pulls you into a hug. “Look at the bright side, I’ll be home before you know it.” Bucky says.

“You promise?” You asked and sniffled.

“I promise.” He promises, kissing your wedding ring.

Every time Bucky promises you something, he kisses your wedding ring, which always makes you smile.

“I love you, sweetie.” You say softly and kissed him.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky says softly, kissing you back.

———

1945

Bucky has came home a few times since he’s joined the Army. You two always send each other letters, telling each other how much you two love and miss each other. You two try not let the long distance bother you guys.

You were cleaning yours and Bucky’s house to keep yourself busy when you heard a knock on the door. You stopped what you were doing to see who it is. Two Army -HYDRA- officers were on your doorstep.

“Are you Y/N Barnes?” One of them asks.

“Yes.” You answered.

“We work with your husband, Sergeant James Barnes, and we’re sorry to tell you this, but he’s been injured in battle.” The other soldier tells you.

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. Your mind made you think the worst.

“How- How injured is he?” You asked.

“Enough to get him in the med bay.” The fake Army officer said.

“He asked us to pick you up and take you to him.” The other fake Army officer said.

“Yes please. Take me to my husband.” You say.

Little did you know that this was part of HYDRA’s plan after Bucky fell off the train. They’re going to take you to their base, brainwash you, inject you with the Super Soldier serum, take you in and out of the cryo chamber, and turn you into their own personal spy.

“Which one of these rooms is my husband in?” You asked as you walked through the hallway with the two HYDRA agents.

“He’s not in any of these rooms, Mrs. Barnes.” One of the HYDRA agents says.

Then where is he?” You asked.

You didn’t miss the way they exchanged looks with each other before looking at you with grins on their faces.

“Where is my husband?” You asked again.

Before you knew it, they grabbed your arms and led you to a lab. They forcefully pushed you down in a chair and strapped your arms and legs down. Then they left the lab. You tried to free yourself from the restraints, but they were too tight. That’s when a man in a suit and a man in a white lab coat walked in the lab.

“Hello, Mrs. Barnes. I’m Arnim Zola.” Zola greets you.

“Where the hell is my husband?” You asked for a third time, completely bypassing his introduction.

“He’s going to become something for our upcoming project. As for you, you’re going to become something for another one of our projects.” He explains.

Zola looks at the man in the lab coat and gave him a nod. The man in the lab coat walked over to you with an IV needle. Your eyes went wide and your heart began to pound. You wish you could break free of the restraints, but you couldn’t. The IV needle got inserted into your arm. You yelped when the needle pricked your skin. That’s when all of the pain and torture started…

———

DECEMBER 1991

HYDRA has been taking you in and out of the cryo chamber since 1945. They already brainwashed you, injected you with the Super Soldier serum, and trained you to know what a spy needs to know. Now, it’s December 1, 1991 and they took you out of the cryo and erased your memories once again.

“Ready to comply?” Your handler asks.

“Ready to comply.” You confirmed.

“We have a mission for you.” He says.

You nodded, waiting for him to tell you what the mission is.

“This is Howard and Maria Stark.” He shows you a picture of them. “We want you to follow them around for the next couple of weeks and see what information you can find out.” He explains.

“Yes, sir.” You complied.

You suited up for the mission. Your handler packed you binoculars, notebooks, and pens in a bag. They want you to take notes on what Howard and Maria are doing in those two weeks. Then you went to work.

After those two weeks, you got all of the information you needed to give to HYDRA written in the notebooks. You reported back to them and gave them the information.

“Great job, Agent Barnes. Your work here is done. Go get cleaned up.” Your handler says.

You nodded and left the room. As you were walking down the hall, you seen the Winter Soldier being dragged into one of the labs. You’ve never worked with him, but he looks familiar to you. Like you know him.

Could he be- no. Your husband died by falling off a train in 1945. At least that’s what HYDRA told you.

You were running down the street as Bucky chased you. Bucky caught up to you and grabbed you by your waist. He picked you up and spun you around, making you laugh uncontrollably. He gently put you back on your feet and pinned you against the nearest wall. He put his hands on the wall on both sides of your head.

“Why do you insist on running away from me, doll face?” Bucky asks.

“I think it’s fun when you chase me.” You answered with a playful grin.

“You’re right. It is.” He agrees and kisses you.

When the flashback ended, you felt yourself get lightheaded. You put your hand on the wall to keep yourself from falling. You weren’t sure what just happened, but you felt better after a few seconds.

———

2014

HYDRA sent you on an undercover mission to pose as an SHIELD Agent. They didn’t bother giving you a made up name for the undercover mission. They just sent to you SHIELD to spy for a little bit before they infiltrate them. Like you’re always told when you get sent on missions, you were told to keep your distance, in which you did. As you were doing your job, you seen Captain America- Steve Rogers from a distance. You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at him. He’s the second familiar person who you came across since 1991.

“You need to stop getting into fights, Stevie.” You say as you helped clean him up.

“That guy had it coming.” Steve says.

You sighed as you continued to clean him up. Bucky walked in the bathroom a moment later.

“Did you get your ass beat again?” Bucky asks, leaning against the edge of the bathroom sink counter.

“He had it coming.” Steve says again.

“I swear you like getting punched.” Bucky says.

“No I don’t.” Steve says.

“Then why do you insist on getting into fights with people who are bigger than you?” You asked.

“I don’t know.” Steve mumbles.

You playfully rolled your eyes at your best friend.

“Alright. You’re good as new now.” You say.

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best.” Steve smiles.

You felt yourself get lightheaded after the flashback. You sat down in a chair before you passed out. You took a few deep breaths and took a sip of water before going back to work.

Meanwhile, Steve was doing research on you. He was curious to know what happened to you after Bucky died- fell off the train in 1945. Since he doesn’t know much about technology, he asked Natasha for help.

“Is there any particular reason why you’re researching a woman from the same time period as you?” Natasha asks curiously.

“She’s my childhood best friend. She married my best friend Bucky the Summer after we graduated from high school.” Steve tells her.

“Your childhood best friends are high school sweethearts? That’s so sweet.” She smiles.

“It is.” He smiles at the thought of it.

As Steve was researching you, he couldn’t find anything after 1945. He double and tripled check just to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“There’s nothing on her after 1945. It’s like she disappeared.” Steve says.

“Do you think she might’ve died?” Natasha asks.

“No. Someone would told me.” He says.

———

Shortly after the fight on the helicarrier between Steve and the Winter Soldier, Bucky joined the Avengers. Bucky has been trying everything he could think of to figure out what happened to you. Steve told him that he did research on you, but couldn’t find anything on you after 1945.

“Think, Bucky. Are you sure you haven’t came across Y/N over the years?” Steve asks.

“If I came across my wife, I would’ve-” That’s when Bucky remembered something.

Two HYDRA agents were dragging the Winter Soldier to the lab to wipe his memories once again. You were walking past him at the same time he lifted his head. You two made eye contact with each other. His eyes never left yours as he was drugged past you.

“Bucky?” Steve gently shook his best friend to snap him out of his trance. “Are you ok?” He asks.

“HYDRA.” Bucky finally said. “They have my wife. I remember being dragged past her in a hallway of the HYDRA base I was kept at. Her and I didn’t recognize each other though.” He says.

Bucky’s eyes filled with tears and anger filled his veins.

“I’m going to kill them, Steve.” Bucky says, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You have every right to kill them, Buck, but first, you need to save your wife.” Steve says softly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Will you help me?” Bucky asks and sniffles.

“You know I will. We’ll get Sam to help us too.” Steve says.

Bucky nods and wipes his tears away. He pulled it together long enough to save you. When Bucky, Steve, and Sam got to the HYDRA base you are currently being held at, Bucky wanted to shoot the first HYDRA agent he saw, but he restrained himself.

“Do you remember what hallway you were in when you first seen her?” Steve asks.

Bucky looked around for a moment, trying to remember where the hallway is. Something sparked his memory when he looked at the hallway to the right.

“I heard her footsteps go this way.” Bucky says.

He walked down the hallway to the right with Steve following behind him. Then he came to a stop when he saw a few doors. He looked in the sliding slot of each door to see if you’re in any of the cells.

“She’s in this cell.” Bucky says, looking threw the last door slot.

He already knew that that cell door was locked so he broke off the door knob with his metal hand. You were sleeping on the wall opposite of the door. Him and Steve cautiously walked towards you. You woke up when you heard unfamiliar footsteps. Bucky and Steve froze when you sat up and turned over to face them. Bucky’s breath hitched when he saw you for the first time in years. You cautiously stood up, not taking your eyes off the two Super Soldiers.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“Who the hell is Y/N?” You asked.

“Y/N, I’m your husband. Steve is right here. He’s our best friend, remember?” He says.

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t know you guys.” You say.

“Doll, we’re high school sweethearts.” He says.

You were starting to feel overwhelmed. You managed to run past them, bumping into them as you did so. You ran through the hallways, trying to escape them. They caught up to you and Bucky tackled you to the floor. You tried to squirm free, but couldn’t.

“I’m your husband, doll.” Bucky says again.

“I’m not married.” You say.

You managed to kick Bucky off of you. You grabbed the gun out of the holster on his hip and aimed it at him. Bucky stayed on the floor, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Y/N, I want you to think about what you’re doing before you do it.” Bucky says in a calm voice.

Steve came up behind you and grabbed the gun out of your hand. You run before one of them could restrain you. You finally exited the base. You looked behind you to see if you out ran Bucky and Steve. You did. Then Sam flew down and grabbed you, catching you off guard.

“I got her.” Sam informs Bucky and Steve.

You did everything to squirm out of Sam’s hold on you, but he only held you tighter. Bucky and Steve exited the base and walked over to Sam. Sam moved you over to Bucky so now you’re in Bucky’s hold. He managed to get you on the quinjet and gently sat you down on one of the seats. You stared up at him, narrowing your eyes at him.

When you guys got to the Avengers compound, Bucky got you set up in his bedroom like the amazing husband he is. You looked around his bedroom. You’ll admit that it’s a lot nicer than the cell HYDRA put you in. You felt like you were going to go stir crazy in there so you left his bedroom and roamed around the compound. Meanwhile, Bucky was in the lounge room with Steve and Sam.

“What am I going to do if Y/N never remembers me as her husband?” Bucky asks, running his fingers through his long hair.

“She will, Buck. Just give her time.” Steve says softly.

You walked in the lounge room at the midst of their conversation. They stopped talking and turned their attention to you. Bucky stood up from his seat and walked over to you.

“Are you ok, doll? Do you need anything?” Bucky asks softly.

“I’m fine.” You mumbled. “Do any of you have a computer?” You asked.

“I have a laptop.” Sam says.

“Can I use it?” You asked.

“Sure.” Sam replies.

Sam hands you his laptop. You sat down on the couch and researched Bucky who claims is your husband and Steve who says is your childhood best friend. You researched Steve first.

“You’re Captain America.” You say, looking at Steve.

“Yes I am.” Steve confirms.

You then researched Bucky. Your eyebrows shot up at the results you got on him.

“You’re the Winter Soldier?” You asked Bucky, showing him a picture of when he was the Winter Soldier.

“Yes, but I don’t do that anymore. The man I have always been is your husband.” Bucky says.

You closed the laptop and gave it back to Sam. You walked over to Bucky, looking up at him.

“If you really are my husband, then why don’t I remember you?” You asked.

“HYDRA brainwashed you.” Bucky simply says.

Images of HYDRA brainwashing you flashes in your mind. Your breathing becomes uneven. You left the lounge and went straight to Bucky’s bedroom. You closed the door and leaned against it. You closed your eyes and tried to get your breathing under control. You’re starting to think that Bucky might be right about HYDRA brainwashing you.

———

Weeks turn into months and you still don’t remember Bucky as your husband. Bucky has tried everything he could think of to get you to remember him, but nothing works. He accidentally overwhelmed you once, but then apologized. It’s breaking Bucky’s heart that you don’t remember him. The more you say it, the more it feels like someone ripped his heart out of his chest and crushed it in their bare hands.

The only thing that’s keeping Bucky from breaking down is looking at old pictures of you two, especially the pictures from yours and his wedding day. Tears filled his eyes as he looked at the pictures. You guys were so happy. Thanks to HYDRA, all of that happiness got ripped from you two.

“Are you ok?” You asked.

“I’m fine.” Bucky says and sniffles.

You walked over to him and sat down next to him on his bed. You took a look at the pictures in the photo album he’s currently looking at.

“Who are those people?” You asked, pointing at one of yours and his wedding pictures.

“Me and you on our wedding day.” He tells you. “You looked so gorgeous in your wedding dress.” He says softly with a smile.

The more you look at the pictures, you don’t remember any of it. It makes you feel bad that you can’t remember the man you married.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember any of this.” You apologized sadly.

“Doll, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. It’ll come to you eventually.” He says softly.

You gaze deep in Bucky’s eyes, getting lost in them. You leaned in and kissed him passionately, catching Bucky by surprise. He kissed you back. He never forgot about how soft your lips feel against his. You pulled away after a few seconds, still gazing in his eyes.

“I’m falling in love with you, Bucky.” You admitted softly.

“I’m falling in love with you too, doll.” Bucky says softly.

In that moment, you and Bucky started to rekindle the love that got ripped from you guys years ago.

———

Yours and Bucky’s love has become stronger than ever lately. It’s just as strong as it was when you two fell in love when you guys were in high school. Also, yours and his happiness has came back.

“It looks like you and Y/N are falling in love again.” Steve says.

“How can you tell?” Bucky asks.

“You have that same smile on your face like the day you asked her to be your girlfriend in high school.” Steve says.

Bucky smiles at the memory. He remembers that day perfectly.

“You want to know what will make Y/N love you even more?” Wanda says.

“Yes.” Bucky replies.

“You should buy her favorite flowers and put her wedding ring back on her finger.” She suggests.

“Y/N does love flowers, but I don’t have her wedding ring to put on her finger.” He says sadly.

“Do you think she’ll accept a ring that’s different from her original ring?” She asks.

“I don’t know. There’s only one way to find out.” He says.

Bucky thanks Wanda for the suggestion and thought about it for a while. Later that same day, Bucky did what Wanda said. He bought a bouquet of your favorite flowers and he went to a jewelry store to buy a ring. He bought one that closely resembles your original ring.

“Have you guys seen Bucky?” You asked as you walked in the lounge room.

“He had to run a couple of errands. He said he’ll be back soon.” Wanda tells you.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks softly.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking, Stevie.” You smiled.

Steve smiles when you called him Stevie. You haven’t called him that nickname since 1943.

You decided to go outside to get some fresh air. You sat on the bench next to the door to the main entrance of the compound. Bucky came back from running his errands a moment later. You smiled when you seen him walking towards you.

“I was wondering where you were, James.” You say with a smile.

“I wanted to get you your favorite flowers.” Bucky smiles as he hands you the bouquet.

“These are pretty.” You smiled as you admired the flowers.

“I have something else for you.” He says nervously.

“What is it?” You asked curiously.

Bucky took a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket and got down on one knee. You gasped.

“I know it’s not exactly the ring I put on your finger in 1935, but I hope you like it.” He says.

Bucky opened the small box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

“I love it!” You exclaimed softly.

Bucky smiles and slides the ring on your finger. He sat down next to you on the bench and kissed you passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.” You say softly.

“I love you too, doll.” Bucky almost whispers. “I’m sure your memories of us will come back soon. Till then, you have our love and happiness to help you out with it.” He says softly, pecking your lips softly.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[deliciousangelfestival]

Plssss continue the another ending story its sooo good plsss😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏

Another Ending - End | B. Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , End .

You asked, and you shall receive. Thanks, Noonie. This is also a wake-up call for me to finish this.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It had been a month since they received the data. Life had gone back to normal—well, as normal as it could be. Lori, you, Bucky, and Henry were now living in a new place.

Out of nowhere, Bucky had shown you all his house—a stunning place by the beach. It had floor-to-ceiling glass walls and a garage filled with sports cars.

Lori’s jaw dropped in awe. “I thought you were one of those house-husband types."

“House husband?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t wanna know,” you said, brushing off the comment with a shake of your head.

You turned back to the house, your eyes scanning the sleek architecture. “So this is the payment for being a triple agent?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Bucky chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets. “No. This is a gift from my dad—to make up for forgetting my 17th birthday.”

Your eyes widened. “You jerk! You made me pay for all the drinks that time!” You playfully shoved his shoulder.

“You were my supervisor back then,” he said, grinning. “It would’ve been disrespectful to say no.”

Then, his expression softened. He reached for your hand and held it gently. “But now, no more lies. Not with you.”

There was a pause. The wind from the beach brushed through your hair as you looked at him, really looked at him. The sunlight caught the side of his face, and in that moment, he wasn’t a spy or a survivor—just someone who wanted a fresh start, same as you.

Inside the house, Lori watched through the large window, a soft smile on her lips.

“My work here is done,” she whispered dramatically.

Henry, sprawled on the sofa with one arm draped over his eyes, groaned. “Are you done spying on them?”

“This isn’t spying,” Lori said, arms flailing in protest. “It’s observation. As Cupid, I did a fantastic job. Romance is in the air!” She clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to be my aunt’s flower girl.”

Henry scoffed, shifting to sit upright. “I wish life was really that easy—for people like me, your aunt, and Bucky.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, frowning.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We live in shadows, Lori. Danger, secrets... The kind of life you’re picturing? It’s not real for people like us. Most of us live with fear, not freedom.”

Lori’s shoulders sagged. “That’s not fair. But you’ve all quit. You deserve another chance. A new start.”

Henry stared at the floor for a moment. “If it were that simple, I’d have reconciled with my ex, and I’d be living in a house with a white picket fence.” He chuckled bitterly. “Instead, I’m here—still alone.”

After a beat, he turned to her. “By the way, why didn’t you go to school?”

Lori glanced away, suddenly interested in the ceiling. “I’m doing online classes.”

“Uh-huh…” Henry raised an eyebrow.

He tilted his head. “What about your mom? Don’t you miss her?”

“She’s busy. Doing a book tour,” she mumbled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I prefer being here.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

You and Lori were walking down the grocery store aisle, your cart half-filled as the wheels squeaked beneath it. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, and the cold air from the freezer section drifted across your arms.

Lori reached for a bag of chips and glanced around. “Aunty, remember the last time we came to the store? Someone tried to shoot us—and that’s how we met Bucky.”

You shot her a sharp look and whispered, “Don’t say it out loud.” You scanned the other shoppers, your instincts still on edge.

Lori shrugged, unfazed. “Do you think something exciting will happen again?”

You sighed, pushing the cart forward. “Dear God, I hope not.” You handed her the shopping list. “Can you grab half of the things from the list? Start with aisle three.”

“Okay,” she replied cheerfully, skipping off toward the cereal aisle.

Lori reached for a cereal box on the top shelf, tiptoeing to grab it. As she pulled it down, her grip slipped—almost sending the box tumbling in slow motion. But before it could hit the floor, a hand caught it swiftly.

“Thank you,” she said, blinking in surprise.

The man, dressed in a dark coat, gave her a brief nod. “Pozhaluysta,” (*You're welcome) before turning and walking away without another word.

Lori tilted her head, watching his retreating back. Something about him felt... off. She clutched the box tighter and hurried to find you.

You were by the produce section, picking out apples, when Lori came running up.

“Aunty, I just met someone. He helped me with the cereal box. I think he’s a foreigner—maybe Russian?”

Your smile faded. “Russian?” Your stomach turned. A chill ran down your spine.

You grabbed her wrist gently. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”

Back home, the tension clung to you like damp air. You unpacked the groceries in silence, glancing over each item as if expecting something to jump out. Then your hands froze.

Taped under the cereal box was a small note. Folded once. Slipped so subtly it could’ve been missed.

You unfolded it with trembling fingers.

“Not fair.” - Written in Russian.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky entered the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. “What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing your expression.

Wordlessly, you handed him the note.

His eyes scanned the message. His jaw clenched. “Is that…?”

“I’m not sure,” you whispered. “But I have a bad feeling. That man—he spoke to Lori.”

Bucky exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s not a good sign.”

You stared out the window, heart pounding. “We have to protect her.”

“She won’t like it,” he warned gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You looked back at him, voice firm. “She doesn’t have to like it. She just has to be safe.”

You and Bucky sat Lori down in the living room. The air was heavy with unspoken tension. She tilted her head, curious but cautious.

You took a deep breath. “Lori… I called your mom. She agreed—it’s time for you to go back.”

Lori blinked, her expression frozen for a second. Then her eyes welled with tears. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go. I like it here.”

Your heart cracked at the sight of her trembling lips and glassy eyes. “Sweetheart,” you knelt in front of her, holding her hands gently, “I know it’s hard to understand, but you’re not safe here anymore.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why? Didn’t you say we were done with the agency? That they wouldn't bother you guys again?”

“We did,” Bucky said quietly, standing nearby with his arms crossed, his jaw tight. “But this isn’t about the agency.”

“Then who?” Lori asked, her voice shaking.

You looked her in the eyes. “Grigory. The weapons dealer. The one from the book you read.”

Lori blinked. “Wait... wasn’t he dead?”

“In the book, yes,” you said softly. “But in real life, there was no body. No confirmation. Just silence.”

Henry, lounging in the corner, added, “His daughter is dead. And that only means one thing—revenge.”

The room fell silent.

Bucky looked down at the floor, jaw clenched. His knuckles were white as he gripped the back of the chair. It was his bullet that ended her life. No one said it, but everyone knew.

You reached out, gently squeezing Bucky’s hand. “It was an order,” you whispered, reminding him—reminding yourself.

That mission had haunted both of you. Sleepless nights. Regret. Silence. The kind of guilt that never left.

Lori wiped her tears and looked at both of you. Her voice was soft but strong. “Then don’t stay stuck in the past. You’ve both punished yourselves long enough.”

Her words pierced straight through you. Bucky looked up in surprise. Even Henry paused, visibly impressed.

“How did you come up with that?” Bucky asked.

“I read a lot of books,” Lori said with a sniff. “Most of the main characters carry trauma. But they learn to live. To move forward.”

She smiled gently. “And destiny always brings people together. If it’s meant for you—it’ll always find a way back to you.”

You choked back a laugh, pulling her into a hug. “Oh, Lori.”

Henry folded his arms with a smirk. “If I’d hired someone like you back in the day, maybe my agents would’ve stuck around longer.”

Bucky leaned over and whispered, “You’re ruining the moment.”

You cupped Lori’s face and looked her in the eyes. “It’s still not safe… but I promise, once this is over—once we’re sure no one is coming after us—we’ll be together again. No more running. No more danger.”

Lori wiped her eyes and nodded slowly. “Fine. But you have to promise we’ll see each other again. Soon.”

The next day, the car was packed and waiting. You walked Lori to the passenger side, holding her hand the whole way.

Bucky stood by the driveway, hands in his jacket pockets.

Before getting in, Lori turned to him. “Will you meet me again?”

He gave her a half-smile. “Of course. We’re besties.”

She giggled, wiping her eyes again. “You better not forget.”

“I won’t,” he said, giving her a small salute.

She climbed into the car, rolled the window down, and waved at Bucky and Henry.

“Bye, guys!”

“Take care, kid,” Henry called, raising his hand.

Bucky gave a short nod and watched the car drive away, silent.

You didn’t say a word as you drove. But your grip on the steering wheel tightened, and your heart quietly promised Lori: This won’t be the end.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The sun dipped low as you drove along the winding highway, mountains casting long shadows over the road. Lori sat quietly beside you, clutching her backpack and watching the trees blur past the window. For the first time since this morning, things seemed calm.

Then you noticed it.

A black SUV, maybe two cars behind. You glanced at the rearview mirror again. Same distance. No change in speed. No attempt to pass.

Your eyes narrowed. You tapped the steering wheel twice—a silent habit whenever your instincts kicked in.

“Aunty?” Lori turned to you.

“Lori, buckle up,” you said calmly.

She frowned but obeyed. “Why?”

You glanced in the mirror once more. The SUV changed lanes as you did. Then another car appeared—one you hadn’t seen before. And then another.

Three. Maybe four.

“They’re following us,” you muttered, your tone low.

“What?” Lori’s voice jumped.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you gripped the wheel tighter and pressed down on the gas.

The engine roared as your car surged forward. Tires screeched behind you.

The first bullet hit your rear windshield. Glass shattered.

Lori screamed and ducked instinctively. You kept driving.

Two black sedans flanked you, forcing you into the center lane. Your heart pounded. The world slowed around you—your training taking over.

You swerved right, clipping one of the cars. It spun out, slamming into the guardrail.

“Hold on!” you shouted, pulling a hard left. Lori screamed again, gripping the handle on the ceiling.

You barreled down a side road, the remaining cars close behind. Another shot whizzed past, barely missing your side mirror.

Lori clutched your arm. “They’re still behind us!”

“I see them.”

A third car pulled alongside. A man leaned out with a rifle.

You jerked the wheel, slamming your car into his before he could fire. He flew off-balance. The car spun and crashed into a ditch.

Two left.

You made it to an overpass, but one of the cars rammed into your bumper hard. You lost control for a second, the car skidding toward the concrete barrier.

Lori screamed as you fought the steering. The tires squealed.

Another shot—this one grazed your shoulder. You hissed, pain shooting down your arm.

Then, from the side—a blur of motion.

Boom!

An explosion rocked the road behind you. One of the chasing cars was suddenly engulfed in fire.

Bucky’s motorcycle tore into view like a beast out of hell, his face hidden behind a dark visor, rifle slung across his back.

He shot the last car’s front tire. It flipped in mid-air and crashed in a storm of metal and sparks.

You tried to slow down, adrenaline crashing hard. But the blood loss…

You blinked. The world tilted.

“Aunty!” Lori grabbed your arm. “You’re bleeding!”

You smiled faintly, your voice thin. “You’re safe…”

Then everything went black.

🏥🏥🏥🏥

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly. You lay in a hospital bed, pale but stable, IV lines in your arm. Sedatives had knocked you out. You needed rest, the doctors said. No major internal injuries, but you’d lost too much blood.

Lori sat beside your bed, her arm wrapped in a light bandage. Just a scratch. Her eyes were red from crying, but she stayed strong.

“She protected me,” she whispered. “She didn’t stop driving.”

Bucky stood by the window, fists clenched, jaw tight. His eyes hadn’t left your still form.

He turned to Henry.

“This was a message,” Bucky said, voice low and seething.

Henry nodded grimly. “It was Grigory’s people.”

“That bastard sent mercs after a kid,” Bucky muttered. His tone was ice-cold. “I'm done waiting.”

“Bucky…” Henry tried to reason.

But Bucky was already walking out the door.

💥💥💥💥💥

A cold wind howled through the isolated forest surrounding the crumbling, once-grand mansion. The estate sat like a rotting carcass on the edge of the wilderness—tall iron gates, stone statues overgrown with ivy, and floodlights illuminating the perimeter.

Dozens of guards patrolled the grounds—heavily armed and alert.

But they started dropping.

One by one.

A suppressed sniper round tore through the silence.

A guard on the rooftop collapsed without a sound.

Another crumpled near the front steps, his rifle clattering to the ground.

Panic began to spread. Shouts in Russian echoed through the comms.

“Sniper! Find the bastard!”

But it was too late. Bucky Barnes was already inside.

He moved like a shadow. Black tactical gear, rifle in hand, knife strapped to his thigh. The Winter Soldier persona—cold, controlled, unstoppable—had returned.

Two guards turned the corner.

Two clean shots. Both down before they could raise their weapons.

He stormed down the hallway, the marble floor stained with footprints and blood. He knew exactly where Grigory would be.

Grigory sat behind an antique desk, a cigar smoldering in a crystal ashtray. His once-refined face now worn, eyes bloodshot, grief having chewed through the edges of his sanity.

When the door slammed open, Grigory didn’t even flinch.

Bucky walked in, gun raised, expression stone-cold.

“Been a long time,” Grigory said with a bitter smirk.

“You look worse than your last Interpol photo,” Bucky said, stepping closer.

Grigory stood slowly, eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

“Why do you get to keep going?” he growled. “Why do you get to live while I’m still haunted by my daughter every goddamn day?”

“If it were anyone else asking me that,” Bucky replied coldly, “I’d say I was sorry.”

He took another step forward.

“But not you.”

Grigory’s eyes darkened. His fists clenched. “You murdered my daughter.”

“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “Your weapons murdered millions. Your daughter was just unlucky enough to have a monster for a father.”

Grigory snapped.

“Suka blyad’!” he cursed in Russian, slamming his fist against the desk. Rage boiled over in his face.

“And you hurt my girlfriend and her niece,” Bucky continued, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. “That’s my line. You crossed it.”

“I lost everything!” Grigory roared. “You took her from me! You—!”

“You killed her the moment you turned your back on humanity,” Bucky cut him off, voice like ice. “You don’t get to play the victim.”

Grigory’s hand twitched toward the drawer.

Too late.

Bang!

The shot echoed through the study. A perfect center-mass hit.

Grigory staggered back, coughing blood, collapsing into his leather chair—eyes wide, frozen in disbelief.

Bucky stepped closer, looming over him.

“For someone like you, hell follows you wherever you go,” he whispered.

Grigory’s body went limp.

Bucky stood there in the silence, breathing steady, smoke rising from the muzzle of his pistol.

After 7 years, the mission is finally complete.

🏥🏥🏥🏥

Soft sunlight seeped through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the white bedsheets. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the quiet room, steady and calm.

You had just opened your eyes, groggy from the medication but alive — and that was enough.

Lori sat by your side, her small hand wrapped around yours. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw you awake.

“Auntie,” she whispered, teary-eyed. “You scared me.”

You gave her a tired smile, gently brushing your fingers across her cheek. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to.”

Just then, the door opened.

Bucky stepped inside, blood wiped clean, his clothes changed, but the weight of the night still clung to him. When he saw your eyes open, something in him shifted — relief, deep and real.

Behind him, Henry stood near the hallway, quietly speaking to your sister. His usually cold tone softened. Your sister immediately came here when she heard you got admitted to the hospital. 

“Don't let cancer decide how you live your life,” she told him, arms crossed but voice steady. “Just... enjoy the time you’ve got. That’s more than most people get.”

Inside the room, Lori noticed Bucky and grinned.

“Bucky!” she whispered loudly, running over to hug him. He knelt and caught her easily, holding her close.

“Hey, troublemaker,” he said softly. “You did good.”

After a few more minutes, everyone began to leave the room, giving you space to rest. Lori gave you one last hug and whispered, “I’ll be just outside.”

Now, it was just the two of you.

Silence lingered for a moment, comfortable but heavy with things unspoken.

Bucky pulled a chair beside your bed and sat down, resting his arms on his knees. He looked at you — not the way a soldier looks at a survivor, but the way a man looks at something he almost lost.

“I thought I’d lose you,” he said quietly, his voice raw.

You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his knuckles. “But you didn’t lose me.”

He looked down at your hand in his, holding it a little tighter. “No. But for a moment, I thought I had.”

You exhaled softly, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve been through worse, haven’t you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. But this felt different. Watching that car chase, hearing your voice on the radio — it wasn’t just a mission. It was you.”

You let the silence hang between you for a moment, then said quietly, “Maybe it’s time we stop living like we’re waiting for the next disaster.”

He met your eyes, tired but clear. “Maybe it’s time to figure out what comes next.”

You studied his face — the faint bruises along his jaw, the fatigue in his eyes, but also the calm. It was new. And it felt real.

“You think we’ve got a shot at this?” you asked, your voice low.

He gave a slight smile. “We’ve been through enough. I don’t know what the future looks like, but I’d rather face it with you than without you.”

You laughed gently, your ribs aching with the motion. “That’s the most un-Bucky romantic line I’ve ever heard.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the edge of your bed. “Don’t get used to it.”

You grinned. “No promises.”

There was a pause. The room felt still, peaceful — like the world had slowed down just enough to let you breathe again.

“So... what now?” you asked.

Bucky gave your hand a light squeeze. “Now we take it slow. One step at a time. No rushing. No running.”

You nodded, the weight on your chest a little lighter. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And there was no urgency for the first time in a long while. Just the quiet possibility of something new.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

4 Years Later

Lori sat cross-legged on the soft rug in the living room, her little finger trailing under the words of a worn fairytale book. Her voice was animated, each sentence full of wonder.

“And then the princess said, ‘I don’t need a prince to save me — I’ve got dragons to tame!’”

Two twin toddler boys sat across from her, each holding a stuffed toy — one a plush lion, the other a squished airplane with a bent wing. They weren’t talking much yet, just babbling nonsense and giggling at the sound of her voice. But they were listening, eyes wide, fully locked in on the story.

Lori looked up and smiled at them. “You two don’t even know what a dragon is, do you?”

One of the twins drooled onto his lion, the other clapped like she’d just finished a Broadway performance.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “Guess I’ll have to teach you everything.”

Just then, the front door opened with a soft click, and a familiar voice called out, “We’re home.”

Lori’s eyes lit up as she looked over her shoulder.

You stepped in, shrugging off your coat, Bucky right behind you, holding a paper bag of leftover popcorn and drinks from the cinema. His hair was slightly windblown from the ride home, and he looked as tired as he was amused.

“How’s the movie?” Lori asked, hopping up with more energy than grace.

Bucky scoffed, tossing the bag onto the table. “Tsk. Five out of ten. Who the hell played my character?”

You grinned as you started pulling off your shoes. “He said that after I mentioned the actor was handsome.”

Lori gasped. “You said that in front of Uncle Bucky?”

You winked. “I like to keep him humble.”

The twins toddled toward Bucky, one holding out the bent-wing airplane. Bucky scooped them up easily, one in each arm, like it was second nature. They squealed, delighted, calling him “Buck-buck” in their half-formed baby language.

Lori’s attention shifted to the entryway table, where you had placed a single white rose in a thin glass vase. She stepped closer, her eyes softening.

“That’s…”

You nodded, voice quiet. “Yeah… visited him.”

Before the movie, you and Bucky had stopped by the cemetery — Henry’s grave. The moment had been quiet, no need for words. Just the two of you, standing there with a white rose and a shared memory.

After finding out that Henry had cancer, it brought the three of you closer. You traveled, shared laughter, arguments, stories, and pain. And six months later, Henry passed, surrounded by the only people who had truly seen him for who he was.

On his deathbed, he said, “No regrets. Not anymore. Not when you’re here.”

At the funeral, Lori cried harder than anyone. Losing Henry brought back every memory of her own father. The grief hit her like a storm. But you never left her side.

And when you asked her to be your flower girl for the wedding, something shifted. The sparkle returned. The stories returned. So did her laughter.

And now, four years later, you and Bucky had built something real. It hadn’t been easy — nothing worth keeping ever is. But you weren’t stuck in the past anymore. You’d fought for this life, and somehow, against all odds, you’d made it yours.

You sat down beside Lori, brushing her hair behind her ear as the twins giggled in the background.

“You were right,” you said softly.

She blinked. “About what?”

You smiled. “Romance is alive.”

She grinned, her nose scrunching in that familiar way. “Told you.”

Bucky stepped behind you, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. The sunlight pouring through the window made the room feel like a moment suspended in time — warm, safe, and finally, yours.

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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[seoll3miwrites]

'Cherry' | Fem!Y/N x Lyutsifer Safin

Masterlist Y/N is working undercover at a Strip Club in Vegas when she encounters Safin meeting with a potential supplier for his newest concoction, usually a top performing agent she suddenly finds herself being unable to tell a lie. (Word Count: 2553)

Warnings: Guns, Blood, Death, Drug usage, Drink spiking (but not by Safin)

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

“I said this was a terrible idea...” Y/N said as she adjusted the tight leather dress she’d been forced to wear.

“We just need to get the benefactor’s name; it shouldn’t take much longer.” Q explained as he checked his surveillance gear; he usually didn’t leave London, but Y/N had specifically requested Q join her as she trusted him the most.

“It’s been two weeks, Q...”

“Apparently someone’s booked the VIP booth tonight, so this might be the last night you have to do.”

MI6 had been trailing a possible drug ring that operated in Las Vegas; rumours had spread a drug that completely erases a person's ability to lie, making them more controllable. As one of the youngest female agents, Y/N was assigned to go undercover at one of the target strip clubs and figure out who was funding the operation. They’d found a job at a club called ‘Bunny Girls’ and inserted Y/N in as Cherry, the club’s newest waitress.

“Anyway, you’re running late for your shift, so go go go.” As he spoke, Q pushed her out of the small building he’d been operating from. Once Y/N was outside, she huffed before walking around the corner and entering the club she was undercover at.

"Cherry, just the girl I want to see.” The club owner greeted her as she entered the dressing room, “The VIP booth is booked tonight, so I want all your attention on our big spenders.”

Y/N bat her eyes, taking on the role of Cherry once again. “Sure thing, boss,” she said, earning an appreciative look from the owner. Once he left, she sat down in her chair and started getting ready.

When the club opened an hour later, Y/N had her hair curled and her makeup completed, the glitter on her eyes making them sparkle under the club. Standing, she readjusted her dress one more time before making her way on to the main club floor.

“Hey Cherry!” John, the barman, greeted her as she stepped behind the bar. “You dressed up pretty tonight.”

She repressed the urge to roll her eyes; ever since she’d gone undercover, John had taken every opportunity to shamelessly flirt with her. According to the other girls, he took it as tradition to sleep with all the new starters.

“I’m dressed the same as I usually do, John,” Y/N stated, and she started getting the VIP buckets prepped, filling them with ice. 

He simply smiled at her. “I know..." John titled his down as she crouched to pull out the bottles for the ice buckets. “But I think you get hotter every night.”

“Does that line usually work?” She stood back up and started placing the bottle in the buckets.

“Don’t pretend it isn’t working on you.” He leans into her space as he speaks; Y/N backs up slightly.

“I’ve got a job to do so…” As she speaks, she gestures to the two buckets she needed to take to the VIP booth.

"Well, before you go, at least taste test my newest drink.” She sees a shot glass slide across the counter in front of her. “It’s cherry-flavoured.”

Y/N is about to say no; tell him to fuck off with his desperate attempts to seduce her, but instead she just sighs and drinks the shot quickly so she can continue this night without any more problems. He’s right, it does taste like cherries; it’s sweet and a little tart, but Y/N still finds herself enjoying it. Placing the glass down, she turns to John, “Happy now?”

“Very, now go on; we can talk later.” He had a strange look on his face, but Y/N decided to just leave it until later. She walks back out of the bar while carrying the two buckets, heading to the VIP booth.

In the booth are what seems to be two different groups of men, clearly some ‘business’ discussing some type of criminal partnership. One group Y/N recognises as an infamous casino owner and drug dealer in Las Vegas, but the other is an enigma. Her eyes scan the second group; they seem more professional than the first group. The first group greets her with cheers and whistles while they keep their expressions guarded.

Sitting in the middle of the booth are the two leaders of the groups. The first group’s leader is an older man, dressed in what you’d expect a mob boss to dress in. The second is younger but still mature-looking; his face is covered in scarring that reminds Y/N of lighting; it’s eerily beautiful. His blue eyes are calculating as he looks at her; he seems almost amused.

Shaking off his gaze, Y/N retakes her ‘Cherry’ persona: “Hello Gentlemen, welcome to Bunny Girls; I’m Cherry, and I’ll be your waitress this evening; anything you need, just give me a call.” She finishes her introduction with a flirty wink.

The scarred man doesn’t speak to her instead choosing to whisper to his companion, who looks at her. Instead, the other leader turns to her with a leer. “This is why I like this place; they always give us the pretty ones.”

He gestures to the space between him and the scarred man, “Come sit with us, darling.”

Y/N hesitates for a moment and glances at the scarred man subconsciously, who simply gives her a subtle nod. As she moves towards the empty space beside him, her heart beats faster. She feels the man’s gaze on her, causing shivers to spread through her body.

The other man put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, leaning in close. “What’s a pretty thing like you working in a place like this?”

Her body feels hot suddenly, and thinking it’s just from the men's body heat, she ignores it. “Just making sure you lovely gentlemen enjoy your night.” She answers, but a part of her feels compelled to keep speaking; she bites her lip to stop herself.

“Not what I mean, darling,” the man responds, “I mean, how’d a girl like you end up here and not under the arm of some billionaire?”

Without thinking, she blurts out an answer: "Well, I didn’t want to work here, but my boss made me.”

‘Why are you saying this?’ Y/N thinks confused with herself; her mind feels cloudy, and her body starts to loosen. She keeps thinking back to that cherry-flavoured shot she’d drank. ‘Shit… I’ve been drugged.

The scarred man leans back to look at her; his eyes suggest he’s thinking of something. “Interesting…” His voice is deep and hoarse with a thick Russian accent. “And why did he make you work here?”

“We need information on a potential drug ring; the drug currently circulating could compromise The Crown’s security.” She needed to get out of here before she’d kept talking, but she couldn’t move.

He leaned in closer, assessing her carefully. Close enough to smell, she inhaled sharply—florals and something else. Y/N felt out of control; her body wasn’t computing with her mind anymore. He spoke in a low whisper, “And why would a girl like you care about the safety of the crown?”

This was bad; it was clear this man knew Y/N had been drugged. “She’s a goddam spy!” The other man yelled alarm as he pulled his hand away and stood, his men following suit. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it towards her.

The scarred man's smirk widened as he watched the scene play out, the revelation of her identity causing a shift in the room. The other man is now pointing a weapon at her. He remained calm, unmoving. He was amused by the development, intrigued by the young women.

"A spy? How intriguing." He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, his voice dripping with a hint of mockery.

"You have quite the nerve, Miss..." He let the question hang in the air, waiting for her response.

“Y/L/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” She said through gritted teeth, still trying to resist the effects of the drugs, forcing her body to stand.

Safin chuckled softly, appreciating her determination. "Miss Y/L/N..." He savoured the way her name rolled off his tongue. "How interesting, a spy from MI6.”

He watched her struggle to stand, her attempts to resist the effects of the drugs in vain. His eyes scanned her figure and the way her body moved uncontrollably. There was something so enticing about the way she was fighting, the way she was losing her composure.

He stood slowly, walking towards her. His voice was low, almost seductive. Y/N was overwhelmed with how this man was able to effect her, but trying to regain her dignity, she held her head high and responded, “You never introduced yourself, sir.”

"Ah, forgive me, where are my manners?” He spoke, standing to move in front of her, his eyes predatory. “I am Doctor Lyutsifer Safin.”

She stepped back from him in fear but froze when she felt the end of the gun. The other man was still aiming towards her. The man she now knew as Safin watched her carefully, “Leave us; we will discuss our business later.” He spoke to the other group, not taking his eyes off the young agent.

The other men left without hesitation, their gazes lingering on Safin and the young agent before they exited the VIP booth. As soon as they were alone, the atmosphere changed drastically. The club around them was still alive—the music, the laughter, the dancing. She could hear the announcer introduce another girl as the crowd cheered. But in their isolated vicinity, it was almost quiet, almost intimate.

He took another step towards her. “You... don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Should I?" She couldn’t move, allowing him to take a mother step forward, their chests almost touching. 

He smiled slightly amused by her response, reaching a hand to trace his finger along her jawline, his touch as light as a feather. “You’re the one undercover, spying on my people.”

“I was given a very... limited mission assignment.” She explained, giving up on stopping herself when it was clear nothing could, “We didn’t know who we were looking for.”

His touch became more purposeful, fingertips gliding down her arm, feeling her body shiver under his touch. His eyes roamed over her face, observing her closely. "Who sent you here, Miss Y/L/N?"

“I think you already know," she spoke, trying to hold onto the last piece of information her drugged mind hadn’t given up.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. His voice was a whisper; she could feel his breath on her neck. “I want you to say it out loud.”

Y/N clenched her eyes shut, unable to hold back any longer, “I work for MI6.”

She heard Safin hum seemingly pleased with her response. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh just a little harder.

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching her neck, his breath hot and heavy against her skin.

"Good girl..." he murmured. "Now tell me, are you alone in this operation?”

"I...” she could feel herself speak, about to expose the entire operation, when another dancer, Honey, stepped into the booth. “Cherry, you’re needed at the bar.”

Safin's eyes met those of the dancer. His gaze hardened at the unexpected intrusion, but he let go of Y/N. He took a step back, looking between the two women. "Miss Y/L/N and I are still having our conversation."

Sensing an opportunity to escape, Y/N moved to the entrance of the booth before speaking, “I should go see what they need; it was a pleasure meeting you, Doctor Safin.”

She left before he could react, but instead of going to the bar, she went to the dressing room. Grabbing her bag, she escaped through the backdoors, hoping to reconvene with Q. As she moved through the parking lot, texting Q that she’d been compromised, a voice behind her made her freeze. “Going somewhere?”

As she turned, she came face to face with John, but his face was different from his usual personality. His eyes were dark and narrow as he stared at her. Her hand reached into her grab to grip her gun, and she spoke, “You drugged me.”

John chuckled at her accusation, clearly amused by her realisation. "Drugged you? I was simply making you comfortable.”

“What did you give me?” She asked, thankful the night air was helping to clear her head. “Where did you get it from?”

“A friend of mine hooked me up; it's... experimental, but most of the girls have enjoyed it.” John admitted no longer seeing the need to hide, taking a step forward.

As he began to approach, Y/N pulled her gun from her pocket, aiming at him. “Stay right there!”

John smirked at her, nearly laughing, “Give me a break; you’re just a stripper... what damage could you do?”

“You have no idea." She tried to steady her hand, but it still trembled slightly. She was coming down from the drug, but it’d still be a while.

Josh ignored the gun and began to run towards her, planning to ambush her and knock her down. He nearly reached her when suddenly his body fell and blood sprayed on her face. Y/N looked at her in confusion; she hadn’t fired.

Her eyes looked from her gun down to John's body, breathing heavily from the adrenaline. She looked up from the body and was face-to-face once again with Safin. He was holding a small silenced pistol, the muzzle still smoking.

Y/N shuffles on her feet slightly under his intense stare. He seems allured by the crimson splatter now staining her face, stepping closer, causing her to take a step back. She’s still breathing heavily and tries to catch her breath.

“Most people would thank the person that saved their life.” He spoke as he calmly handed his gun to his second in command.

“I had it handled.”

"Oh, I’m sure you did.” Safin replied almost mockingly.

A car’s horn sounded, causing Y/N to finally turn away from him; just down the road, she recognised the lights of Q’s car. Without speaking again, she sprinted down the street and flung the door open. Throwing her bag in, she was about to jump inside too, but she paused. Turning back for a moment, her eyes once again met the piercing blue of Lyutsifer Safin, and you both knew this wouldn’t be the last encounter.

As Y/N hopped into the car, she ignored Q’s rapid questions and closed her eyes. She sighed as she ran through the last hour through her head; her face was still wet with John’s blood, but she didn’t have the energy to wipe it off. Resting her head on the window, she fell asleep as her friend quickly drove them away from Las Vegas and towards their extraction point.

Safin watched as the car you entered pulled away and quickly raced from the scene; it was only as the car turned the corner did he finally look away. He briefly looked at the body on the ground before he began giving orders to his men. “Get rid of the body,” he stated as he began to walk away, “and find me anything you can on Y/N Y/L/N”.

AN: Part 2 out now!

[wisteriaandwafers]

Ohmygod!!! I loved that so much. She was already hyper cool with her seamless organization and now it makes sense. I want to keep her. She stole him from potential kidnappers

🤣🤣

Policy & Procedure | Part 4 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 3k words

Bucky finally faces the public and is thrilled you've come along too. More than one alarm bell rings when the emergency system is triggered.

Warnings: 18+ implied sexual content and discussion of sex, inappropriate workplace behaviour! kissing, dry humping if you squint, canon typical violence.

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 3 | Bucky Barnes

How the fuck was he supposed to work now he knew how delicious you tasted? He'd answered so many of his own questions in that suite.

Now he knew what your thighs looked like in hold up stockings, he knew your nipples were as pert as he imagined, the perfect cherry on top of your beautiful breasts, his hands had cupped them gently while he licked and teased you. He knew how you looked when you came, your lips parted, eyes wild, hands clutching at him as if you couldn't believe it.

He knew you liked a ludicrous amount of cream in your coffee and, though you wake up early, you like to lounge around awhile rather than starting your day.

Bucky had the pleasure of seeing you marked with his cum and fresh from the shower, tired with mascara smudged around your eyes and your fresh face in the morning sun.

And he also didn't know how the fuck he'd be able to give you up now he'd had you.

He'd been watching you all morning, the way your skirt hugged your ass just right. He'd seen that ass bent over the end of the bed, seen you soapy and slick in the shower, felt the warmth of you pressed against him while you slept.

Bucky had spent the entire weekend fantasising about seeing you again, inviting you to his apartment for a romantic dinner, meeting you for drinks with his friends. Would you let him put his arm around you? Would you kiss him on the cheek? Hand him a beer? Let him drive you home?

The weekend had gone in a flash of daydreaming.

And now he was responding to questions for some article and pretending he didn't want you in his lap instead.

That was a thought, you sat in his lap while he worked…

"Join me for lunch," Bucky offered, pushing aside his laptop so he had a clear view of you across his office. If anything, you were even more gorgeous now and he couldn't get enough of staring at you all day.

The door had been left ajar and you leaned back in your chair to see who else was around, lengthening your neck and revealing a strip of skin between your open shirt collar. He wanted to kiss it. Now.

"Okay," you grinned, shutting the door quietly before kicking your shoes off and practically running across the office. Bucky opened his arms and you curled yourself into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and kissed him.

It was exactly what he'd been hoping for. His hands cupped your cheeks, keeping you close before sliding down you shoulders and back. You gave an impatient wiggle, pressing yourself close and moving his hands down onto the swell of your hips and ass.

Bucky gave your bottom lip a nip, "behave," he whispered, without a hint of real intent. He was far too caught up to want you to stop. Not when you felt so good above him, warm and soft and real. This wasn't a sordid fantasy anymore, but it didn't stop his imagination running wild.

He stood, tipping you back onto the desk and it was exactly as he'd dreamed. Surprised, you sprawled back amongst his papers, grinning with excitement before grabbing his tie and pulling him back down.

He tucked his hands behind your knees, wrapping your legs around his hips so he could press his growing hardness between your legs.

"Mr Barnes," you groaned into his mouth, and he slipped his tongue between your lips. You sucked on it in time to the slow roll of his hips and Bucky lost every thought he'd ever had.

"You're killing me, sweetheart," he spoke his words into your neck, kissing down towards your shoulder and that delicious hint of cleavage he'd been admiring all morning.

You pulled back, lips shiny with his kisses and nuzzled his neck.

"We really should have lunch though, you have to give that talk later, about mutants and artificially enhanced people working together." Your words tickled against him, your lips brushing against his pulse.

"Please don't remind me of work when I'm between your legs." He groaned, spreading his hands out underneath your untucked shirt, enjoying your soft skin.

"Really? What if I called you sir," you purred it in that way that made Bucky's cock impossibly hard.

"Now you're cheating." He smiled, pressing open mouthed kisses on your cheek.

"How about, we eat lunch here, like this and then when you get back from your speech later. Maybe we can pick up where we left off." You fiddled with his tie, stroking nibble fingers up and down the silk. He loved the gentle pressure it applied to the back of his neck, it matched the way he felt drawn to you in every other way.

"Here?" Bucky raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"If you like." You tugged on his tie and placed a single kiss on his lips before sliding from the table gracefully, "sir."

Sam met Bucky backstage and shook him by the shoulders, "look at you, all grown up and giving speeches."

"I'm at least seventy years older than you, Sam." Bucky deadpanned, but he couldn't keep the small twitch of a smile from his face.

Together they peered around the curtain to look at the audience. Mostly made up of other politicians, but also a mutant advocacy group from Dr Xavier's school, Jennifer Walters, Bruce's cousin, and a few of her lawyer colleagues, some military personnel scattered about and he was sure he'd seen Pepper Potts at the bar earlier too.

It did feel good. He also felt like he was going to throw up.

And then he felt like he needed to see you and his stomach lurched in a different way.

"Remember, this is easier than fighting aliens." Sam joked, "but if you wanna swap places I can bail you out, Joaquín has his wings, we'll fly you over to your place in five minutes."

"Thanks, buddy." Bucky gave Sam a genuine smile. "I've got this." He shook his shoulders and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I've got this."

"Who knew assassins got stage fright." Sam muttered, stage whispering at Bucky as he melted back into the mess of corridors backstage.

Bucky waited until he saw him take his seat next to Joaquín, and then looked up and saw you stood in the corner too. You didn't have a seat but you were leaning against the backwall, arms crossed over your folders.

You lifted your hand and waved your fingers, smiling. He couldn't help smiling either and gave you a wink before striding out onto the stage.

He focused on you as his intro played, he didn't care about anyone else now. As long as you were watching, he could do this.

The speech came out a little more forthright than he'd been intending it to be, he was far more nervous than he could've imagined standing up for his rights in such a specific way. But seeing you there, knowing you supported what he was doing enough to come here alone, it meant a lot and buoyed his confidence.

Bucky was surprised by the positive reaction in the room too, especially after the events with the Flagsmashers had been so widely televised. But he had Sam to thank for that, his excellent reputation and incredible work so far as Captain America had certainly helped smooth the way with some of his more difficult audience members.

People liked having something to believe in, a figurehead, a hero, and though he didn't want to be fighting aliens and villains anymore (or androids or wizards), he didn't want to take a backseat either.

One of the sound techs removed his microphone and helped him back out into the main seating area.

Sam was still at his table with Joaquín and a few of their army buddies, a familiar crowd that Bucky found it easy to blend in to, even if there were some new faces.

"Good job up there, Mr Politics," Sam grinned while Joaquín nudged his shoulder.

"That was awesome, you really gave it to 'em, the Raft sounds fucking awful." The younger man whispered while Sam grimaced. "Saw your glamorous assistant as well."

Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Still not going to kiss and tell?" Sam raised an eyebrow and Bucky wondered if you had told him something.

"Nothing at all to tell either way." Bucky picked the olive from the martini in front of him, grimacing, "did you order this as a punishment or something?"

"Don't change the subject," Sam hissed, "you were seen heading back to your room the other night, you know you were at a party full of spies and heroes, right?"

"Samuel-"

"James?"

"We can't talk about this here, but yeah, I saw her at the back too, and yes I'm glad she's here and maybe she did go to my suite the other night and you're right, a gentleman doesn't say anything. Now can you leave me the fuck alone so I can listen to the next speaker?"

"You owe me ten dollars." Joaquín held his hand out towards Sam, "now."

"Bleedin' me dry kid, don't spend it all at once." Sam slapped a note into a smug looking Joaquín's hand.

"Were you guys betting on me sleeping with her?" Bucky looked horrified, embarrassment filling his veins like cold water.

"No, we were betting on you admitting she went to your room. You blurting out you've slept with her is just a delicious bonus. Well worth ten dollars." Sam grinned again, sipping is drink.

The room cleared slowly, but Bucky could still see you lurking by the bar from the corner of his eye. If he was honest with himself, he could smell your perfume too. So fresh and sweet, it had to be you and for once he was thankful for his enhanced senses so he could take a deep breath and relax himself.

As soon as it felt safe to leave, you turned and took a side door and Bucky followed swiftly, catching up to you in what looked like a staging area full of spare chairs and stacks of table linen.

"Did you really come here after hours just to see my speech?" Bucky tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks in the hope that he could look more nonchalant. Throwing himself at you probably wasn't a very attractive look.

"Lucky for you I'm an excellent assistant, very-" you took his tie between your fingers and slid them down, tugging him closer, "dedicated."

"Hmm, is that right." Bucky let you tug his head down a little and you angled your head for a kiss, lips brushing against his.

It took all his will power to pull back, hands still firmly in his pockets. "Not here, sweetheart."

You pouted, perfect, that's exactly what he was hoping for. Your lovely lips pressed out towards him, the playful glint in your eye, hanging on to him.

"Come back to my place, my car's in the garage."

This was what he wanted, what he'd planned. There was fresh, expensive, coffee in the fridge, fruit and yogurt and pastries on order for breakfast, candles in the bedroom, a spare dressing gown that just happened to be brand new in his en-suite.

He'd asked his housekeeper to come round an extra time to help him make sure everything was perfect. He needed it to be perfect, so he could have you in his space for the first time. He'd hoped to invite you back some time this week, maybe take you to dinner first, out for cocktails or a walk along the river, and then he'd drive you back, hold your hand as you went through the front door for the first time. Watch you explore this secret part of himself.

"Mr Barnes, why would I do that when you won't even give me a little kiss. I don't think I will." You dropped his tie with a shrug and turned to go. "Maybe someone else wants to kiss me, is Charlie still here?"

He loved it, this little game, you knew exactly how much teasing was fun before you fell into his arms and he was determined you'd be in his arms all night.

Bucky followed and wrapped himself around you, chin on your shoulder he dropped his voice to a low, growling whisper, "come back to mine and you can have your kiss, I'll kiss every inch of you sweetheart."

There it was, the way you dropped your shoulders back into him, letting him take your weight, the soft sigh as he tightened his grip and the rub of your thighs together.

"Every inch?" You asked, coyly, looking over your shoulder and he kissed you gently, holding you against him and shutting out everything else.

Somewhere deep in the building an alarm sounded and chaos descended. An alarm on the ceiling filled the room with red, flashing, light and you turned to Bucky with wide eyes.

Bucky's instincts kicked in immediately, and he was glad he'd taken the time to pick up a knife and gun before leaving his apartment in the morning. It was a habit he was trying to kick, but now he pulled the SIG from his chest holster with his right hand and tucked you slightly behind him with his left, keeping you both angled against the wall as he made his way towards the door secreted into the back wall marked Private with a neat gold plaque.

Gun first, he made sure the way was clear.

"This way." Bucky tucked his arm around your waist and led you at a brisk walk down the narrow corridor and towards another door with a larger Staff Only sign, this time in red. Not waiting to see if it was open, he forced the lock with a firm punch and hustled you through, checking behind him before shutting it.

His heart raced.

It'd been a long time since he had to protect any civilians, but it felt as natural as breathing to feel you next to him, still close, while he kept you safe.

The long service corridor was a shock of plain concrete floor and bare breeze block compared to the luxury of the hotel you'd left behind, but you didn't take time to notice anything but the door at the end of the hall.

"That should be the parking garage, my car's in there."

Bucky looked through the small window, checking that it was clear again before sticking his head out. An unknown car pulled up and Bucky hesitated, not recognising the driver. They had a smart black suit on and certainly looked the part, but no name tag or lanyard and, after months spent based in his office it was a strange absence.

"Mr Barnes, it's okay, they're from the office, get in." You said taking charge quickly, your familiar professional tone louder than the still blaring alarm.

Bucky stared for a moment and attempted to pull you away, "it's fine, Mr Barnes. You first, sir, remember." You nudged him closer and his stomach flipped. Something just didn't feel quite right to him.

The driver smiled, all teeth, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Fine," Bucky growled, climbing in and reaching his hand out for you.

But you didn't get in.

Bucky watched in slow motion, his heart breaking as you lifted a finger to your ear and pressed, turning away from the driver.

"Wolf One is secure, destination…secure five, copy that."

You'd whispered, but he heard it loud and clear.

Bucky stared in disbelief as you moved towards the driver's seat of the car. All of his senses were on edge, skin prickling and preparing for a fight. What the hell just happened?

The driver who had opened the door gave you a once over with a leer and Bucky clenched his fits, but before he could get too angry you'd removed your stiletto and hit him with it, the heel digging into the flesh of his arm before you tore it away leaving the man screaming on the garage floor.

Sweeping your dress around you, you slid into the driver's seat and hit the gas.

"What the fuck was that?!" He shouted.

Bucky's heart raced, everything he'd done just to get himself kidnapped like a silly child taking sweets from the back of a van.

"That," you checked behind you before sliding the car into reverse and winding away from an incoming SUV, "was some asshole. Don't worry about him." You swung the car backwards around a corner before screeching away again.

"My assistant just stabbed a guy with her shoe and you want me to not worry!?"

"I'm a very good assistant." You flashed him a smile and revved the car, fishtailing out into the early evening. The sun was low, casting long shadows between the buildings. A lorry had stopped further up the street, the back empty and two men dressed in black flanking the doors waving the car in

"Hell no."

You through the car into a sharp right,weaving between the traffic with ease while Bucky scrambled into the front seat.

"See good assistant, now you haven't been kidnapped by some idiots."

"I'm being kidnapped by you apparently. Pull over. "

"Stop being dramatic." You didn't even look up, shifting gear and taking a left. Bucky watched the lorry from between the junctions closing the back and pulling out far to quickly. "We need to lose them. "

"Pull. Over." Bucky pressed the muzzle of the gun into your ribs and you laughed, laughed.

"You won't shoot me." You smiled, easing the car into the slow moving rush hour traffic out of the city.

"Why wouldn't I if I think you're a threat. "

"Because you don't want me to crash the car, you don't want to ruin your campaign and go to prison, you want to know what's happening and, you like me. Sir." You shot him a knowing smile, and you looked so similar to how you'd been before, playful and beautiful but there was a new steel behind your eyes.

God damn it you were right. And god damn it he was still obsessed with you.

Part 5 ->

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Your honor, they were watering down my favorite character and not letting them be a jerk.

[luvcaleb]

EYES ON ME.

nsfw (18+). i really did not mean for this to be a whole fic but i just kept typing. and typing. and typing... anyway, here are the usual cws: blowjob, cunnilingulus, corruption kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, marathon sex (sylus is starved), more yearning than you'd expect from a sugar daddy fic, and side note that sylus is older than you here (you decide how much lol). likes and reblogs will be very appreciated!

pov: you're a barista at the cafe sylus usually orders at and he overhears you saying you want to try being a sugar baby to make more money.

sylus generally avoids interacting with ordinary citizens. for one, they live in a separate world from him, and two, he'd rather not drag other people into unnecessary trouble.

you are no exception to this rule he placed upon himself. or at least, you should be.

but he can't help being drawn to your sunny smile, undeterred despite his intimidating appearance. he can't help but relax his shoulders when you greet him “welcome!” in a warm, gentle voice. he can't help but ask you how your day went, listen to your complaints, and chuckle fondly when you say something particularly funny.

and he can't help but notice how your sunny smile has diminished the past few weeks, weighed down by late nights and endless work juggling several part-time jobs to get by and pay the debt your father left behind.

so when he overhears you saying you want to try having a sugar daddy, he moves against his better judgment.

it's not hard to track you down in a shady site. even easier to lure you with an enticing price, better than any old, rich fool can offer.

and really, sylus doesn't plan on doing anything to you. this is somewhat like a donation, he convinces himself. that's all there is to it. he's not being possessive.

he pays you for your time. feels amused seeing you sit beside him with an almost visible question mark on your face, not knowing what to do. sure, you have a general idea what sugar babies do, but it was probably not simply watching an old romance movie while snacking on finger foods.

you think it must be some sort of foreplay, but he drives you home. the next time he calls you over, you eat together in a who-knows-how-many-stars restaurant in a tall skyscraper overlooking the city, which ends in a similar fashion. in the next, he takes you shopping and fills your closet with luxury brands, yet again ending the day with a drive to your shabby apartment.

and it's nice. it's really nice. to the point it's too good to be true. from the very beginning when you learned your client wasn't going to be an old geezer, you already thought you lucked out. but with sylus practically treating you as his girlfriend, leaving nothing to be desired, things couldn't be better. you can't even consider the possibility of being sylus's side chick that he's cheating with because there's nothing for him to gain from this arrangement. if you really think about it, sylus is basically throwing you all his money.

you think you can leave things like this. after all, you have nothing to complain about.

but on one of your gigs taking up a friend's waitress shift at a fancy restaurant, you see sylus with a woman.

they're both well-dressed. sylus always is, but now even more so with his styled hair and clean, crisp suit. the woman looks gorgeous in her champagne dress, all smooth silk and beautiful curves. the men around her can't help but stare.

he leads her to a table. pulls out her chair for her. smirks at her as they exchange friendly banter, looking like the picture-perfect couple.

a cold settles deep in your chest, even if you have no right to feel bad. you don't have the right to feel upset because it isn't like you're bound by any serious relationship.

but for the rest of the night, you try to avoid their table. you hope he hasn't taken notice of you, but that's probably wishful thinking considering you've felt an intense gaze on your back all this while.

eventually, they leave, and so do you. as you walk home, you try to dissect why you felt so awful. is it because he might cut you off now that he's interested in another woman? it must be. once he breaks off whatever you have, you're going to have a hard time finding someone else to mooch off of. you'll be back to the same old dreary lifestyle; the magic has worn off, and cinderella has to be miserable again.

but it isn't just that, even if it should be. you shouldn't feel so shitty seeing him with another girl if you only saw him as a client. somewhere along the line, you've started appreciating his quiet smiles, his teasing smirk, his kind gaze. there's something soft about his innocent touches, tucking your hair behind your ear or his thumb wiping away cake frosting on your cheek.

and you hate the idea of him doing all of that to that woman he was with.

“you should pay more attention to your surroundings, sweetheart.”

sylus interrupts your thoughts. you turn to look at the street beside you where you find sylus leaning against his car. waiting.

you hesitate only for a moment. you get in, and he drives you home. the silence is unsettlingly tense, so different from the comfortable quiet you've grown used to in your past drives.

eventually, you bring yourself to speak. “let's go to your house.”

sylus says, “i haven't asked for your services tonight.” it's soft, teasing, and most importantly, it's not a no.

the familiar manor comes into view, grand and imposing as always. he opens the car door for you. asks to carry your bag. unlocks the front door.

he drops it when you push him down the plush sofa, catching him by surprise. you've never quite seen him as stunned as he is now, stock still as you press your mouth against his. clumsy. unsure. yet eager. his fingers tangle in your hair, unmoving for just a moment, but soon he manages to tear himself away.

“i didn't ask for you to do this.”

he hasn't. he probably never intended to do this sort of thing in the first place.

but it isn't like he doesn't want to. his voice is strained. he's still holding you, as if afraid you'll pull away once you realize this is a bad idea. he's staring at you like you're the only thing that matters.

and you realize that you enjoy this attention. you like having his hands around you. you like him doting on you. you like him looking at you.

you don't want him to look at anyone else.

and, you come to realize, you want this just as much as he does.

---

there's a sense of clumsiness when you wrap your hands around his cock, hesitant and unpracticed. you seem as if you've never done this before. sylus should not be as thrilled as he feels at this discovery.

perhaps he should be a little turned off. but his dick feels the hardest it's ever been when you start giving kitten licks to his tip, innocently looking up at him through your lashes like you're asking for praise.

he murmurs filth under his breath when your lips close around his head, sucking at a spot that makes him shudder. he forces his hips to stay absolutely still even if he wants to destroy your throat. he can't afford to scare you away now. not when you're finally within his reach.

yet sylus can't help but run his hand through your hair, pulling you closer. making you take him in deeper. guiding your head as you bob up and down. you're gurgling around his cock, spit dripping from your mouth, tears in the corner of your eyes. so obviously struggling but still sucking more of him in, eager to please. you choke when his cock hits the back of your throat, and still, you hollow your cheeks, licking everywhere you could.

and that does it for him, making him finish much, much quicker than he means to. his cum fills your mouth, warm thick streams that overflow from your lips. he doesn't expect you to swallow, ready to catch with his palm, but you gulp it all down like a good girl.

sylus's chest fills with deep satisfaction. he tells you well-deserved praise as he showers your face with pecks, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes bitter but oh so nauseatingly sweet.

he wants to reward you for being a good girl, you he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, pressing down on your thighs as he digs in. the first lick on your pretty pussy makes you yelp, legs kicking out in surprise. he gives your thighs a warning squeeze, and by the second, you're obediently staying as still as you can, whimpering to your palm.

you taste as sweet as you look, and sylus hums contently as he licks up all your slick and it never runs out. you moan so nicely for him when he laps at your clit, continuously flicking his tongue at the small bud, and you all but scream when he sucks it hard, tangling your fingers in his hair and jerking up your hips.

he doesn't complain when you ride his face, staring intently at your expression twisted in pleasure. your mouth is shaped around an ‘o’, eyes rolling back as he dares to slip his tongue inside your hole. he rubs your engorged clit with a rough thumb, fucking in and out your pussy with his tongue, groaning amidst the lewd symphony of squelches.

he hasn't planned on touching you, no. but he's thought of it countless times on nights he felt especially lonely after you left. imagined you on his lap, fondling your soft chest, playing with your cute pussy. he wondered what spots made you feel good, where you'd be sensitive. what faces you'd make when he touched them.

sylus doesn't have to wonder anymore, committing the sinful sight to memory. you've always been cute, but he thinks you're even more adorable now, squirming as he gently eases a finger inside you. you're wet enough to fit two, but it's still quite tight; it might take a while before you can take him in. he presses a reassuring kiss on your inner thigh when he finds your g-spot, telling you to stay still and be good.

so sylus spends a bit of time between your legs, adding more fingers as he laps away at your clit. at your first orgasm, he fucks you through it, not stopping his hand until the spray of cum has ceased. by the second, you've drenched his sheets and his arm, but by the way you're moaning his name almost incoherently, you don't want him to stop.

on the verge of a third, a fourth finger teasing at your entrance, you're begging him to fuck you. sylus has felt close to bursting for a while, so he doesn't complain. he rubs his cock between your wet folds, tapping at your clit with the head. slicking his cock with your juices as he marvels at how tiny you seem under him, the length of him intimidatingly massive laying on your stomach.

when he pops the tip of his cock inside, you clench around him immediately, warm and so goddamn tight. he can't slide it in one, smooth thrust; he fucks it inside bit by bit, observing your face for any signs of pain, but all he sees is a dazed, drooling slut, crying out his name and for him to put it all inside her. he shushes you, reasoning he has to be slow, but he's very well on the edge of his patience.

when his cock is halfway in, you turn into a shuddering, sobbing mess. his tip has poked somewhere sensitive, and when he grinds against it, you squirt hard, spraying cum on his abs. he laughs in disbelief, meanly rubbing tight circles on your clit to make your orgasm last longer.

once sylus has finally bottomed out, he whispers endless compliments to your ear, hands roaming around your skin. he can't stop his hips from thrusting, tirelessly fucking in and out of your soaked cunt with vigor he hasn't had in years. sylus doesn't consider himself the vocal type, but now he can't shut up about how pretty you are, how good and sweet you are for him. how nice and tight your cute pussy feels, how you're made to take in his huge cock.

he uses you the way he imagines in his dirty fantasies, like a whore he pays to bed. yet at the same time, you're his precious little princess, the one person he shouldn't hurt. the one person he should treat with utmost care. the one person that should stay untainted by the filthy world.

but you're moaning so loud, enjoying being his little slut. you want to be fucked hard and fast, fingerprints on your hips and waist. you want to be bred full of his cum and do it all over again. you want to be his.

so sylus takes you in all the ways he knows how. on your back. on your knees. on his lap. he lets you ride him, fucking up into your cunt when you get tired. he takes you against the wide, clear window panes, uncaring if someone might have seen. he fucks you while standing, holding up all of your weight, making you watch yourself on the mirror as he thrusts inside. he never once pulls out when he cums, your pussy crammed with his hot, milky loads.

you make a mess everywhere, but you don't have time to worry about it. you don't even worry about the chances of getting pregnant, being pumped full of sylus's cum. even if you did end up pregnant, sylus keeps going on and on about wanting you to be his pretty wife, that he won't let you want for nothing, that he'll provide for your every need if you'll just stay with him.

and in the face of his love, bordering on desperate obsession, you don't even know why you were ever worried about him falling for anyone else.

from the moment he laid eyes on you, he couldn't look away.

[chrisfavdrink]

oh i’m not fucking ready for this…

i will be (un)patiently waiting for part one 😌

ㅤㅤINTRODUCTION . . . SPY!MATT X SPY!READER

ㅤㅤㅤspy!matt

arrogantㅤㅤwealthyㅤㅤcockyㅤㅤinflated egoㅤㅤactually a geniusㅤㅤloves pissing spy!reader off on purposeㅤㅤcant keep his mouth shutㅤㅤblack shirts and a white tieㅤㅤcan get away from any problemㅤㅤdrives a bikeㅤㅤgenuinely regrets what he did to reader in the past

ㅤㅤㅤspy!reader

smartㅤㅤcan keep her emotions in checkㅤㅤwitty comebacksㅤㅤclaims to hate matt with burning passionㅤㅤblack cat personalityㅤㅤcant driveㅤㅤpreciseㅤㅤone of the best spiesㅤㅤalways treats matt's wounds after missionsㅤㅤdistantㅤㅤcold glaresㅤㅤusually gets paired with matt for missions

MISSION #1: [ IN PROGRESS ]

MISSION #2: [ YOU DONT HAVE ACCESS TO THIS YET ]

MISSION #3: ? ? ?

[nottslove]

ON CAMERA

Pairing: hacker!theo x spy!reader 1.1k words Summary: theo nott, professional, wanted hacker, has been keeping a close eye on you, the spy hired to track him down. little do you know, the more you search, the harder the search grows— mainly because theo knows you're looking for him. after following a lead blindly, you somehow land in danger and theo, who has been watching you, calls the cops to pull you out of your risky situation. as a thank you, he expects a little show...

Warnings: 18+, smut under the cut, voyeurism, somewhat stalking, exploitation, semi-public, dirty talk, cursing, not for minors.

WATCHING you had become an obsession. That was almost all he did, day and night.

Every room, every corner of your house was monitored. At first, he tried to convince himself he was doing it because it was his job. But when he began to skip sleeping to watch you sleep, he realized it ran much deeper than just that.

You, of course, were clueless about the whole ordeal. You performed your routine as you normally did, without ever suspecting that you were being hacked, watched.

You woke up early, trained in your private training room, practiced firing shots, worked out in your personal indoor gym, went for a swim, then ate and used your computer to follow up on your latest mission.

You were supposed to find one of the most wanted hackers in the country, whose identity was a complete secret, and you were positive you had a name, and perhaps a location.

Theo was watching, a smirk plastered across his lips as you searched for him. But he was too good.

His identity had remained a secret for a long time, and would continue to remain so until he decided otherwise.

"Oh, pretty girl, you'll never find me," he crooned, a soft chuckle spilling past his lips as every link you clicked took you to a dead end.

Frustrated beyond measure, you finally decided to search a dating website for something, anything.

And then, you found someone whose profile matched the one you were looking for.

"Bingo—" you whispered victoriously, staring at the profile of a young man in his early twenties.

"Hate to break it to you, Princess, but that's not me," Theo murmured to himself, lighting a cigarette as he watched you through one of the little screens around him, zooming in on your low-cut top. "Cute top though... Nice rack you got over there..."

Your laptop screen was duplicated across his as you created your own profile for an online dating site, after you came across your suspect on the website.

He was there, reading all those messages you sent, all the flirting between you and your suspect, his blood boiling with every picture you kept attaching to keep this man interested.

And then, you agreed to meet this suspect of yours. You hadn't bothered with a wire, you were confident you could handle him on your own— with two knives strapped to one thigh and a gun strapped to the other underneath your satin minidress.

Little did you know, Theo had already bugged your phone, already gotten your every movement displayed all over his screen.

He tracked you entering the restaurant, he tracked you waiting there for hours... then, he noticed you taking the shortcut back home, walking through the park... but when he noticed you moving towards an abandoned alley on the map across his display, he instantly called the cops and gave them your exact location.

Turns out, you were wrong. Your suspect was just another suspect, and the real guy you were hunting was still out there.

This guy just turned out to be some nasty creep who faked his profile to prey on young women.

You didn't know how the cops knew your exact location, or how they found out, but whatever it was, you were grateful because the cops had arrived before the creep could hurt a single hair on your head.

And when you reached home, you entered the shower first thing, trying to relax a little, before you fell asleep, unaware that Theo had zoomed into your bedroom, so that it now covered his entire screen.

"I deserve a thank you for that, don't I, pretty?" he remarked, even though he was well aware you couldn't hear him at all, zooming in on your figure, who had just come out of the shower and was now wrapped in a tiny towel that barely covered you. "After all, I did save that pretty little ass of yours back there... Gonna give me a little show?"

As if you had heard his words, you picked out a pair of satin shorts and a matching camisole, placing it on the bed as you pranced around your room in your tiny towel.

You were unaware of his watchful gaze, observing you, unaware he was so fucking hard underneath his joggers, his ringed fingers resting on his waistband as he watched you with bated breath, his eyes dark, jealous of every tiny, water droplet that clung to your sacred skin.

After you dried your hair, you took off your towel and let it slide to the floor while you got changed.

Unfortunately for Theo, your back was towards the camera. A groan slipped past his lips when he realized he wouldn't be able to see those pretty tits of yours.

Fortunately for him, he would have a nice picture of your ass.

And when he zoomed in to your plump rear, he nearly came in his pants.

He could feel his precum stain his new boxers, a loud groan leaving his lips as he slid his joggers down, taking out his cock and fisting it, spreading the precum down the length.

He gives it a few pumps, just imagining what it would be like to bend you over the bed and fuck you from behind, pull your hair back into a ponytail and manhandle you the way he wants, because he knows you can take it.

He closes his eyes, groans spilling past his lips as he begins jerking his cock in his hand, his eyes opening when he hears a small grunt of frustration from his screen— your pajama top fell when you were about to put it on.

As you bend over, you give Theo the most beautiful view of your ass, his eyes glued to the screen as he jerks off.

"Fuck—" he hisses, pumping his hand up and down his shaft, quickening his pace as he approaches his climax. "Such a cute fuckin' ass..."

Right before you slide your shorts on, he takes a screenshot, then closes his eyes, grunts of pleasure leaving him.

His cock throbs and pulses in his hand, his rings adding a delicious friction as he slides his hand faster, not even bothering to conceal his moans.

He gasps your name as he finally climaxes, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his lower abs clenching with the surge of pleasure that flooded through him, the thick, sticky liquid now sliding down his screen, across the screenshot of your pretty, little ass.

Not even bothering to clean his mess up, his eyes flicker over to his other screen, where you're scrolling through your phone, tucked under the sheets of your bed, completely oblivious to it all.

His head slams against his table.

"Fuck— I'm screwed..."

not proofread, wrote this in such a hurry. lmk if i missed anything.

tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse

profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 18

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 4.2k

warnings: blood and violence, knife (and glass) wounds.

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 18/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

You run, feet pounding the floor as you flee into the living room. Determined, Hoseong follows, though not as quickly as before. A loud booming sound echoes through the apartment just as it looks like he's about to charge again—how, you don’t know. The water wasn’t quite boiling anymore, so it wasn’t hot enough to melt his skin off, but it might have left burns. You hope it has. His face did turn red almost immediately, but whether it’s from the water or rage, you’re not sure.

You don't know what the sound was either, not until you see a tall, dark figure storm into the living room with quick, furious steps. The living room is dimmer than the kitchen, and the figure is a little blurry, but you try to focus your eyes on it as it appears behind Hoseong.

“Oh, you fucking idiot,” the man spits, his voice even sharper than Hoseong’s. 

You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh as your body relaxes almost involuntarily.

You’re not sure if Hoseong even registers what’s happening before Jeongguk yanks him back by the collar of his jacket, knocking the knife from his hand and immediately delivering a series of hard punches to his face.

Leaving the rest of the fight to Jeongguk, you stumble toward the wall and slide down with your back against it, partially protected by the L-shaped sectional sofa. You watch the fight—or rather, you watch Jeongguk beat the living shit out of Hoseong, your breaths ragged. At first, Hoseong makes a real effort to fight back, landing maybe one or two hits, but even in his prime, you doubt he’d stand a chance one on one against Jeongguk, much less now, worn out and possibly (hopefully) injured. 

Even though you assume you’re out of immediate danger, you still can’t calm down. Pain is starting to set in everywhere, and you can’t seem to take a deep breath, either from panic or the pain itself. Maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, or perhaps you’re going into shock? Your trembling hands press against your side, and you don’t dare look down to see the extent of your injuries. The glimpses you caught of your hands earlier were more than enough. Any more might push you into a full-blown panic.

With Hoseong now on his back, his upper half obscured from your view by the couch, the loud sound of fists meeting flesh echoes through the room.

You watch.

Punch after punch.

Losing track of time, you can't tell whether it’s been thirty seconds or three minutes when Jeongguk straightens up. There are dark circles of varying sizes scattered unevenly across your white living room wall. He pauses, glancing your way quickly with his chest heaving as he pulls something shiny from his pocket.

You hear the unmistakable sound of handcuffs clicking shut when Jeongguk bends back down. Hoseong, still mostly hidden from your view, only mumbles something when Jeongguk drags him closer to the wall, fastening the handcuffs to a radiator.

Then, Jeongguk hurries toward you, touching his jaw and unknowingly smearing blood across his skin. His wide, worried eyes meet yours as he kneels in front of you, trying to look you over and deem your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low but tense.

“I haven’t—haven’t looked, but it feels like I’m dying," you whisper, voice shaky.

You force your trembling hands to lift the hoodie for him, seeing his eyes go even wider.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, panic filling his voice as he reaches for you. “Put pressure on it.”

He pulls you closer by your wrist, effortlessly scooping you up into his arms. You slump against his chest, trying to stay awake. Unsure of how deep the wound to your side is, you at least know you’ve lost a lot of blood; your black clothes are damp with it, and there's a worrying puddle on the floor.

Jeongguk carries you through the apartment, past the door he evidently kicked in, and rushes down the stairs to his waiting car that stands abandoned, practically in the middle of the street. His bad parking job has gathered attention from a couple of pedestrians and a middle aged woman, loudly complaining about how her car's blocked in. It feels like you’re seconds away from passing out, maybe even dying, but you manage to stand (with his support) for the second it takes him to open the passenger door, his strong arms quickly helping you inside.

Without a word to the curious—now silent—bystanders, Jeongguk darts around to the driver’s side, jumping into the seat and starting the car in one fluid motion. A second later, he's speeding out of there, and besides the fact that he’s driving like a Formula 1 driver, you don’t pay much attention, already knowing you’re headed to the hospital. Jeongguk calls ahead, rushed but clear words warning them that you’re coming in with a 'deep stab wound and significant blood loss.'

“Keep putting pressure,” Jeongguk instructs after hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere to the side, his voice desperate, and his strong hand right hand pressing over yours. 

But you can’t, feeling your own hand lose the last of its strength. Your eyes are already closing.

You feel absolutely terrible the next time you open them. There’s no sharp pain, but your whole body feels sore, beaten, and heavy. A tired groan slips from your dry throat as you try to orient yourself. It’s bright, way too bright, but the rhythmic beeping to your left is what helps you place where you are.

You’re not alone. Your slight movement has alerted your visitor that you’re awake, and he immediately looks your way.

Jimin.

His eyes are soft as he meets your tired gaze, sitting slightly hunched over in a chair by your bedside, his hair a little messy. Although it’s good to see him, he’s not the one you want.

“Jeongguk?” you ask, your voice a weak whisper as your memories return to wash over you.

Just then, the door to your room opens as a nurse steps in. Before it swings shut behind her, you spot two figures in the hallway, their hushed, emotional voices drifting faintly into the room.

“...Right in front of her,” a familiar voice complains quietly, laced with anger and frustration.

“He wasn’t sure you wanted to see him,” Jimin explains, looking cautious. 

“I want him,” you plead, still groggy, hurting, and starting to get teary-eyed.

Jimin nods and stands up. “I’ll get him. Want me to dim the light?”

You nod gratefully as Jimin flicks off a switch near the door, dimming one of the ceiling lights. The nurse, smiling gently, copies some numbers from the monitor onto her clipboard. 

She introduces herself, but you’re on the brink of breaking down, your eyes watering more with each second, and so you can’t find it in you to care. She seems to understand and leaves quietly just as the door opens again, and Jeongguk steps inside. Your heart feels incredibly heavy as your eyes land on him. Heavy with both need and relief, weirdly enough. He approaches you carefully, his wide eyes hesitant, and he looks exhausted, still wearing the same black hoodie and dark gray jeans as before. 

Like a child on the verge of an inconsolable breakdown, you hold your arms out for him, your hands thickly bandaged. Maybe you’re still high on pain meds, or maybe it’s just how you are now, but you don’t care. After all, you nearly died again, and all you wanted was him. You survived, and here he is. What else matters?

Jeongguk is careful in the way he bends down, letting you place your weak, injured hands around his neck. There’s nothing holding your tears back anymore, and you hug him as tightly as you can, so thankful and relieved. 

In turn, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close but carefully, as if afraid he might hurt you.

You still haven’t said anything, and you don’t for a while; the only sounds in the room being your quiet sobs and the steady beeping of the machine. After a few minutes, you manage to calm down a little, but you don’t let go of him; instead you try to pull him into the bed with you. He gets the hint, mumbling “It’s bloody,” as he straightens up to shrug off his hoodie, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Left in just a black t-shirt, he bends down again and, this time, lets you pull him into the small hospital bed. 

Still breathing shakily, you rest your head against his collarbone, breathing him in. It soothes you. He’s very warm, very safe, and he smells like the best thing in the world to you. His arms hold you tightly, and the slow and gentle motion of his hands rubbing across your back lulls you back to sleep.

The next time you come to, it’s to hushed voices. 

“Oh? I’m sorry, sir, you cannot be in here. Visitation hours are between ten and six.”

Fluttering your tired eyes open, you see that the blurry room is dark, and so you simply close them again.

“She needs police protection,” Jeongguk answers tiredly and absentmindedly from beside, almost underneath you, and you feel his slow, warm breath in your hair at the top of your head.

“Police usually stay outside the patient’s room,” the nurse counters. Her voice is unfamiliar and although you’re not sure what time it is, you assume she must be part of the morning shift. “And I’ve certainly never seen them in bed with the patient.”

“Look, lady, respectfully, I don’t care.”

She doesn’t seem to buy it, and you’re a little surprised at Jeongguk’s choice of words. But then again, he’s probably exhausted and worried too, and he didn’t sound mean—just… tired and maybe a little annoyed. When the nurse doesn’t respond right away, Jeongguk sighs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not leaving. If you want to call security, go ahead. As long as she wants me here, I’ll find a legal reason to stay.”

There’s a brief pause as the nurse considers before finally relenting. “Fine.”

She leaves. If you weren’t still mostly asleep and pretty out of it, you might’ve laughed. You still think it warms something in you, though.

“You awake?” Jeongguk asks quietly, softly brushing your hair away from your face with his fingers.

You shift, trying to pull him closer as you hold onto his shirt, breathing him in. 

“Yeah,” you mumble tiredly, eyes still adjusting to the light. As they do, they land on his hand as it comes into view.

The damage to your hands was mostly to the palms, one worse than the other, so the thick bandages leave your fingers free to reach for Jeongguk’s hand. His knuckles are red, swollen, and there are a few cuts on his skin. He lets you hold his hand to your face and gently run your fingers over his knuckles. Worry grows in you—don’t they look swollen? Could they maybe even be broken?

“You know I’d never… hurt you, right?” he asks quietly, and it takes you a second to realize what he means. It certainly wasn’t what you were thinking about.

You nod. “I know.”

“Good. So, how are you feeling?”

“I… don’t know. I feel… heavy. I take it I had surgery on my hands and… my stomach?”

“Yeah. Let’s call the doctor back here to explain everything. Also, Jihyo called your mom. She’s on a plane back.”

“Oh, no,” you groan.

“Yeah, sorry. But you were pretty bad.”

“It’s okay,” you say, knowing they did what they thought was best. It just means that you’ll have to actually tell her everything when she arrives. Which reminds you.

“What about... Hoseong?”

“In custody. He’s being treated at another hospital.”

“Okay. Good.”

Half an hour later, a female doctor stands at the foot of the hospital bed—while Jeongguk sits in the chair for once—going over everything. She has a kind face, looks to be in her forties, and she’s dressed in blue scrubs with one of those long white coats draped over them.

“So, while the wound to your abdomen was relatively deep and there were pretty significant lacerations to some of your intestines, we managed to stop the bleeding and repair everything. You’ll need to take it easy for a while, but if everything goes according to plan, there shouldn’t be any long-lasting damage.”

Well, it’s safe to say you’re relieved you didn’t look at your stomach; it seems like Hoseong essentially sliced it right open. 

“As for your hands, there will be some scarring as well unfortunately, and we can’t tell just yet if there’s been any nerve damage. Fortunately, the injuries were to your palms and not the fingers or back of your hands, where there are more ligaments and delicate structures. So we'll remain hopeful that the your recovery is smooth and that there's been no damage to your nerves.”

Nodding, you follow along as she explains. It sounds reasonable enough, and you’re just happy that you’ll hopefully still have two functioning hands.

The doctor continues, gesturing to the foot of the bed. “We also treated the cuts on your feet. They weren’t as severe as your hands, but we did put in a few stitches, so I’d suggest staying off your feet for a while. Both for your own comfort but also to not risk reopening the wounds.“

You must’ve really been out of it because you didn’t even really notice until now that, yeah, there’s something wrapped around your feet that’s not socks. 

“So there’s a chance I could make a full recovery, except for some scars?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “You were very lucky.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem. We’d like to keep you for a few more days to make sure everything’s healing properly and to assess your hands as the swelling goes down.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Good. Just let us know if you have any more questions. The hand surgeon will be by later to talk more in depth about your hands as well.”

A few hours later, there’s another knock on the door. Expecting it to be a nurse or the hand surgeon, Jeongguk calls ‘Come in’ from beside you in the hospital bed, where he lies with your head on his chest. He went home for a bit to shower and change, Jimin staying by your side in the meantime, and when he came back, all you wanted to do was rest. And you wanted him close.

But it’s not a nurse. The person entering takes one look at you and bursts out in tears.

“Mom?” you say, and the bed shifts as Jeongguk rushes to stand, straightening his clothes—a black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants—as if he needs to look presentable for your mother. 

You’re sure she would’ve asked about the man in your hospital bed if she wasn’t so distraught, but she barely glances between you and him before she approaches the bed with teary eyes.

“I got the call, and I–I was so scared,” she sniffles, her gaze trailing over your body and bandaged hands like she wants to hold you but isn’t sure how to.

“I know,” you say, trying to comfort her. “But I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

“So… what… what happened?”

You bite your lip, looking to Jeongguk.

“I’ll head to the cafeteria for a while,” he says, and you nod, grateful.

It’s time to tell your mother everything.

The next hour is a hard and very emotional one. The pain on your mother's face as you recount everything, starting with what Hoseong first did to you and what the consequences were, cuts through your heart as well.

Of course, you spare her the details of the rape and most of the following abuse, not wanting to hurt her more than necessary or put yourself through the shame you know you shouldn’t feel but can’t help experiencing.

You decide to leave Jeongguk’s involvement out of it, certainly not telling her that you spent months wholeheartedly believing he would kill you if only given the chance. For reasons you don’t want to untangle at the moment, you realize that you don’t want your mother to doubt him.

Jeongguk returns at the hour mark, a brown bag in one hand and a takeaway tray with three coffees in the other. Although you didn’t tell your mother about the time you spent deathly afraid of him, you did tell her that you’re essentially only alive right now because of this one very kind policeman. Maybe you also admitted, a little shyly, when she asked that you really like him. And you do; it’s just a summary of your feelings if they were simple.

His hair looks windswept, and you’re briefly taken aback by how handsome he truly is. You’re well aware of the fact—and you’d definitely never forget—but sometimes it just hits you. His dark eyes scan the room, widening in surprise when your mother approaches him so quickly he barely has time to set the coffees down on the small table by the bed before she grasps his hand. 

“Thank you,” she says, trying hard not to cry as she clasps his one hand between her smaller ones. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you—that you saved my daughter. I wish there was anything I could do to repay you.”

“Mom,” you warn, embarrassed and wishing she wouldn’t ambush him like that.

However, Jeongguk’s surprised expression softens, and he pulls her into a very gentle one-armed hug, the brown bag still occupying his other hand.

“No need,” is all he says, and you meet his soft gaze over your mother’s head.

Your mother doesn’t stay long. By the time another thirty minutes have passed, she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. When you ask her about it, she admits to not sleeping at all, too worried ever since Jihyo called her with the news. She even forgot to retrieve her luggage at the airport in her haste to grab a cab to the hospital. Unfortunately, knowing that Hoseong is in custody but his friends are not still has her worried. It takes some time, but after convincing her that you’re safe now—not only do you have Jeongguk, but Jimin and Jin are always close by—she reluctantly agrees to go home and rest.

“So… how was it?” Jeongguk asks quietly a few seconds after the door shuts behind her.

You lean back in bed, letting your shoulders relax. You’re sure he knows how hard that conversation was; can tell from your puffy eyes and tired posture.

“Emotional,” you admit. “I never told her anything.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Nothing at all?”

You shake your head. “No. At first, I just didn’t want to worry her, and as things escalated… I was scared that involving her would make her more of a target. She couldn’t have done anything to help either way.”

He seems to be thinking about something, his gaze stuck on the hospital bed, maybe even on your hand where it lies by your side. 

“What does she know now?”

“Basically everything, except the… gory details. Or are you asking what she knows about you?”

“Both, I guess. I mean, I take it you didn’t tell her what an ass I’ve been?” 

If you had, she would’ve tried to tell him off, her shaky voice cursing him to hell. Evidently, she didn't do that.

“I didn’t, no. I left some details out; figured there was no use.”

Jeongguk leans back in the chair, clearly still bothered by something.

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity. “Why, did you want me to tell her?”

“No, but I also don’t want you to lie to her about me.”

You don't really know what to say to that, so you just look at him, understanding his mixed feelings. Unable to stop it, you yawn. These meds are making you so incredibly sleepy, and you feel like you’ll fall asleep within the next ten minutes whether you like it or not. Noticing how you lie back down, snuggling up with the blanket pulled to your chin, Jeongguk pulls out his phone. You keep your tired eyes on him while he focuses on the small screen, scrolling lazily. 

So effortlessly handsome. You can’t even tell if you prefer him with his hair styled—which he doesn’t do very often—and wearing something clean and ironed, or like this: in a hoodie and sweatpants, his black hair a little wild and messy. He looks so warm and so cozy, leaning back in the chair and manspreading casually.

Manspreading is not something you typically like, but when he does it, it just looks… attractive. Probably because you know he’s not one to subject some poor woman to it on the morning commute. He doesn’t invade someone else’s personal space, doesn’t take up room that isn’t his.

“I spoke to Jihyo while I was getting the coffee earlier,” he says, eyes still casually glued to the phone. “She’s really busy, but she wanted me to tell you that she wishes she could be here.”

“It’s fine. She’s already been here,” you mumble into the blanket. He looks so warm.

“Yeah, but you were still unconscious.”

The blanket smells like a washed hospital blanket, not like you know he does. He smells like comfort.

“Mhm,” you agree tiredly, fighting to keep your eyes open. A second later, Jeongguk looks up to see you still watching him—tiredly but with a hint of longing. 

He smiles. “Are you waiting for me to join you?”

You nod, certain that it comes off a little shyly. You weren’t very discreet, were you? The bed is pretty small, but you definitely prefer sleeping cuddled up to him rather than alone. It’s the scent of him, the feeling of his warm body against yours that makes you feel… You’re not sure if you can put it into words or if you just don’t want to, choosing to ignore aspects that will inevitably force you to make a decision. Not now.

Still smiling, he locks the phone and rises from the chair, making sure to flick the lights off before he comes to stand at your side. Scooting back to give him room, you watch as he lies down in front of you and slips his arm underneath your head. Then he’s pulling you close. So close that your face is practically in his chest. It becomes clear what he’s doing when a faint glow and quiet taps appear, originating from somewhere behind and above your head. Of course, he doesn’t have the same sleep requirements as you do at the moment, and if you were to guess, he’s probably working on something.

You’ve been left in a bit of a conundrum, though. What do you do with the arm that’s ended up in a bit of an awkward position at your side? The most natural thing would be to rest it against his waist, but it also feels… awkward to do that? Just because you, high on painkillers and almost murdered, like to cuddle with him doesn't mean everything's fine and dandy.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” you say quietly. Even in your slightly drowsy state of denial, you know that you’re confusing. You haven’t brought up the reason for your previous ‘split,’ and you haven’t really solved anything. After you almost died, you’re just relieved to be alive and that he’s okay too, and you hope he realizes that.

The near-silent tapping stops.

“I don’t mind,” he assures calmly, and his voice is quieter too. You like that he’s never seemed like much of an overthinker—at least not when it comes to what he wants. You lift your arm to put it around him, letting it hang off his waist.

He’s so warm, smells so good, and his slow and steady breaths lull you to sleep. As you drift off, you tell yourself not to think so much.

For the next few days, you remain on a fairly high dose of painkillers that keep you drowsy. You’re almost never alone; most of the time, Jeongguk is with you, but when he reluctantly leaves—either for the station or to go home and shower and change—Jin and Jimin take turns watching over you. Occasionally, they pop in to see if you’d like company, quickly taking the hint if you don’t and staying outside. 

Your mother sits with you a few times as well, but you can’t relax when she looks at you like she does; as if she’s heartbroken, which you realize she might very well be. You’ve had years to process most of what’s happened to you, and you guess you’d feel the same if the roles were reversed, but you can’t take it, so you send her home with the promise that you’ll be fine. You’re just resting, anyway. After a bit of convincing, she leaves, but not before making a knowing comment about how cute the kind policeman is. You dismiss her with an embarrassed smile and a wave of your bandaged hand.

As the hours turn to days in that hospital room, think is unfortunately all you do. You think about what you’ve experienced and what you’ve seen. The feelings you feel are complicated, woven together in an intricate pattern with threads of varying thickness. Pull on one and it tugs at another; pull too hard on a strong thread and thinner might snap. The closer Jeongguk is, the more tangled the mess seems to be.

<previous | next>

author's note: here's this!! posted in celebration of jeonstudios reaching a follower milestone and more importantly: the boys returning!!! i hope you liked it, please tell me if you did!! <3<3

[agender-wolfie]

Y’all need to understand what gender neutral actually means. Saying “This fic is gender neutral and there are no pronouns or descriptors used” then using “pretty girl” or “that’s my girl” immediately after is NOT gender neutral! Stay out of our spaces if you can’t respect us.

[iwudbutnah]

I just discovered this and OMG it is so good. The way you capture the emotions and feelings reader has and how naive (but she has good intentions) her niece is. What a reunion with people already trying to kill them. I know I’m going to enjoy this series.

Another Ending - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The weight of the assassin's body presses down on you, pinning you to the ground as his sword hovers dangerously close to your throat. Every muscle in your arms strains as you hold your gun up, barely keeping the blade away from your neck.

The cold metal of the sword gleams under the dim light, a stark reminder of how close you are to death. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, are unreadable, but you can feel the murderous intent radiating from him.

Sweat drips down your forehead, mixing with the dirt and blood on your face as you grit your teeth. With every ounce of strength, you manage to growl, "You're dead to me."

For a split second, you see it—hesitation. The assassin’s grip falters, his focus wavering. That’s all you need. With a desperate shove, you push him off, the sword sliding away from your neck as you scramble to your feet. Your heart pounds in your chest as adrenaline takes over, and you start running, not daring to look back.

The echoes of your past, the regrets, and the pain are left behind as you sprint away. You know that you’ve bought yourself only a few precious seconds, but at this moment, it’s enough. You leave the assassin behind, along with everything that once bound you.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The lodge is warm and inviting, nestled comfortably by the edge of a tranquil lake. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, casting a golden glow across the rustic wooden floors. The living room is cozy, with a soft, earth-toned sofa positioned near a stone fireplace. You push the sofa slightly, adjusting its angle to better face the window, where the view of the lake creates a peaceful backdrop.

As you finish, the sound of the doorbell rings through the house. You straighten up, smoothing a hand over your clothes before heading to the door. When you open it, a smile crosses your face.

Standing there is Lori Grant, your niece. She’s dressed in a green shirt and black pants, her short hair with bangs framing her face beneath thick glasses. A pink backpack is slung over one shoulder, and she’s dragging a suitcase that looks far too big for her small frame.

“Hello, Aunty,” Lori greets you, her voice bright with excitement.

“Where’s your mom?” you ask, glancing past her.

“She just left,” Lori replies, stepping inside and immediately struggling with the weight of her suitcase. She lets out a frustrated “Ugh” as it catches on the doorstep.

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “Let me help you with that.” Gripping the handle, you lift the suitcase easily, though you wonder why a 13-year-old needs so much luggage.

As you bring the suitcase inside, you ask, “Are you hungry? I bought some tofu for you.” Your older sister’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of the strict health-conscious diet she keeps Lori on. She’s made a name for herself online with her healthy recipes, and now she’s on a book tour promoting her new cookbook.

Lori looks up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Aunty, I’m so excited to be here. I can finally get away from the food my mom makes.”

You laugh, a warm, understanding sound. “Oh, thank goodness. How about fried chicken or lasagna?”

Lori’s face lights up, her hands clasping together as if in prayer. “Why not both?” Her eyes shimmer with anticipation, almost teary at the thought of indulging in something she’s missed.

“Yes!” you reply with a grin, already planning the feast.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The two of you cook together, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of fried chicken and lasagna. The sizzle of the food and the warmth of the stove creates a cozy atmosphere, and before long, you’re both sitting at the table, enjoying the meal.

Lori, barely looking up from her book, eats with a hearty appetite, tearing into the fried chicken and savoring the lasagna.

You glance at her, amused by how engrossed she is in her book. It’s refreshing to see someone her age so absorbed in reading rather than staring at a screen. She’s been glued to that book ever since she arrived.

“Is it a good book?” you ask, taking a sip of your water.

“Yes. The best,” she replies without lifting her eyes from the pages.

You smile and ask, “What’s the book about?”

At that, Lori snaps the novel shut and looks at you with excitement blazing in her eyes, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh, Aunty, this is the best book! It’s full of adrenaline, mystery, and romance.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod slowly, recognizing the same spark in her that your older sister often has. “Let me guess, a royal romance?”

Lori shakes her head enthusiastically. “No. It’s set in modern day. It’s an enemies-to-lovers story where both are spies from different sides. They have to decide between love and their duty.”

You nod again, your expression thoughtful. “That’s impossible in the real world.”

Lori huffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “That’s why it’s fantasy, Aunty. Geez, you sound just like my mom.” She returns to her book, burying herself in the story again.

You chuckle softly, setting your glass down as you gather your plate and stand up. “Well, usually betrayal happens in those stories.”

Lori looks up, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “That’s right! There’s a part where the male character betrays the female character.”

Your hand slips, the plate clattering into the sink, but thankfully it doesn’t break.

“Aunty, are you okay?” Lori asks, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine. My hand just slipped,” you say, brushing it off with a smile.

Lori gets up, carrying her plate to the sink. “I’m already done. I’ll help you with the dishes.”

“Thank you,” you reply, appreciating her help.

As you both wash the dishes, you ask her about life at school. Lori tells you all about her friends, her classes, and the things that make her happy.

“Do you have a crush at school?” you ask, a teasing note in your voice.

Lori hesitates, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Well… there is one boy. His hair and smile remind me of the male character from the spy book.”

You nearly drop the spatula but manage to catch it just in time. What’s gotten into you today?

“What about you, Aunty?” Lori asks, her tone curious.

“Me?” you respond, a bit caught off guard.

“While living in this lodge, have you ever met a farmer with a six-pack, a cute café owner, or a cool police officer?” Lori asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You gasp, her question catching you by surprise. “Your mom mentioned you’ve become quite the chatterbox.”

“Aunty, your life is a dream. You have it all—except a boyfriend,” Lori says matter-of-factly. She doesn’t fully understand what you do for a living, but she knows from her mom and grandparents that you’ve traveled the world and are now enjoying the fruits of your hard work.

You place your hands on your hips, eyeing her with a mock sternness. “How long have you been staying with Grandma?”

“Three weeks,” Lori answers, wiping a plate dry with a clean cloth.

“That explains it,” you say with a chuckle, ruffling her hair playfully. Your mother has a habit of prying into your love life, and you’ve overheard her sighing over the phone, saying, ‘I’m afraid she’ll die single.’

“But seriously, Aunty, why are you still single?” Lori asks, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

You look at her, a sigh escaping your lips. “When you’re older, you’ll understand that life is complicated. There’s no guarantee of a happy ending.”

“Seems like you don’t believe in romance anymore,” she says, her voice soft but probing.

“Lori…” you begin, but her words strike a chord in you. Kids have a way of getting straight to your feelings. You head to the living room, trying to shake off the conversation and turn on the TV. With a sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch.

Lori follows you, still determined to rekindle your belief in romance. But then, something catches her eye. “Aunty, what’s on the second floor?”

“Just a storage room. Full of dust and spiders,” you reply, waving a hand dismissively.

“Can I go up there?” she asks, her enthusiasm barely contained.

“Go ahead,” you say, smiling at her eagerness.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you hear her running feet thudding up the stairs. You shake your head, chuckling to yourself. What happened to the little girl who was afraid of spiders? Maybe the influence of that action-packed novel, the fantasy world, pulled her in.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Lori’s eyes lit up with excitement as she explored the second floor, her steps quickening with each new discovery. It felt like a treasure hunt to her, the dusty corners and forgotten items fueling her curiosity.

She opened old boxes, sifted through forgotten knick-knacks, and rummaged through piles of clutter. Her heart raced with the thrill of the search, every creak of the floorboards adding to the sense of adventure.

Then, tucked away near the Christmas decorations, she spotted a plain, unassuming box. It didn’t look like much, but something about it caught her attention. With a soft gasp of anticipation, she opened it and found an old, bulky laptop inside. The device was covered in dust, its once sleek surface now dull and scratched.

“Wow,” Lori whispered, her eyes widening in awe. She lifted the laptop carefully and opened it, running her fingers over the keys. “Clicky, clicky. Love this keyboard,” she said, delighting in the tactile response of the keys beneath her fingers.

Unable to contain her excitement, Lori ran downstairs to find you, clutching the laptop in her arms like a prized possession. “Aunty, look what I found! This is so old, and I love the sound it makes!”

You glanced up and your eyes widened in surprise. “Where did you get that?” you asked, a mix of surprise and concern in your voice.

“Near the Christmas decorations. Can I turn it on?” she asked, her eyes shining with eagerness.

You shook your head, a hint of hesitation creeping into your tone. “It’s been a long time since I turned it on,” you admitted, memories flickering at the edge of your mind. You had pretended the laptop didn’t exist for so long that it had slipped from your thoughts entirely.

“I’ll throw it away,” you said, reaching out to take the laptop from her.

But Lori quickly pulled it back, guarding the laptop protectively. “Even if it’s broken, I could use this for throwback videos,” she argued, her determination evident.

You sighed, seeing the pleading look in her eyes. “Fine. You can have it,” you relented.

“Thank you!” Lori beamed, her smile so bright that any irritation you felt melted away. She hugged the laptop close and dashed off to the guest room, eager to play with her new toy.

Inside her room, Lori’s excitement was palpable. She carefully plugged the charger into the old laptop and pressed the power button, holding her breath in anticipation. But the screen remained dark, the laptop unresponsive.

Her enthusiasm waned slightly, but she didn’t give up. Determined, she searched online for ways to fix old laptops, flipping the device upside down to look for a serial number or brand name. But the markings were too faded to read.

Her hope began to crumble as she realized the laptop might never work again. With a sigh, she set it aside and opened her suitcase, revealing stacks of novels inside. This was the real reason she had wanted to stay with you—to immerse herself in her books without anyone bothering her.

As the night wore on, the clock crept closer to 10 p.m. You yawned, feeling the weight of the day settle in, and turned off the TV. Before heading to bed, you decided to check on Lori. When you peeked into her room, you found her already fast asleep, curled up with a new book clutched in her hands.

You smiled softly, understanding now what was in her suitcase. With a gentle chuckle, you carefully adjusted her sleeping posture and tucked her in, whispering, “Good night.”

As you left, you saw the old black laptop still plugged in, silently charging in the corner. It had been nearly seven years since you last thought about it. You shook your head, a mix of relief and resignation washing over you. It was better if that thing stayed dead, buried in the past where it belonged.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, Lori woke up feeling cozy under the blankets. She glanced around, realizing she must have fallen asleep while reading her book again. The comforting silence in the room was a welcome change from the usual yelling of her mother.

This is why staying with you was such a great idea. She turned her attention to the old laptop, remembering she had left it charging all night.

With renewed hope, she quickly jumped out of bed and moved to the laptop. She pressed the power button, but the screen remained stubbornly black. Disappointment settled over her like a heavy fog.

Then, she heard it—the faint hum of the laptop’s fan. Her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips. She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Yes!”

Just then, you called from the kitchen, your voice carrying cheerfully through the house. “Lori! You’ve woken up? I’ve made breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry yet,” Lori replied, her focus still on the laptop, waiting for the screen to light up.

“It’s bacon and eggs,” you added, a hint of a smile in your voice.

The mention of bacon and eggs immediately captured Lori’s attention. It had been ages since she’d had a breakfast like that. “I’m coming!” she called out, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Without another thought, Lori dashed out of her room, leaving the old laptop to continue its quiet struggle to turn on. Her excitement for breakfast had completely overshadowed her frustration with the laptop, and she hurried to the kitchen, eager for the delicious meal you had prepared.

After breakfast, Lori returned to her room, and her excitement about the old laptop reignited. As she entered, she was stunned to see that the laptop had finally powered up completely.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the outdated app icons, which looked dull and unappealing. Despite their lack of charm, something else caught her eye: the email application.

Curiosity piqued, Lori navigated to the email app and discovered a list of old emails. She wondered if the laptop could connect to Wi-Fi. To her delight, it could. She connected it and noticed a new notification. Her heart raced as she clicked on it, only to find a single new email dated five years ago.

“This is like something out of a novel,” Lori whispered to herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the email.

Her gasp was audible when she realized it wasn’t spam or a work email—it was a love letter. She read the email with growing excitement:

Subject: An Apology and a Request

Hi,

I hope this message finds you well. I’ve been carrying a heavy heart and wanted to reach out, even though it’s been a while. I left the organization and have started a new life, but I’ve realized that it won’t feel complete without you.

I’m deeply sorry for everything that happened and for the pain I caused you. I know that I have no right to ask for anything, but if there’s any chance for us to meet and talk, I’d really like that. I’m not expecting anything, but I hope we can find some closure.

Yours,

B.B

Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. This was even better than the romance novels she had read. She couldn’t believe her aunt had an ex who had been missing her all this time and had finally reached out after five years.

Feeling a burst of inspiration, Lori unplugged the laptop and raced downstairs to find you. “Aunt! Look! Look! Someone sent you an apology letter!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

You were busy preparing to head out to your bee farm, dressed in your suit. The sight of the old laptop suddenly turning on and Lori’s enthusiasm about the email caught you off guard. You knew exactly who had sent it, and it brought a wave of mixed emotions.

With a sigh, you closed the laptop, noticing Lori’s disappointed look. You knelt to her level, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Lori, sometimes it’s best to leave the past where it is.”

“But…” she started, her voice trailing off.

You stood up, adjusting your head protection for the farm. “Just enjoy your time here,” you said gently, then headed out of the house.

Lori sighed, her heart heavy with the sadness in your voice. She could sense the pain behind your words and felt that maybe this person was someone special to you. A sudden idea struck her, and she rushed back to her room, placed the old laptop on the table, and began typing a reply.

With her knowledge of romance novels, she crafted a short but heartfelt response:

Subject: Re: An Apology and a Request

Hi B.B,

Thank you for your message. It was a surprise to read your letter after all these years. I appreciate your honesty and the courage it took to reach out. I’m still processing everything, but I’m grateful for your apology.

Maybe one day we can talk, but for now, I hope you find the closure you’re seeking.

Take care,

Y/N

Satisfied with her words, Lori clicked “Send,” feeling accomplished. She hoped her reply would bring peace to her aunt and the sender.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

A few days passed, and Lori grew increasingly nervous. She kept checking the email, but no new notifications appeared, only that eerie computer-generated voice. You noticed her restlessness; she fidgeted with her fingers and paced around the room.

“What’s wrong? Feeling bored?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood. “We could go out for a while, get some fresh air.”

“Eww… no,” Lori replied, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the hot sun and heavy gear. She enjoyed the freedom of staying with you, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about adventures.

“I’d rather stay here, curled up with my book—” Lori was cut off by the familiar, unsettling notification sound.

You flinched at the sound too, a chill creeping down your spine. Lori quickly ran to the laptop, her heart racing with excitement as she saw the red dot notification. She opened the email and skimmed the reply: "I received your message. We need to meet. I’ll find you soon."

“Aunty, look! This person wants to see you. Isn’t it romantic?” Lori said, her excitement palpable.

Romantic my ass, you thought, feeling a cold shiver as you read the email. You abruptly shut the laptop and started packing Lori’s things. Your sudden, frantic movements startled her.

“Change your clothes. Wear something practical and put on running shoes,” you instructed, your voice taut with urgency.

Lori’s eyes widened with concern. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Forget the books. We have fifteen minutes, Lori. Now!” You dashed to your room, grabbing essentials with swift, practiced motions.

Lori, bewildered but obedient, quickly followed your orders. Fifteen minutes later, both of you were ready and in the car. You sped away, your face set in grim determination.

In the passenger seat, Lori clutched the seatbelt tightly, her voice trembling. “Aunt…”

“Lori, did you not hear me? Some things are better left in the past,” you said, your tone cold and firm.

She nodded slowly, her anxiety mounting. “But why?”

Before she could ask more, a deafening explosion rocked the car. “BOOM!” The blast made Lori flinch as she turned to see your house engulfed in flames. Her face pressed against the car window, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh my God. Is that your house?” Lori’s voice was barely a whisper.

You kept your gaze fixed on the road, your face pale and determined. “This is the reality of espionage. The hardest part is when someone tries to kill you.”

Lori gasped, realization dawning on her. “You’re a real spy!”

You didn’t answer, but the silence was deafening—a resounding confirmation.

“And the person who sent the email is another spy!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah. But unlike the novels, we’re not looking to fall in love. We’re trying to kill each other.” Your words sent a shiver down her spine, the gravity of the situation settling in with chilling clarity.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

At the gas station, you and Lori were picking up essential supplies. Your disguise—a dark hat, sunglasses, and a coat pulled tight—wasn't exactly subtle. But Lori's eyes sparkled with excitement.

“This is so cool!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with admiration.

“It’s not,” you muttered, your voice strained as you tried to mask your growing unease. The thrill of the moment had been replaced by a harsh reality. “I’m taking you to your mom.”

Lori’s enthusiasm faltered as she noticed the tension in your body. “But Aunt… why are you running away if this person wants to see you?”

You sighed heavily. “Because—”

Your words trailed off as a shiver ran down your spine. You felt eyes on you and slowly turned to face the source of your unease. There he was, striding towards you with a purpose.

The man stood tall and lean, his dark hair tousled and his leather jacket catching the dim light of the gas station. His face was striking—handsome in a rugged, intense way. His presence radiated strength and determination.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky didn’t break stride or acknowledge you. His pace quickened, and your instincts kicked in. You reached for your gun, but before you could draw it, a loud BANG! shattered the tense silence.

“Kyaaa!!!” The sound of the gunshot set off a wave of screams from everyone inside the store, including Lori. The chaos erupted around you, but you and Bucky remained focused.

You threw yourself in front of Lori, protecting her with your body. Bucky did the same, his gaze locked on the threats.

“You—” you started, trying to catch your breath.

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky cut you off, his voice a low growl. He grabbed your arm, pulling you up, and snatched his own gun. Without another word, he started firing, taking out the shooters one by one.

You joined him in the fray, your movements sharp and efficient. Bullets flew and bodies hit the floor. Bucky’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes contrasted with your precise, practiced shots.

“Your aim’s getting rusty,” Bucky grunted as he took down another opponent.

“Shut up,” you retorted, focusing on the task at hand.

In no time, the immediate threat was neutralized. You both made a break for your car, adrenaline surging. Bucky took the driver’s seat, his expression grim and focused.

“Wait…” you began, but Bucky cut you off.

“Just put on your seatbelt first,” he said tersely, glancing at you with an intensity that brooked no argument.

You complied, snapping the seatbelt into place as Bucky threw the car into gear. The ride was tense, an awkward silence hanging between you and Bucky. Lori, however, was brimming with curiosity.

She tugged at Bucky’s leather jacket, causing him to glance at her. The way she looked at him, her eyes wide with awe, reminded you of how she had always romanticized the world.

“Are you the one who sent that email to my aunt?” Lori asked, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and expectation.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the road.

Lori turned to you, her eyes glowing with revelation. “I get it. Both of you were spies! But you couldn’t be together because of your jobs! A forbidden love! This is so romantic!”

"!!!!!"

Your jaw dropped, and Bucky’s expression shifted to one of utter disbelief. The two of you exchanged a stunned look, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed by Lori’s innocent but surprisingly accurate guess.

The air in the car seemed to crackle with the weight of her words, as the reality of your intertwined past and present hung in the balance.

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[violet-eng]

Drunk!Loid Forger x wife!fem!reader | NSFW 🔞

Summary: Loid comes home very late drunk after going out drinking with Franky. He fucks you drunk.

Warnings: Porn with no plot lol. Smut +18. Oral fem! Masturbation. Inappropriate use of belt. Spanking. P i v. Unprotected sex, mention of pregnancy. MDNI

Wc: idk like 3k?

━─━─────────༺༻────────━─━

For Agent Twilight, there was something pleasurable about playing Loid Forger, the carelessness that the peaceful family man could indulge in from time to time without suffering any major consequences...like the night Franky had invited him out for a drink.

Twilight was a man of strong drinks, the kind that go to your head and detach you from reality by ripping your thoughts and every last drop of consciousness from your brain... he was addicted to those drinks because he could stand them, because they were no challenge for the best spy in Westalis.

However... along with the wonderful, sweet personality that the Loid Forger brings with him, certain misplaced platitudes fall upon Twilight. Twilight was a cold man of steady mettle and pure stoicism, a determination that could not be eclipsed by mundane feelings like... falling in love....

The fusion of his alter ego as Loid Forger with that of his original identity as Twilight had led him to the very night he stumbled back to your house, his hand covering his face in search of relief from the terrible headache.

He doesn't turn on the kitchen light because he knows you're sleeping in their shared room, and he doesn't make any noise when he fills a glass of water because he's afraid of disturbing your sleep.

You, his beautiful and efficient wife, what more could he ask for but a devoted woman like you. Fuck... if only his mission would never end... he wouldn't have to leave you.

"Loid..." you whisper from the living room, peering over the wall. He woke you up... you can't see him in this state, he can't talk in this state. If he confesses anything now, if he gets carried away with his feelings for you, anything would jeopardize the mission...

Come on, Twilight, think fast. He shakes his head as he returns to his role as Loid Forger.

"Y/n, my dear. I'm sorry I woke you," the voice is calm, even though your name falls from his lips in a frenzy of emotions.

"You came back late," you add, emerging from your hiding place and walking towards him, who stops breathing for a moment.

The dim light illuminates your figure, you are wearing only one of his shirts, which covers the skin above your thighs, and a pair of white wool stockings. Your hair is down, and it seems to Twilight that you look perfect in this moment, with these clothes and this warm light.

Damn, she looks so...

"I'm... I'm sorry, I went out for a drink with Franky. I didn't think I'd be back so late," he stammers for a moment. What are you doing to him? What effect do you have on him that he can't control his emotions?

"I see," you smile, "your cheeks are pink, you look lovely"

"No... no, of course not," he turns his face away, lips parted and cheeks burning.

What are you doing, Twilight, regain your composure.

"I missed you," you confess, embracing him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting them fall to his stomach, filling his breath with your scent, your lemon and honey scent reaching into the deepest recesses of his mind, taking over his consciousness and his last shred of self-control.

I am Twilight... and I am fucked... I want to fuck her tonight like I've wanted to fuck her for months.

You are completely unaware of the man on top of you. He has carried you into the bedroom in one swift, nimble movement, stealthily and carefully. He has laid you down on the mattress and is now attacking your neck with his lips.

Whiskey breath surrounds your mind, your consciousness is clouded and your heart is disturbed by the frenzy of your husband's kisses, causing sensual gasps on your skin. Loid's hands run through your hair, tangling behind your neck to give him more access to your neck and chin, devouring your surface with hunger and desire.

You are completely immobilized by his muscular body, and by the surprise that his behavior has caused you, you feel your heart in your throat, the beats echoing in your ears, only eclipsed by his moaning when he touches the valley of your breasts through your shirt.

"Loid~" you bite your lip and try to push him away with both hands, but it's no use, Loid is so much stronger than you. Has he always been like this?

"You have no idea how you turn me on," he whispers, almost on the verge of madness, his throat is choked and he holds back his tongue that wants to run all over your body.

He sits on top of you, you find relief in being able to breathe normally for a moment as you see him unbutton his shirt, opening it with a jerk to expose his chiseled abdomen. It's not the first time you've looked at him without his clothes on, but you always marvel at the way his muscles stand out against his skin, the way a few scars frame his pecs and abdomen.

You reach out and touch his skin, the line between his chiseled abs, in a reflexive action. Having him so close, like this, awakens a vulgar side in you that only he knows.

"Patience," he whispers, the tone deep and punctuated with a lustful gasp.

He throws the cloth away from the bed and leaves his hands on the belt of his pants. His movements are desperate yet unmistakable, he is quite skilled for being so drunk.

His pants are on the floor next to his shirt and boxers, he holds the belt between his hands and strokes the leather with his fingers, a dark idea floating in his mind.

"Loid..." you get his attention, only to meet a dark stare, bathed in malice.

"I have plans for you, y/n" his smile is evil, but it turns you on, fuck, you've never seen this side of your husband before.

Loid made love to you, when you slept together he was the soft and gentle type who cared more about your satisfaction than his own. He didn't play with you, he didn't tempt you and he didn't make you beg. His gaze was always loving, full of sincere and genuine affection. His kisses were chaste, almost as if you would break if he came any closer, and his thrusts were gentle, so that he could feel you clearly and not hurt you.

And he didn't cum inside you because he knew you weren't ready to be pregnant, because it was enough to take care of Anya, another child would be too much work for both of you... so when you were done, he bathed you and fell asleep next to you, framing your form with a protective hug and sweet, almost poetic words in your ear until you were both asleep. Loid was a sweet and loving husband...

That was Loid, and it was okay... for you... because for Twilight, it was a nightmare.

He hated going slow, he hated not being able to bite your skin or leave marks between your legs, and worst of all, he hated you moaning a name that wasn't even his. That's why tonight, he would completely take over Forger's identity, kill Loid, and do to your body what Twilight had wanted to do since he first saw you.

"Shit," he grunts as he takes his member in his hand and fucks him with his fist, throwing his head back. Just the thought of fucking you that night had turned him on.

You look at him with great surprise, you've never seen Loid masturbate before and you didn't think the first time would be while he was on top of you. The way his ragged breathing lifts his chest, the way his muscles flex as he jerks his arm, and especially the way he moans your name as the red head of his cock drips pre-cum.

Even though you are completely unaware of this behavior, you can't take your eyes off of him. You slip a hand under your clothes, rifling through your panties in search of your clit, throbbing at the image of Loid above you. Your wrist is gripped by Loid's hand, which leans over you with a tight grip and whispers into your ear.

"Not yet. I haven't given you permission," the voice is unrecognizable, Loid has never used such a low tone.

He undoes the buttons of your shirt, pulling the fabric apart as he dips his face between your bare breasts, sliding the fabric under your shoulders as you squirm from the soft bites he leaves around your nipples.

He circles his tongue around the buttons of your breasts as he runs his hands all over you, from your sides to your arms, lifting them above your head. Loid touches you as if he has never touched a woman before.

He takes the belt and holds your wrists above your head, watching you from his position, like a hunter watching his prey. You let yourself be taken in by his bizarre game, maybe it's a fantasy he's wanted to fulfill for a long time and now he has the confidence to do it, you think.

And the reality is that Twilight fucks like this because he knows he's going to fuck you so good that you'll want to push it away with all your might.

He leaves a trail of kisses all over your face, down your chin, your neck, between your breasts and your stomach, around your waist and down to your hips, where he holds the elastic of your panties, fucking soaked with your juices.

He glances at you before tearing the thin fabric, and for a moment you can see the face of an unknown man, his face completely changed by the lust he is releasing at that moment. Leaning back on his elbows, he spreads your legs and rests them on his shoulders, licking his lips as he watches your dripping pussy.

With his fingers he gently caresses your valley and the edge of your hole, his finger grazes your clitoris, eliciting a moan from you.

He looks at you from between your legs, analyzes your face and the surroundings, and you swear his mind is going a mile a minute right now."What are you thinking about?" you ask embarrassed.Loid turns his gaze back to you, the blue of his eyes seeming darker than before.

"I was debating whether to gag you or not, I don't want to wake the kid."

"I won't make any noise... I... I promise," you say hesitantly, because you don't believe your own words.

"I want to hear you hold back," he smiles, the corner of his lip turning to the side.

He dips his face between your legs, his nose brushing your skin, his fingers parting your folds, his tongue moving from the base to the top. You shiver at the passage of his tongue as it begins to wiggle around your clit. It is delicate, gentle, as it always has been... but he seems to enjoy it more than before.

He gasps as he moves his head, his fingers spreading your folds further apart and you feel the warmth of his breath on your entrance. He doesn't tire, he doesn't stop, in fact, with each movement he seems more energetic than before.

He continues to caress your clit with his tongue, sucking on the small nub that makes you arch your back and hold back the moans that want to escape your mouth. You feel Loid's tongue at your entrance and his nose brushing your clit, then a finger slips gently inside you, followed by another.

His fingers are long, calloused, and surprisingly dexterous. He finds your spot almost immediately and you feel like you're seeing stars. His tongue doesn't leave your clit, your button is swollen and he sucks on it passionately while his fingers abuse your sensitive spot inside you.

Your walls close over his fingers, he thrusts in and out, fucking you wonderfully with his digits, while your ecstasy grows in your belly from his skillful tongue.

He lets out a hot gasp against your skin, and the sound of his fingers soaked in your juices floods the room, it seems harder and harder to contain your moans. You bite your lip hard as he makes a soft stroke over your button, his fingers digging deep inside you.

He makes a curious movement, lifting his fingers and seeming to increase his speed, he uses his other hand to mistreat your clit, with his elbows he spreads your legs. You can't close them, you want to, you want him to stop, you feel the burning in your stomach and in your legs. He lowers his face again to the level of your sex, just when it seems he is finished, he continues, his tongue abusing your hole and your clit in perfect synchrony, a hand runs down your belly and catches your breast.

"Loid~" you let out his name in an anxious moan "Ah~ Loid..."

That name, he thinks, his mouth and mind focused on your sex... I am that now, I am Loid Forger, this is my wife, and I will see to it that she can't get out of bed for days.

"Loid," you add, taking his hair between your fingers, your bound wrists making movement difficult.

"Mmh?" he whispers still between your legs, the vibrations of his voice sending electric waves up your spine.

"Since when... you're so good... so good at this," your words are cut off by a dirty moan that slips from between your lips. It hurts, it hurts not to be able to make a sound, it hurts not to be able to scream out how good your husband is eating you right now.

"What do you mean?" he asks, he knows exactly what you mean, but he likes to play with your mind, right now.

His movements are synchronized again and your mind is confused as you feel your orgasm erupt. Loid has never made you come with his tongue alone. And he hasn't lasted this long. It's different, he behaves differently.

You're breathing hard, your mind a whirlwind, and even more so as you watch Loid savor the nectar that has stained his fingers. His tongue dances erotically between his digits, and his gaze is all on you.

"I missed your taste. Much better than whiskey," he says.

You pick up your legs, thinking he is done, and when you go to ask him to untie your hands, you feel him flip your hips. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible, your face is glued to the sheet, and when you go to protest the sudden change of position, you feel him sink deep inside you.

"Loid!" the cry you let out is unmistakable. It hurt, but it also felt so good. He pushes your walls apart with his cock, molding your insides for him. He leaves a resounding slap on your butcheek and you hear him laughing behind you.

"Just what I wanted to hear," he says.

He pulls back, letting the head tease your entrance, your sodden pussy contracting to nothing, and he slips back in, whole, as far as your cervix will allow. You feel the crash of his hips against your ass and his balls slapping against your skin. His hands are anchored to your hips, leaving occasional slaps on your now pink skin. He's ramming you like an animal, the pace is fast and the force is enormous.

You tremble, your face sunk into the mattress, your forehead rubbing against the sheet from your husband's movements, your elbows in front of your head and your hands raised as if in prayer.

"Loid~ please...more...slower," you moan, almost sobbing.

Each thrust is accompanied by moans from both of you, his moans dark in comparison to yours, and in the background the grinding of the bed and the banging of the headboard against the wall. He moves like he's never moved before, fucks you like he's never fucked you before.

His fingers slide under your belly, touching your clit, you let out another scream at the overstimulation, and begin to move your hips in time to his fingers. Your breasts are massaged by his other hand, fully attended.

"Loid, Loid I..." you don't know what to say, the sentences you blurt out are meaningless, pleasure clouds your mind and all you hear is Loid's low growl behind you.

"You have no idea," he whispers in your ear and leans over you. You feel his chest against your back, your pussy shuddering at the change in position and the sudden cessation of his assault. "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to fuck you like this."

He spreads your lips with his fingers and your tongue tastes your own taste and a hint of the whiskey he'd had a few hours ago.

"m gonna fuck you until that little pussy of yours breaks, did you hear me?" he demanded grabbing a fistful of your hair and lifting your head.

"Yes... yes I heard you" you blurted out between moans. You couldn't say no, you didn't want to.

He continues his onslaught, more violent than the previous ones, expanding your walls, opening you wide for him, throwing your head back in an avid attempt to enjoy every nook and cranny of your loins. It feels as if it's going to pierce you at any moment, hammering against your spot abruptly, relentlessly.

You turn your head to look at him in the mirror, head back, eyes closed and lips parted, letting out low moans. His arms, muscles tense as his hands hold your hips, holding you in place. His hips move deftly, forcefully, he knows how to align himself perfectly before entering you again.

And you, your back is arched perfectly, your ass vibrates with each thrust and your breasts jiggle in frenzy from the onslaught of his cock. Your cheeks are pink, your lips swollen, your forehead sweaty.

"So good" you hear Loid, who leaves his hand on the back of your neck, returning to your starting position.

You reach your second orgasm without even recovering from the first, and Loid cums inside you soon after.

"I like that you have stamina," he says, turning your body around without coming out of you, his movements continuing, resuming the frantic rhythm of a few seconds ago.

You don't have stamina, fuck no, of course not. But there's not much you can do when your hands are tied and held down by a burly man taller than you. You tell him you can't take it anymore, you feel like you're going to pass out, but fuck, how good it feels when he caresses your waist while he fucks you in that position.

He hides his face in your neck, strokes your hair, frames your cheek with his hand. Untie your hands without looking, and you finally feel free enough to anchor yourself to his back, marking his skin with your nails and playing with his hair.

Loid's favorite position is missionary, because he can smell you as he penetrates you, because he has access to you in every possible way, because he intertwines his hands with yours above your head and whispers that he loves you, over and over and over again.

"Say my name," he whispers, his voice drowned out by your shoulder, "say my name, please.

"Loid," you whisper again and again as you wrap your legs around his waist and your hands find comfort in his.

He kisses you, kisses you as if he had never kissed you before, as if with one kiss he could suck your soul and keep you in his chest forever. With this kiss, he tears away all your doubts and strengthens the promise of a life together with you.

He will not leave you, he tells you fervently, he swears on his life that he will never leave you, that he will put a child in you and that he will not leave this family.

"I hope you will accept me as I am," he whispers.

"Oh, Loid," you smile as you cling to him in an embrace, your legs feeling your third orgasm approaching,

"Loid~ I love you...".

There are no words to describe this night, it has drained you of all your energy, you feel almost sick, weak and completely out of control.Loid hugs you to his chest and covers you with the sheets, leaving a kiss on your forehead and whispers how well you took it.

"Loid..." you whisper.

"Yes?"

"You don't have to ask me to accept you...I love you in every possible way. If this is your way of telling me that I need to get to know you better, I am ready to do so. If I discover another phase of you, as I did today, I will be more than happy to do so," you look at him smiling, "I have noticed that you have many faces that I don't know, Loid Forger.

Loid Forger, he thinks, the man of a thousand faces... doesn't sound bad.

He knows he'll have to tell you about his mission someday, but now is not the time, not after he's shed his facade and shown you an authentic side of himself. Even though he knows you'll understand, he doesn't want to risk everything, at least not yet... later, when you know Twilight better, he can tell you everything... and stay with you. ....

[iimplicitt]

🐴 ooh okay I’m here to infest your blog with max requests then. I come from Anna’s blog.

I have been wanting spy!max. What if reader gets caught in the crossfire as an innocent and Max had to intervene to save the reader. As a result he had to protect her and somewhere along the way he ended up falling for her

ENJOY THE SILENCE | MV1

pairings: spy! max verstappen x fem! reader

a/n-warnings: violence, blood, mentions of su!cide, criminal underworld, spy/government organizations, charles runs a crime syndicate, language, sherlock! inspo, slightly suggestive themes, hea!, if typos i apologize i’m out of it, collab with pookie @theonottsbxtch

wc: 9.9k

Leclerc.

A name whispered by few and not known by many unless they were involved in work God would frown upon.

Max leaned back in his chair, orchestral music swirling in the air along with light conversation and rich laughter. The banquet was still buzzing even though the hour began to run late. His fingers thrummed on the tablecloth, eyes flickering over the crowd.

Guards were posted at each entrance.

His eyes danced up to the terraces above. The police had men patrolling as well.

The night was still young and vulnerable.

Leclerc was a known terrorist. Or businessman. Same thing these days.

He was just a name. An idea. A phantom that lurked in shadows. Pulled strings. Swayed the market. Played a dirty hand in elections.

No face or even a voice could be attached to him.

He was like a Boogeyman, but far too real with drastic consequences.

Leclerc.

Men he had taken down over the years had screamed the name after Max had all but beat them into submission. Nearly half of them committing suicide right after. Fear for the infamous criminal greater than any other alternative.

A man who liked to play games. Toy with people.

Max had landed on his radar.

It seemed as if every big assignment he was put on, there were traces of him everywhere. Ties. Strings. Deaths all leading back to one man.

He swallowed the last dregs of his champagne as he watched the Prince of Monaco being escorted out of the ballroom. His instructions simple. Keep an eye out. Clear the trail.

Keep it clean.

Max stood, rolling his shoulders slightly as his suit adjusted around him. The smells of rich colognes and whiskeys wafting in the air, glittering diamonds winking at him from the chandelier lights.

He lingered off to the side as he existed, the cool night air hitting his skin and the heat from the earlier summer sun was still warm on the pavement. Max leaned against the wall, watching as a sleek car pulled up and the door was opened for the Prince.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a lighter and a cigarette, the sharp sound of the flame igniting greeted his ears and warm light bathed his face as he placed the tobacco between his lips. Breathing in, the rich nicotine provided a blanket over his nerves as he watched the car slowly roll away.

Max was about to walk off to get his bike to follow when something on top of a nearby building caught his eye. It was quick. A glint of something metallic. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the darkness. He never ignored his intuition.

Slowly, he walked towards the building, sticking to the shadows and smoke slowly plumed into the air, pouring out of his nose as he kept a steady pace. Stalking. Each step careful.

When he saw the shadow quickly dart against the roof, he didn’t hesitate.

Tossing the cigarette, he made quick work down the street, his dress shoes sharp against the stone lined road, eyes following the figure.

Another glint of metal.

He darted to the side, the silent sound of a bullet biting through the air next to him not a second later. A silencer. Gunman. Hopefully only one. He could work with that.

Only issue is why hadn’t they taken the shot when the Prince was–

“Shit,” he whispered as he took off in a run again.

Another bullet grazed the air.

Max quickly rounded the corner of the building, he knew the angle would be difficult, If he could just get inside.

He ducked beneath windows he passed, about to turn under the awning when he ran directly into someone. Their startled scream knocked him slightly askew.

Worse, alerting the gunman where he was.

His eyes flicked down, taking note of the woman he had knocked over. Civilian by the looks of it, in a work uniform. His mind was running a mile a minute, reaching a hand down to quickly help you up and keep moving.

“You should leave,” he muttered, about to breeze past you and through the door.

“That’s what I was doing until you practically ran me over-”

A bullet ricocheted off the ground, shattering a window.

You screamed again and he tried his best not to roll his eyes as he took hold of your arm and yanked you inside of the building.

“What the fuck–”

“Be quiet,” he snapped, darkness swallowing them up in the hallway and he struggled to listen for any approaching footsteps over the sound of your rapid breathing.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Are you incapable of shutting up?” He bit.

You balked at him. “We were just shot at-”

“And we’re going to be again if you don’t be quiet.”

Even though it was dark he could read your expression easily. You wanted to slap him. He hoped your annoyance would overshadow the fear of the current situation, making you more compliant.

“Come on,” he whispered. Looking for somewhere you could hide. The last thing he needed was casualties.

Max was about to reach for a door handle to what he assumed was a closet when another bullet flew past him. He yanked you down, realising he wasn’t being that gentle but surely you wouldn’t care given someone was out to murder you both.

“Get inside,” he managed to say before he quickly got up, a person appearing from the shadows like a phantom deciding to finally make an appearance,

He dodged a punch, his own arm swinging out and managing to land a blow in the assailant's side.

Max barely resisted the grunt as his fist connected, already pivoting on the balls of his feet to avoid the counterstrike. The assailant recovered fast, swinging a knife in a tight, brutal arc. Max twisted, feeling the blade whisper past his ribs, slicing fabric but missing flesh.

Close. Too Close.

He liked this jacket, pity.

He grabbed the bastard’s wrist, yanking them forward, using their own momentum against them. A sharp twist. A pained snarl. The knife clattered to the floor.

The other man struck out in desperation, a wild jab aimed for Max’s ribs with another smaller knife he hadn’t seen. The glint of the blade flickering as it caught the light. Max deflected with a swift parry, stepping in close- too close. He could smell the sweat and gunpowder, see the flicker of uncertainty in the assailant’s eyes just before he drove his knee hard into his stomach. The man reeled back, breath stolen, shoulders heaving. He barely had time to blink as the man threw the knife with such force he could hear it rip through the air, lodging itself into Max’s thigh.

He grunted, clenching his teeth and ripped the knife out. It wasn’t deep but he’d need stitches.

Max didn’t give him time to recover. A sharp kick to the chest sent him crashing into a stack of wooden crates, the impact splitting the air with a satisfying crush. He began to get up, but Max rammed his head forward, headbutting him with years of practise. The bastard slumped. Unconscious. Thank fuck.

He stalked forward, quick on his feet and he kicked the man again for good measure. Mostly to make sure he was actually unconscious. Once satisfied, taking in the steady rise and fall of his chest through tactical gear, Max reached down and yanked the balaclava up.

He couldn’t help but smile as he took in the man's features.

“So that’s who…” he whispered.

Max exhaled slowly as he stood, rolling his shoulders, the tension in his muscles easing. He wiped the blood from his knuckles against the front of his jacket, then-

Shit.

His haze snapped to you. You were still standing there, standing frozen in the doorway, eyes blown wide, breath uneven.

Of course you were. He should’ve known nothing was ever that simple.

“Right, move,” he said, already striding towards you. Ignoring the way warm blood was beginning to soak into his trousers.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“We’re leaqving.”

“No, we’re not. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Max let out a slow breath, patience hanging by a thread. He could hear sirens in the distance. Time was short.

“You’ve got two choices,” he said, voice flat. “Walk, or I carry you.”

Your expression flickered with outrage. “You wouldn’t dare-”

He grabbed your wrist.

You fought him, really you tried, heels digging in, but Max was stronger, faster and had far less interest in arguing. With barely any effort, he hoisted you over his shoulder, ignoring the flurry of fists against his back.

“Put me down, you absolute-”

“Later.”

Max strode down the alley, barely registering the way you kicked and struggled against his grip. His focus was on getting the hell out before someone else decided to have another go at killing him.

He reached his sports bike - sleek, black, and built for speed - and dumped you onto the seat.

You immediately tried to slide off.

His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist. “Stay.”

You glared at him. “I’m not a bloody dog.”

“No, but you’re a pain in my ass.” He leaned in slightly, voice low and edged with irritation. “That man back there wanted me dead. He’d want anyone who witnessed that dead.” He watched the fight in your eyes, the defiance, the disbelief. Then his gaze dropped to your uniform-blue scrubs, a name badge slightly askew. “Do you want to live another day to work at your…” He tilted his head “Your veterinary?”

You swallowed. Hard.

“Yes,” you muttered.

“Good.” He yanked a helmet over your head before you could argue, pulling the strap tight under your chin.

You smacked his hand away, “Get your hands off-”

“Hold on.”

“What?”

The engine roared to life as he revved the throttle.

“Hold. On.”

You barely had time to react before he twisted the grip, the bike surging forward, tyres screeching against the ground. You yelped, arms snapping around his waist as you two tore through the streets, wind whipping past you.

Max’s lips tugged back.

Sassy or not, you were holding on for dear life now.

The city blurred into a mess of neon and streetlights as Max weaved through traffic with the kind of precision that came from years of needing to be faster than the people trying to kill him. You clung onto him tight, despite all your earlier defiance, self-preservation had finally kicked in.

He kept the smirk to himself.

Good.

You tore through backstreets, out onto a motorway, and then further still, into the countryside where the roads were empty, dark, and winding. The roar of the engine echoed through the trees as he pushed the bike harder, faster, leaving everything behind in a blur of tarmac and moonlight.

You didn’t say a word, not that you could over the wind. He could feel you tense against him, probably still weighing up whether you had made the right decision getting on the bike in the first place.

Didn’t matter.

You were too far out from the city now to turn back.

The road narrowed, the air thickening with the scent of pine and earth. The stars were brighter out here, uninterrupted by streetlights. The bike tore though the last stretch of road, tyres crunching over gravel as you approached a villa nestled in the woods.

It was an old house, sprawling yet quiet, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in the Italian countryside rather than where you were. Ivy climbed the stone walls, warm lights glowed behind shuttered windows, and the scent of night blooming jasmine hung in the air.

Was this a safe house?

Is this what they looked like? If they were, the movies portrayed them incorrectly.

Max cut the engine. Silence crashed in.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Then, slowly, you peeled yourself away from him, yanking the helmet off. Your hair was a mess, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“What the fuck,” you breathed.

He swung a leg off the bike, shaking out his hands, rolling his shoulders like they hadn’t just spent the last however many kilometers nearly breaking the sound barrier.

You stared at him, then at the house, then back at him. The blood.

“What- Where- How-”

“Not a fan of full sentences, are you?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Where the fuck are we? Who are you?”

Max ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the house before looking back at you. “Safe.”

You let out a sharp laugh, disbelieving. “You just kidnapped me at God knows what speed, drove me to some random place. What even is this? Some murder house in the middle of nowhere?” You threw your arms out. “Where even are we? This isn’t even the same country anymore, is it?”

Max didn’t answer. He just walked past you, up towards the door.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, arsehole!”

He stopped at the entrance, casting you a glance over his shoulder.

“Are you coming in, or do you want to sleep in the woods?”

Your jaw clenched, “How do I know you aren’t going to kill me–”

He let out an exasperated breath. “I just saved your life, or did that escape your notice?”

Your jaw ticked, arms crossing over your chest. He tried to understand how confusing this probably was, but after so many years the effects of how dangerous his job actually was lost on him.

He continued to stare at you, sighing. “We’re in northern Italy. This is a safe house. You’re fine.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Considering him. “Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

You huffed, the puff of air making some of your hair fall in your face.

Slowly, like a wounded animal approaching, you made your way towards him, eyes flicking down to his leg. “Do you need help?”

Max raised a brow. You couldn’t seem to make up your mind. Half of you was terrified, the other sympathy towards his wounds.

“I’ll be fine.”

You raised your own brow, ever defiant as you came to a stop on the step right below him. The moonlight caught in your eyes as he stared down at you, seeing you properly for the first time.

You raised your chin, eyes dancing from his legs to his face. “I have medical training.”

“On animals, maybe.”

You sighed through your nose. “Fine, bleed out. Super glue your flesh together.” You shoved past him, entering in through the door with caution thrown in the wind.

He followed you inside, watching you carefully as you looked around. The interior was simple. Lightly decorated. Giving the impression it was lived in, but clean. A holiday home, maybe. In case anyone came looking.

Your fingers traced along the edge of an ornately carved table, catching his eyes in the mirror hung above the mantle of the fireplace. He was leaning in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. Critiquing.

“Are you taking me back tomorrow? I have a life you know, people are going to wonder–”

“Sorry, but that’s not happening anytime soon.”

You paused, muscles coiling in tension. You then looked at him over your shoulder. “What am I then? A hostage?”

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “No,” how to word this? “Listen. that man we just encountered is more dangerous than you can even imagine.”

You turned. “Who is he?”

“You know the bombings that happened last month?”

You nodded, eyes going slightly wide. “That person was responsible? I thought it had been a suicide bombing?”

“It was made to look like one. But that poor man was a victim like everyone else. He was a pawn. A puzzle for the government to solve. Bombs strapped to his chest, and they’d be set off if we failed.”

“So, you work for the government? And you what? Failed? Failed what?”

“That’s the thing, we didn’t fail.”

“I don’t understand.”

Max walked over to the kitchen attached to the room, sitting himself down. He knew he needed to close the wound soon. Adrenaline was wearing off. “There was an earpiece the man was wearing, and he had been on the phone with us. We figured it out, what he wanted. The man was just supposed to tell us where he was so a bomb squad could get him but then…” he rubbed at his eyes. Exhaustion creeping in. “He started to describe him.”

Slowly, you approached. Eyes flicking down to his leg again. “Do you have a medical kit?”

Max debated for a moment, he wasn’t fond of people touching him. The most contact he got these days was dealt in punches. The pain pulsed, though, making him relent and he gestured to the cupboard under the sink.

When you came back, he felt a strange jump in his stomach. Like a rope was being yanked as you kneeled in front of him, your eyes focused on the contents of the box as you rummaged through it.

“What’d he say?” You asked, making him snap out of it.

“Not much. Didn’t even say what he looked like. Didn’t give a name. Just said his voice sounded so soft– and the line went dead.”

You paused as you slid sanitary gloves on, eyes going up to his and a crease formed between his brows. “Why’d the government put out a terrorist statement? Surely his family knows–”

Max shook his head, reaching his hands down to tear a large rip into his pants so you could get better access to his wound. “No, no one is supposed to know what’s actually happening. The real threat. Leclerc has been causing chaos across multiple countries' governments for years now, he’s just getting louder. He’s bored.”

“Leclerc? Is that his name?” You leaned, in, your warm breath softly brushed against his thigh, the dried blood feeling cold against his skin and he fought back as shiver as you pierced his flesh with the needle.

“Not many know of him. Barely anyone even knows what he looks like.”

You paused, looking at him. “But now we do.”

He nodded. “Thus, the safehouse.”

“What have you dragged me into?”

He smiled at her, though it wasn’t friendly. “Trust me, if I could be rid of you, I would leap at the opportunity.”

You yanked the wound closed a little harder than necessary and he winced. “The sentiment is shared, you prick. I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” he stood up, watching you lean back while you were still down on your knees. “You were in the way.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stared up at him. A challenge. Seeing who would cave first. His eyes traced the contours of your bent throat, up across your lips, to your angry gaze.

He sighed. “We’re stuck with each other, lieve. For the time being. He knows we’ve seen his face. He won’t be letting that go.”

“So, we just wait here?”

“No, we’re leaving tomorrow.” He stepped around you. Finally breaking the eye contact and he made his way down the hall, hearing you follow after him and cursing under your breath.

“What? But what about my–”

“I’ll have it handled, but we can’t stay here. Or anywhere for a long time, for that matter. Leclerc is powerful. He doesn’t just have money, he has blackmail. That’s enough to make any government topple.” Max turned, watching as you froze, eyes wide. Disassociating. Not being able to come to terms with your new reality.

He felt bad. A little, as much as he could manage. But this is what happened when people stumbled into his life. Everything gets ruined. Upturned.

‘What am I supposed to do?” You whispered, mostly talking to yourself.

Max walked up to you, his steps light. “Right now, you need to rest. There should be toiletries in the bathroom.”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a scoff. “Such a nice host.”

He bowed his head in mock virtue. “You’re welcome. I’ll wake you up.”

With that he turned, disappearing down the hall and shutting his door behind him. He needed to call Christian and let him know.

He was compromised.

–

You didn’t sleep. How were you supposed to? Your mind was spinning. Thinking about everything and nothing. Pacing the room in the dark, the moon glinting at you through the window. You had no idea what time it was. There was no clock, and you had lost your phone in the chaotic events that unfurled earlier.

You kept staring at your scrubs that lay in a neat, folded pile on the bed. Now adorning a too big shirt and baggy boxers you’d found in a drawer. You felt nauseous, a sense of foreboding as you stared at your work uniform with your name stitched onto the front packet. It felt like you were severing something. And maybe you were. Your life. Any sense of normalcy.

It didn’t feel real.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and you jumped, half expecting the strange man to barge in. It occurred to you that you never asked for his name. But after a few seconds passed, you realised he was waiting.

Swallowing thickly, you reached for the door handle and took a breath before opening it.

There he stood, mouth opening to say something but his eyes quickly took in your appearance, and if your mind wasn’t playing trick on you, you could’ve sworn his neck went a little red.

He then looked past you onto the bed, at the fabric of your past life. “Good, we need to burn it.”

“What?”

“Your name’s on it. Grab it and let's go.”

He began to walk away and you blinked at him. “I’m supposed to go out like this?”

He looked back at her, biting his cheek as he took in her bare legs. “It’s not like we’re going out in public. Now move.”

You wanted to throw something at his head, but you quickly slipped on your shoes and grabbed your scrubs. When you walked into the living room a fire was already going in the hearth with him kneeling in front of it.

He held out his hand, looking at you expectantly.

You held your breath, fingers tightening on the cloth for a moment before you finally handed it to him.

Feeling something break a bit inside of you as he tossed them in, the fabric beginning to char.

–

A week had passed, and he barely talked to you.

Max.

That was his name.

Not that he told you, he never told you anything. In fact, he avoided you like the plague.

Bits of information fell into your lap. Like his name as he talked to some man named Horner over the radio on the small private jet you had been on. Your eyes watching as he flew it with precision. His hands maneuvering over hundreds of controls as if it were muscle memory.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

This was your third relocation, somewhere in the Swiss Alps maybe, you didn’t know. You just sat curled cup with your chin resting on your knees by the window. Looking at the snow-covered mountains. Drawing patterns into the fogged-up mirror.

He felt like a ghost.

Or maybe you did. A presence he was wanting to pretend wasn’t there. Haunting him.

It’s not like you weren’t being taken care of. New clothes had been laid out, all in your size but you tended to op for the shirt you’d found that first night. Feeling like it was your last tether. When you woke up in the morning, breakfast was made. The fridge full. No note as to where he had gone. But you supposed the less you knew the better.

A few more days passed before there was a knock on your door again.

Time to go.

His eyes only met yours for a moment before he walked away.

–

It was late, the moon hanging high in the night and winking at him as he unlocked the door. But he paused as he realised there was loud noise coming from inside the house. 

Leaning forward, he realised it was music and his brows furrowed. You were usually asleep by then. He tried to plan his outings to avoid you. He was sure you didn’t want to be around him so it was a common courtesy. 

Walking inside, a song from the seventies was pouring through the speakers. If there were nearby houses there would surely be complaints, but they were tucked away in a large house resting on a mountain's edge in southern Mexico. Away from prying eyes or ears. 

His steps were quiet and light, though the beat was covering him well enough. 

Max passed by the kitchen, brow raising at the sight of an empty bottle of wine and the liquor cabinet doors were left open, bottles rummaged through. 

Christian was going to kill him. 

His feet carried him to the living room and he abruptly stopped when he caught sight of you. 

You were wearing his damned shirt again. A glass of wine in your hand, eyes closed as you swayed around. Singing along to whatever song you had put on. A drunken blush on your cheeks.

He couldn’t stop staring at you. A little dumbfounded at how carefree you looked. How relaxed. Hips swaying and a thoughtless smile on your lips. A daydream in the form of a woman. 

You turned, taking another sip of wine and your eyes caught his. He expected you to jump. Scream. 

Instead your eyes lit up, knocking him off balance. 

“Max!” You exclaimed, making your way over to him, your bare feet padding against the expensive rug. 

He blinked down at you as you came to a stop right in front of him. Closer than you had been in weeks. He had been keeping you at an arm's length for both your sakes. But with the mischievous glint in your eye he had a feeling that was going to crumble tonight.

“What are you doing?” He eventually managed to get out. 

You took another drink, your eyes locked on him as you did so. As you pulled the glass away, your lips were stained with wine. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Stealing.”

You raised a brow.

He gestured to your glass. “I don’t recall telling you the liquor was up for grabs.”

“Is it not?”

“No.”

You smiled. “That’s too bad.” And you finished off your glass, twirling around and walking to the coffee table where you had another bottle. Pouring yourself another one. 

He bit his cheek. Watching you. Cautious. Ignoring that weird tug he got in his stomach when he was around you. “You do realise how much that bottle costs?”

You shrugged, taking a drink “Not my problem.”

“Yeah, well it will be my problem if you run through every bottle in this house.”

“Careful Max, you sound aggravated.” You tsk-d, a playful smile tugging at your lips and he looked away as he leaned against the entryway. 

“I don’t get aggravated.”

“Really?” 

“Yep.”

He felt you approach. The smell of the shampoo you had used wafting around him paired with the wine. Enticing. Dangerous. 

You leaned into your hip, the grin on your lips anything but innocent. 

“I could push all your buttons right now if I wanted to.”

He flicked his eyes down to you, feeling a little breathless but he pushed onward. “No, you couldn’t actually–”

“I think actually I could.”

“No–”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“No,” he bit out your name, eyes narrowing at your growing grin. “If you would just–”

“I can’t seem to hear you.” He huffed as he watched you grab the remote and turn the music up louder.

“”Just listen to me–”

“I’m trying to listen to you–”

“I can tell–”

“So tell me,” the song ended, and they stared at one another. He’d gotten closer without realising it and you craned your neck back. Voice soft. “Is that making you mad?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes dancing from your mouth to your eyes. Slowly, the word left him. “No.” 

“No,” you whispered. With a hum you stepped back as the next song played, and before he realised it you had grabbed his wrist and pulled him further into the room. “Dance with me.”

“Absolutely not.” 

Your skin was warm against his and he felt his nerves go into a frenzy. Part of him wanted to tear himself away from you, the other half wanted to be more reckless. Hold on. 

Ridiculous. 

You frowned at him, though it was more of a drunken pout. 

He nearly frowned himself when you let go, your drunken mind getting caught up in the song, singing the lyrics and you closed your eyes. Stepping along with the beat to the Nancy Sinatra song that was pouring out into the room. 

Max lowered himself on the sofa, leaning back with an arm draped over the back as he watched you. He didn’t really know what to think. It was an odd predicament he found himself in. New territory that came with being hunted by Leclerc. He knew they were being trailed, though a bit slower than he expected. 

He was glad you weren’t curled up in fear, knowing he had upended your life by running into you on that night that seemed so long ago now. You were finding little ways to cheer yourself up. Every other night when he’d come home– to the safehouse– he’d find dishes or desserts you made. A note scrawled on top, Help yourself, followed by your first initial. 

Max’s eyes danced up your legs as you moved, watching how his shirt hung on your body, not liking how much he enjoyed seeing you in it. 

He knew this was reckless. Sitting there, watching you. Harmless from the outside, but he felt that tug again and he wasn’t pulling away from it. 

He knew he should get up. Walk away. Avoid you like he had been the past month. 

Max didn’t move. 

His eyes traced you like an obsessed artist. 

“Max,” you sighed, setting your glass down, but you stumbled. The alcohol rushed through your veins and he easily caught you, breath hitching as you fell into his lap. 

Eyes locked onto each other. Ensnared. Caught in a trap. 

Max swallowed thickly, overwhelmed by you. “I think it’s time you went to bed.”

‘Why?” Your voice was a whisper, breath fanning over his lips.

“Because I’m about to do something incredibly stupid.” 

Your eyes searched his, fingers twined in his shirt. Your grip tightened, leaning in, making his heart lurch, then you leaned back.

His hands slowly fell from your waist as you stood up, his fingers grazing your thighs. Dazed as you muttered a goodnight and walked away.

Max watched you go, alone and the music echoed.

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.

–

You were haunting his dreams. Every night he seemed to wake up in a sweat, sheets pooling around his hips and he’d rub his eyes, forcing the images away. 

Reckless.

Stupid. 

He started joining you for dinner. Sitting at the counter, glass of whiskey in hand as he watched you move around the kitchen.

Wearing another shirt of his.

He gave it to you a week ago. Left it folded on your bed after you two had landed in Argentina.

Leclerc felt like an approaching shadow. He could feel the tick of the clock matching the beat of his heart. 

Closer and closer. 

Your fingers trailed along the nape of his neck as you walked behind him, setting down his plate. 

He shut his eyes.

He was slipping.

–

You lowered your book a bit, squinting against the sun despite the fact you were wearing sunglasses. The Miami sun unforgiving.

Max walked out onto the back patio and you watched him silently, scared that if you made a noise he’d retreat back into the house. He was always treading so carefully around you. 

You watched as he lifted his shirt over his head, his hair looking blond in the sun and his skin tan and corded with muscle. Swim shorts low on his hips. 

It seemed so… casual. 

You liked it. 

He dove into the pool, the water aquamarine and shimmering. 

Max broke the surface, shaking his head to rid himself of water and wiped at his eyes, looking at you over the ledge of the pool. He had a habit of staring when he thought you weren’t looking. It felt like a game of cat and mouse with him. Never knowing when he’d let go of his reins a little bit. He’d let you in a little bit but then would take five steps back.

What was he so scared of? 

He rested his arms on the edge of the pool. water beading up on his biceps and shoulders, eyes narrowing at you and you lowered your book, raising a brow. 

“Get in.”

You blinked and lowered your glasses down your nose. “What?”

“Get in, lieve.” 

Your brow furrowed. He called you that sometimes and you had no idea what it meant.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.” 

Despite your scoff, you found yourself getting up anyway. His eyes watched you as you walked closer, each leg lowering into the water, goosebumps covering your flesh even though it was warm. 

The water wasn’t too deep, but you were still on your toes as you neared him, water dewed up on his lashes. His eyes glowing as he briefly looked at your mouth. 

Part of you was tempted to grab his neck and just say to hell with it. 

It was hard to breathe when he was around. 

–

They had only been in Rio for a few days. He didn’t know how you managed to convince him, but he found himself being dragged to a night club as the sun set behind the waves. 

It was idiotic. 

But seeing your smile as he caved made him reckless. 

The music was loud. The club dark, figures flickering in and out of focus as lights flashed. 

This really was a horrible idea. 

Your hand found his wrist, tugging him towards the dance floor but he didn’t budge. 

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Oh come on, live a little.”

He shook his head. “I’ll keep watch.” Max’s heart sank a little when he saw your expression falter a bit, clearly upset. But before he could even scramble for a response you dropped his arm and kept walking. Other bodies swept you up. 

Biting his cheek, he leaned back against the bar. Careful to keep an eye on you. On the entrance and exit. 

Ignoring that tug in his stomach. 

- 

You had a headache. One that was free of alcohol. You weren’t risking that tonight. 

Every now and again you’d catch Max’s eye, the stoney expression he always wore. Unreadable. 

It was infuriating. Exhausting. You felt like a fool. 

You were probably just lonely. Forcing something that wasn’t there. He was practically your keeper. Nothing more, nothing less. 

It almost felt like he always went out of his way to make that point. 

You could look all you wanted but that was it. Only fleeting touches and tense conversation. 

It was maddening. You felt like you were going insane. Imagining things with the way he was looking at you. 

Like he wanted you. 

Clearly he didn’t. 

You had no idea what he wanted. 

The music thrummed. Loud in your ears and making your heart lurch in your throat. You wanted to forget for a little while. Forget what your life had turned into, or lack thereof. 

Your hands were in the air, hips swaying, letting the crowd guide you. 

You spun, heels catching and you stumbled a bit but someone behind you caught you easily. 

The smell of rich cologne met you first and you turned, taken slightly aback from the man who was now standing in front of you. 

He was devastatingly handsome. 

And grinning lightly. 

At you. 

Dimples in his cheeks, blue eyes looking dark, and his brown hair was a mess. 

“Sorry,” you finally managed to spit out, blushing like an idiot. 

He shook his head, leaning down so you could hear him better. His voice soft. 

“You’re alright, darling.” He had a slight french accent and you returned his smile. 

Not denying that you liked the sudden attention you were getting. 

The moment was tense, his eyes not leaving yours as he took a step closer, a question in his gaze as his arm reached out and wrapped around your waist. 

You sucked in a breath. Debating. 

Your eyes trailed to where Max had been but he was gone, walking off somewhere. 

Running your tongue along the inside of your cheek, you looked back up at the handsome mystery man and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

Permission. 

You knew exactly what he wanted. The reassurance felt nicer than it should’ve. 

You two began to move to the music, lights flashing and bodies pressed tight together. His voice low in your ear as his lips brushed against it. Making light conversation. Making you laugh. 

He was wickedly charming. 

He asked your name and you felt like you had to practically shout it over the music. 

“Yours?” You asked, feeling a bit dazed with the way he was looking at you. Shivering as one of his hands snaked up your back and into your hair, his other arm tightening around your waist. 

“Charles,” he spoke it into your mouth.

Lips colliding. Messy. Electric. 

God, you were touch starved. 

You practically melted into him as his tongue slid into your mouth. 

The taste of him strangely sweet.

-

After he had caught the sight of a shadow moving upstairs, he debated leaving you alone for a moment before deciding it was better to be safe than sorry. 

What he hadn’t been expecting as he looked over the upstairs railing, was to see you making out with someone. 

But it wasn’t just someone. 

His stomach dropped as the flickering lights shone over the man’s face. 

Leclerc. 

Just as he turned around a knee was suddenly being lodged into his diaphragm.

Max stumbled back, coughing violently. Barely having time to blink before he dodged another kick, this time a foot coming straight for his head. 

He quickly dodged, hooking his own arm out in an arc and landed a fist across the person face. 

Lights shone into the balcony and he caught sight of a woman, grunting as she wiped blood off her cheek. 

Fuck. 

He knew exactly who this was. 

Leclerc’s personal murder weapon. 

Ex-MI5. Now enemy of the state. 

She didn’t hesitate, darting forward, throwing another kick and as he went to block her, her hands gripped his shoulder and she swung up and around, cinching her legs around his neck. 

His head spun a bit from the force, adrenaline making him barely take notice of how she dug a knife somewhere in his back. 

Max’s hands flew up, grip tightening around her waist before slamming her down onto a near by table, knocking the wind out of her but her legs remained a vice around his neck. 

His hand shot out, putting his own death grip around her throat. Seeing red. 

She wheezed. Clawing at his hand, eyes going red and bleary. 

He grit his teeth as she grinned at him. 

“Been a while, babe.”

Max was about to just say fuck it and snap her neck when someone suddenly whistled. 

“Kinky, I like it.”

His eyes flicked to the side before widening. 

Leclerc was setting your unconscious body down on a nearby couch, your arm slipping from his shoulder and slumping to the side. 

He didn’t have much time to take in the smug expression Leclerc was wearing before there was a sharp blow to his skull. 

-

The second he was awake a sharp pain ricocheted around his skull, making him wince. 

He blinked a few times, eyes burning, trying to see in the low light provided only by a few lamps. 

The room was simple. Neat. A hotel maybe, given the carpet.

When he saw you, tied to a chair across from him, duck tape over your mouth with blood dripping down the side of your head, your eyes dilated in fear. 

He bit out your name, attempting to crawl to you out of sheer desperation before he realized his own hands were tied. 

The longer Max took in your fear stricken expression, he realised you weren’t even looking at him. But past his shoulder. 

Long legs were adorned by an expensive black suit and one ankle was perched up on the other knee. Italian leather graced his feet that looked as frightfully expensive as the black leather gloves that covered his long fingers, resting on the armrests of the chair. 

Leclerc looked painfully casual. 

Save for the cold look in his eyes and cruel smile on his lips. 

His blue eyes flicked down Max’s frame. An invisible string pulled at the corner of his lips as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Max clenched his jaw, looking at you, how your hair stuck to your sweat drenched skin. His eyes flicked back to Leclerc. 

“Why don’t you come here and find out?”

Leclerc laughed. Though it was more so an exhale of air and his own gaze drifted to you, making Max’s blood boil. 

The man hummed, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Max. 

“Charles Leclerc.” He let his name sit heavy in the air for a moment. “Hello,” the way he said it, almost in a sing-song voice… like their current situation was amusing. 

His eyes danced to you, and your confused expression. “Charles? From the club?” You continued to simply stare at him, blood crusting on your wounds and hummed. “Do I really make such a fleeting impression? That’s a shame. I rather enjoyed our kiss.”

Max thrashed against his restraints. 

“Easy now.” Leclerc tsk-d. He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve given you a glimpse, Max. Just a small one. Of what I’m capable of.” Before Max could even think about what he was saying a red dot appeared on your forehead. 

He tried to turn around to see where it was coming from but he couldn’t move. Yanking against the rope but it was useless. 

Leclerc sighed, as if taking pity on him. 

“I’ve got a lot going on out there in the world. I’m a specialist, I suppose.” He raised his brows, gesturing to Max. “Like you.” 

“A consulting criminal,” Max bit. 

Leclerc shrugged. “Brilliant, isn’t it? No one ever gets to me.”

“I did.”

He hummed, “you’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.” 

“Thank you,” Max muttered, his anger making him reckless.

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Yes, you did.”

Leclerc shrugged, smiling. Looking bashful. “Yeah, okay I did.” He then stood up, rolling his shoulders and fixing his cuff links. “But the flirtings over, Max. Daddy’s had enough now and there’s business to be done. I’ve shown you what I’m capable of. Remember the royal family fiasco? Oh, the princess. What a naughty girl.” He laughed. “Or when I drained the Vatican's vaults. All that money just to get you to come out and play.” 

He walked over to Max, looking down at him. “So take this as a friendly warning, mon cher.” Leclerc placed his hands in his pockets, unblinking as the next words slid out of his mouth like oil. “Back off.”

He stepped back, walking in a circle around your chair. “Although I’ll admit, it has been fun hasn’t it? This little game of ours.”

“People have died.”

“I hate to tell you this, but that’s what people do.” He then wound a hand in your hair and yanked your head back, smiling into your neck as a knife suddenly appeared in Leclerc’s hand, pressing it against your throat. His eyes flicked up, meeting Max’s rage filled expression. “Would you like a reminder of that?”

“I will kill you,” Max ground out. 

Leclerc leaned back, dropping the knife as if he was suddenly bored. His voice calm. “No you won’t.”

Max’s eyes drifted to you. “Are you alright?”

You were quiet. Deathly still. 

Leclerc leaned down, his lips dusting your ear. “You can talk, honey. Go ahead.” And he ripped off the tape. 

You winced. Voice cry and cracking. “I’m fine.” 

“See?” Leclerc leaned against the back of your chair. Hovering. A demon waiting to collect his bargain. “She’s a tough one, you know how to pick them. I’m a little envious, actually.” 

“What do you want?” Max snapped. Getting desperate. “Money? Missile plans?” 

Leclerc tapped his hands on the chair. Whistling. “Missile plans? Wow.” He acted like he was considering it but sighed. “Boring. I can get those anywhere.” He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head and Max’s stomach sank as he watched you flinch. 

But then you suddenly threw your head back, ramming your head back into Leclerc’s nose and he stumbled, blood beginning to pour out and into his mouth. Staining his lips and teeth. 

He laughed, looking crazed as he made a weak attempt to wipe the crimson away. “Good, very good. She’s sweet, I can see why you like having her around. But then again, people do get so sentimental about their pets.” 

Max threw himself back, the wooden chair shattering below him and he darted forward, ignoring the pain and slamming Leclerc into the wall. Not caring as an array of red glowing dots covered his back. 

“Max!” you cried out, struggling against your restraints. 

Leclerc wouldn’t stop laughing. A mad man. “So touchy and loyal. Maybe you’re her pet.”

A bullet shot through the window and he heard you cry out as it grazed your leg.

Max threw himself back, raising his hands in the air. 

Leclerc smiled. “Gotcha.” He then smoothed down his suit, giving Max an offended look. “Armani, please be gentle with it.” He then sighed, tilting his head to the side. “Do you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Max? Hm?” He stepped forward, getting in his personal space. “Do you?”

“I get killed?”

“Kill you?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, no no. Don’t be so obvious. I mean yes I will kill you, eventually. But I don’t want to rush it. I want to save that for something special. Just you and I. But if you don’t stop prying,” his eyes drifted to you, smiling wistfully. “I will burn the heart out of you. And I’ll enjoy it.” He closed his eyes, as if savoring it. “Very much.” 

Leclerc began to step back, hands back in his pockets. Smirking. “Ciao, Max.”

And he left out the door.

-

Max was being so delicate with you, you wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. 

Tremors still ran through your body. Mostly in shock. You couldn’t believe how stupid you had been. You almost got Max and yourself killed and for what? A night out—

“It’s not your fault.” Max said as he wiped away the blood on your leg, his stitches clean and your heart tugged. All those times you fixed his wounds and he let you. He didn’t need to. He knew how to do it. 

“I should’ve listened to you the first time.” You whispered, watching how bruises already began to bloom across your leg from where the bullet had grazed you. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Simply staring at you before his hands gently reached out, cupping your face to tilt your head down and he pressed a light kiss to your freshly washed hair. 

He’d cleaned you up. Nothing about it felt remotely sexual. Just… comforting. Letting you know that he had you. You didn’t have the energy to feel even an ounce of embarrassment that he had finally seen you naked. 

“It’s not your fault,” Max repeated. 

You shut your eyes, leaning into him and his arms slowly wrapped around you in a hug as he stood between your legs as they dangled off the sink. 

You hugged him back in your own time, finding comfort in his warmth and you sighed. Wondering who you had pisssed off in your past life to end up here. 

“Do you think it’s over?”

Max traced light circles into your back. You were wearing another shirt of his. 

Eventually you felt him shake his head. “No,” he said quietly. “Not until he’s dead. But even then, it might take months or even years to dismantle his network.”

You clenched your jaw. Your new reality sinking in. Leaning your head back, you looked up at him. “What do we do now?”

One of his hands reached up, the rough skin of his palm a comfort as he cupped your jaw, his thumb lightly running over your cheekbone. He looked lost. These were new waters, even for him. 

“What we’ve been doing.”

“Biding our time?”

He shook his head, eyes flicking to your mouth. 

“Being patient.”

-

The Shanghai safe house was quiet. Too quiet.

Max shoved the door open, blood dripping from the gash on his cheekbone. His T-shirt clung to him, damp from sweat, and his hands were sore from throwing too many punches and landing too few. His head ached, and he wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep. 

This was what he got for wanting to train against his teammate - his teammate that hadn’t missed a singular training session while Max was jetting off from country to country evading Leclerc.

But training was more important now than it had ever been now that Leclerc was a constant weight on his mind. Eventually, he’d start training you as well. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself if he wasn’t there. 

He’d kill himself if a repeat of Rio happened. 

You were perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging lazily, his oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. You had a glass of water in your hand, but you weren't drinking it—just watching him.

Your gaze flicked to his face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his skin.

You exhaled sharply, hopping down to pull the first aid kit from the cabinet. “Sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Max.”

He didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look at you. Just strode towards the bathroom, already pulling his shirt over his head. All he wanted was a shower.

“Fine.”

The word was clipped, laced with something unreadable, and it made him stop. He turned back, brow furrowing as he watched you push herself back onto the counter, setting the first aid kit beside you. Then you just… waited.

No arguing. No chasing him down. Just waiting.

His jaw tightened. His fists curled.

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped between your knees.

You were already reaching for him, fingers cool as they cupped his jaw, tilting his face to the light. He let out a slow, steady breath as you pressed a damp cloth to the cut, the sting sharp but distant compared to the warmth of you between his arms.

You were focused, careful. Too careful.

He swallowed. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up.”

His lips twitched despite himself.

Your thumb brushed his cheek as you adjusted your grip, and then—just for a second—your breath caught.

He felt it. Saw it.

You hesitated, your fingers stilling against his skin.

He looked down.

You weren't breathing. Not properly. Not anymore.

Your eyes darted to his mouth. Just for a second. But he caught that, too.

His hands flexed against the counter’s edge.

Silence.

Something thick. Something unspoken.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you broke.

But something had just snapped.

And there was no coming back from it.

His grip on the counter tightened.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at you, feeling the weight of something shift between you—something heavy, something inevitable.

When had this started?

The first safe house? The second? Or had it been there from the moment he dragged you into this mess, when you clung to him on the back of the bike, shaking but unbroken?

You were still looking at him, your fingers trembling just slightly against his skin. Your lips parted like you were about to say something, but nothing came out.

He wondered when you’d last been with someone. When someone had last touched you like this. When you’d last let them.

Max rolled his jaw as he thought about Leclerc that night in Rio. How he has managed to get his hands on you. His mouth. Charles, he had called himself. 

He saw black for a moment and shoved the memory away. 

His mind flicked back to himself, to the months of running, of waiting, of trying to force this thing between you into something manageable. It had been over a year since he’d had a moment to himself, since he’d even considered wanting something outside of the mission, of survival.

But now—right now—he couldn’t think about anything else.

Then you moved.

Slowly, carefully—giving him time to stop you.

He didn’t.

Your lips brushed his, just barely. A whisper of a kiss. A question.

And he almost answered. Almost let himself sink into it.

But then he pulled away.

Your hand dropped from his face instantly, the space between you rushing back in like a cold slap.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I—”

He saw it in your eyes before you even said it. The regret. The walls slamming back up.

“I shouldn’t have—”

He surged forward.

No hesitation this time. No space left to second-guess.

His hand caught your jaw, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he crushed his mouth to yours. Nothing soft. Nothing tentative. Seven months of waiting, of fighting it, of pretending he didn’t feel you in every room, in every breath—poured into one kiss.

You gasped against him, your hands flying to his shoulders, but he didn’t let you pull away. Didn’t let you think.

His other hand gripped your thigh, pulling you closer, and you melted against him—just for a second—before you kissed him back just as hard.

Your nails dug into his arms, his teeth scraped your ower lip, and then it was all hands and heat and need. No more distance. No more games.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth, and he answered by dragging you forward on the counter until there was nothing left between you.

He could feel your breath hitch again, just like before. Only this time, you didn’t pull away.

This time, neither of you did.

And there was no pretending this hadn’t just changed everything.

His hand slid up, fingers curling lightly around your throat. Not squeezing—just enough for you to feel it, to know he could.

You let out a sound, soft and breathy, barely even real—except it was, because he felt it against his lips.

A fucking moan.

His grip tightened just slightly, his own breath catching in his chest.

And then—he smirked.

You wanted this. Badly. He could feel it in the way you were clinging to him, in the way your legs tightened around his hips, in the way you practically melted into his hands.

So he pulled back.

Just enough to make you whimper at the loss of him, just enough to see your lips part in something dangerously close to frustration.

Your eyes flicked open, dazed, hazy with it. “Max,” you breathed.

He raised a brow, deliberately slow, deliberately smug.

“Not fair,” you muttered, voice edged with irritation, your chest still rising and falling too fast.

No, it wasn’t. But it was fun.

Then something shifted in your expression—something sharp, something knowing.

Your lips twitched. “Fine,”you she said lightly, fingers sliding up his chest, nails scraping just enough to make him feel it. “My turn.”

Before he could react, you moved.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips along his jaw, feather-light, barely there. Your hands trailed lower, over the tense muscles of his stomach, your nails pressing just enough to make his pulse hammer.

His breath hissed through his teeth.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, teasing, taunting, and then pulled back just slightly, waiting. Daring him.

His patience snapped.

His hand shot back to your throat, fingers tightening as he pushed forward, crashing his mouth to yours.

This wasn’t careful anymore. Wasn’t measured.

This was hunger. Months of it.

You gasped against him, but he didn’t let you speak. Didn’t let you do anything but feel him, take him, match him.

He bit your lip. You tugged his hair. He swallowed every sound you made, kissed you like he was trying to take the air from your lungs, like he was trying to burn through every second you’d wasted not doing this.

You gripped his shoulders, dragging him closer, but it wasn’t close enough. It would never be close enough.

He lifted you, dragged you against him, let himself lose control in a way he never did, never allowed, because nothing had ever felt like this before.

The way he kissed you, it was like he wanted to wipe that smug little smirk off your face, like he wanted to remind you exactly who was in control here. But the truth was, he wasn’t. Not anymore.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth, and he answered by pressing you back against the wall of the kitchen, swallowing every sound you made.

Your legs tightened around him. He could feel your heartbeat, rapid against his chest, matching his own.

Another kiss, deeper this time. Another sharp intake of breath.

Then finally—finally—he forced himself to pull back, just enough to see your face, to watch the way your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, your pupils blown wide.

You blinked up at him, dazed.

And then—

“Wow.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, and his lips twitched.

“If I’d known you could kiss that well,” you murmured, your fingers still tangled in his hair, “I would’ve done it in Italy.”

His brow lifted, his hands still braced against the counter on either side of you. “Italy?”

You smiled. “When you said you needed to burn my uniform. Something about that all black ensemble made me feel something.”

His jaw tensed. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

That night, the dim glow of the chandeliers, the fire in front of them, the warmth of the room.

He had wanted to shoot himself in the foot for thinking of her in ways he shouldn’t have.

And now you were telling him you’d thought about this then?

His fingers curled against the wood. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, all mock innocence. “Am I?”

His hands shot back to your thighs, dragging you forward, forcing another gasp from your lips as he leaned in close, his mouth hovering over you.

“You have no idea,” he murmured.

tag list: @dragonfly047 @lovehollandy12 @moofilms @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @ashbone @c8lap1nto @taasgirl @stopeatread @dying-inside-but-its-classy (let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!)

[roseychains]

How these women fuck (or get fucked) by you

A/n: in a messy situation with some guy rn, my mental health is deteriorating and I have a lot to manage. Idk, except a lot of female oriented content for a little while cuz rn I’m. Yea

C/w: written by a minor!, fem!reader, both sub and dom reader, and all of these warnings go both ways. strap on, oral, fingering, sex toys, lingerie, bondage, marking, scissoring, degradation, exhibitionism, praise, sensory deprivation, temperature play, overstim and edging, role play, hand kink

Featuring: shoko, utahime, and yuki from jjk. Pakunoda, shizuku, and machi from hxh. Misturi and shinobu from demon slayer, and honorable mention yor briar.

Jjk women

Shoko

Purple strap energy. Shoko is a switch but prefers being dom. The only way she’d ever let you take control is if you really want to, but that’s not to say that she takes on a particularly controlling roll either. For her, sex isn’t about labels it’s about making her girlfriend feel good, and herself. The thing that makes her a dom most of the time is the way that she is often the giver, and when you are she still maintains control over the situation.

Definitely smokes while she’s hitting it from the back if you let her. She’d be balls deep in your cunt and have one hand pressed on your back and the other holding a cigar between her lips, turning away to puff out the smoke.

When she goes down on you, she fingers you while she sucks on your clit. She loves watching you get close and your thighs threaten to close around her head.

Speaking of, she needs you to sit on her face. Please. She doesn’t care how heavy you think you are. She will die happily between your thighs, pull her hair too, she will moan.

Double ended dildos are defiantly her favorite toy with you. Throw in a vibrator as well, so your scissoring each other while being penetrated by the same toy and a vibrator between? That’s her favorite thing to do.

Utahime

She’s a switch as well, but she leans to being a sub, a bratty sub. I feel like she’s also a big pillow princess as well, so she prefers to lay back and be at your mercy, not to mention it gets her really turned on when you tell her all the things your going to do to her. She will act bratty to get your attention, to attempt to rile you up in hopes of getting a reaction, getting punished(overstimulated till she cry’s). On the chance she is a dom, I imagine her being a cocky dom now that the tables have finally turned, you’ll be sore for a while.

She looks so good in lingerie, she likes it when you fuck her in it, while you’re wearing some as well. She will constantly talk about it when valentines is coming up, “I sure hope my hot sexy girlfriend doesn’t buy us matching lingerie, that would be so bad I hope that doesn’t happen” (she is a master of reverse psychology)

Being a pillow princess, you’re often the one going down on her. She’s super vocal while you’re eating her out, pulls your hair super hard.

She loves shibari bondage, with silky red ropes gently laced around her body. She doesn’t like normal rope, handcuffs, or tape. Only gentle, pretty silk. To be honest, sex with her is very ascetically pleasing

Yuki

She’s a dom all the way. She is controlling every aspect of your bedroom activity’s, and flawlessly at that. She knows what you want, she knows how you like to be touched, where you’re sensetive, and how to abuse all of that knowledge. Depending on what you prefer, she can either be a mean dom, or a slow romantic lover, or both. She lives to please you, so don’t you move a finger. If you weren’t a pillow princess, you are now.

Dirty talk with her is so good. She says the right things at all the right times, and her smug sexy voice never fails to make you leak through whatever panties you’re wearing.

She will probably at some point bring up the idea of you wearing a vibrator in public and she has the remote. Honestly, she loves seeing you flustered and embarrassed, all the better knowing it’s all her fault.

Wants you to leave marks on her when she fucks you. She wants you to scratch her back, leave red marks that will show in her back-less swim suit the next day, she wears those marks like a badge of honor.

Hxh women

Pakunoda

Service dom vibes. I feel like sex with with her is equally as romantic as it is almost formal. She’s a giver, and dedicated everything she does to your pleasure. With that being said, she is also a brat tamer. So if you act up, except to be bent over her lap and counting each hit. She will give you everything you want, sexually, and expects submission in return.

She’s definitely possessive, and when you go out wearing something revealing she’s making sure she has given you a hickey somewhere on your skin, for when she can’t be with you. But when she can, she has her hand around your waist at all times.

Loves to eat you out slowly so you get needy and start begging for her to finish you off. She will draw it out as long as she can, savoring your taste and reactions, but after a while she will let you cum.

She prefers to fuck you with her fingers as opposed to a strap. She feels like it’s too far away from being her, so she’s rather fuck you with something she has, reminding you that you don’t need any man, or anyone else for that matter.

Shizuku

She’s a sub, but definitely a power bottom. She cannot sit still, and will constantly have her hands on you. Be that pulling your hair while you eat her out, gripping you thighs while she’s going down on you, scratching your back when your fingering her and grabbing your face when you kiss her. Please don’t tie her down. That would make her sad. She just needs something to hold onto.

One of her all time favorite things is riding your strap. Bonus points if you hold her hands, even more if you hold her hips and thrust into her at her same pace, she will literally ride you till she’s crying, panting, and exhausted.

She’s extremely vocal. Even when you’re gently teasing or prepping her, she will let out the most loud pornographic moans, it’s almost like she wants someone else to hear.

She would find it exciting to do risky things, like fucking while the troupe is in the other room. Your have to cover her mouth with your hand or they really will hear.

Machi

She’s a switch because she can do it all. I imagine her being a rough dom, tying you up with her nen stitches and fucking you with her fingers hard and fast. She’s so strong, and can easily manhandle you to her will. She will also choke you. When she’s a sub, I imagine her being kinda shy, she who has always had control of the situation, that control taken away. At the same time though she really loves it, it’s a nice change of place.

Humiliation/degradation with her is soooo good. Her voice is commanding and strict, her holding you down with one hand and fingering you with the other, all while whispering in your ear how slutty you are makes you cum in no time.

When she’s the sub, please praise and encourage her. I imagine her being shy and nervous, Esspecially if it’s her first time being this way. She definitely has to get used to it, learning to let go for a bit but it’s worth it in the end with how good you make her feel.

Sensory deprivation and temperature play both ways are thrilling for her. Either you, tied up and blindfolded, not knowing what she’s going to next, dripping hot wax on your body then rubbing ice over it the next, or her in that same place, she likes it all.

Demon slayer women

Misturi

A shy sub. She doesn’t want to have any control, she just wants to feel good and for you to as well. Probably one of the less kinky people on this list, but she’s open to try anything. But I imagine her mostly enjoying simple stuff, just touching you and you touching her is enough. I feel like she also likes being tied up, nothing crazy just wrist binds, she likes the element of suprise from being restrained.

Sex with her is always soft and gentle. She doesn’t like anything rough or mean, so everything you do is filled with praise and adoration. So even when tears prick in the corners of her eyes, they are pleasure tears.

Kissing 24/7 during sex. She thinks she will die if her lips aren’t on yours at any given moment. She will literally make out with you until you’re both panting and gasping for air, but after one breath she’s going back in for more.

She is super sensitive, and cums from even the lightest touches. She secretly wants you to take advantage of this, please, make her see stars from being between her lush thighs. She just loves it when you go down on her.

Shinobu

She’s a switch but leaning dom. I get the feeling that she lacks experience, but unlike others that doesn’t make her not want to take the lead. I imagine her to be somewhat condescending in bed, with the names she calls you and how she touched you, like you’re just a dumb little girl that she can do with whatever she pleases. However, if she were to be a sub it would be for your pleasure, and she probably would be pretty quiet and shy.

Roleplay with her is big. It doesn’t matter what, she’s down for anything. Predator prey, doctor patient, criminal officer, you’ve done em all. She really gets in character and in her opinion it’s a fun addition to your already more than satisfying sex. She likes watching how you react to different things.

She’s super possessive but she won’t ever act on it in public, she won’t fight or yell, but the second your undressed her mouth is all over your neck, biting, sucking, and kissing. She will probably also have you wear her perfume and clothes, she wants to leave her mark but steadily.

She has a massive hand fetish, yours and her own, but she esspecially likes it when you choke her. No matter who is what role, she likes the pressure that is gentle enough to make her breathing slow down with no real harm, it gets her excited.

Honorable mention

Yor briar

I’m really conflicted on this one. Cuz on one hand, I imagine her being a super shy sub (exhibit A, when loid tried to kiss her) but on the other hand, she’s an assassin and super scary and intimidating so she would maintain that demeanor in bed. Overall, I think she’s just happy to do whatever you want. She doesn’t have much experience so if you’re happy so is she.

When she’s the dom, I can imagine her getting into bondage and roleplay. With enough convincing you could probably even get her to pretend she’s on a mission to apprehend you and get information out of you… a different way.

On the contrary, when you’re on top of her she’s extremely flustered and covering her face. She squirms a lot and is super sensetive to your touch, so even the smallest things get a reaction out of her. That being said, she fucking loves it when you use your strap on her, and hold her hips down.

[enhaflixer]

spy partner! enha x spy! reader

confessions of sorts

the post to an ask that @writhyv sent me abt enha confession texts gone wrong - but unfortunately i deleted it by accident LMAOOOO

cw: swearing, crack, fluff, mentions of guns and shooting

Masterlist

A/N: Hope you guys liked this one!!!! Requests are open!