#espionage fanfic

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 1

(Ch. 25) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: Just a girl stretching her wings.

WARNINGS: The usual espionage stuff, Lewis Nixon's functional alcoholism lol

A/N: Sorry y'all, Ik it's been a hot minute!! I've been Going Thru It™ again lol, as one does, but I'm back again momentarily! We'll see how long this lasts

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 1st, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix was always uneasy when it stormed but especially at night.

The downpour battering the rooftop overhead, the howling wind and deafening thunder, the pattering droplets pelting the tree leaves outside in the darkness, all of it was to the enemy's advantage. 

It could mask the sound of approaching footsteps, swallow the screams of any victim, even disguise gunshots.

If an attack was coming, it was bound to come during a storm.

So naturally, when she thought she heard a rattling coming from the back door, Alix stopped her pacing and dropped into a crouch, her usual dagger in one hand and a throwing knife in the other as she crept behind a small, sturdy end table and waited.

The moment the door creaked open, the spy sprung from her hiding place as her training kicked in. Forcing the intruder to the nearest wall, a knife pressed against his throat before he could blink, Alix was about to remove his hood with her other hand just as he spoke with a voice still somehow as languid and droll as a Sunday morning:

"Oh good, you're still sharp."

The OSS assassin instantly took a step back and sheathed her knife.

"Goddammit, Nix," she groaned, releasing a breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

"You scared me half to death. How’s Joe doing?” 

“Well hello to you too,” her case officer deadpanned as he tossed back his hood and began to unbutton his coat, clearly somewhat miffed.

"Don't worry, I'm fine, you only almost skewered me is all." 

“Yeah, sorry about that," Alix commented over her shoulder as she checked the door lock. "Anyway, how are my boys? How's Joe and Skip and-"

But turning around, she was in an empty room again. With a roll of her eyes, the spy weaved her way back from the hall and into the living room where Captain Nixon was making himself comfortable--albeit dramatically-- in his usual armchair, a thick folder in his hands. 

"So, what's the dope?" Alix piped up brightly and her handler barked out a laugh. 

"Well Liebgott seems to've designated himself protector of the pack, by the look of things. Wherever they go, he goes too. I don’t know if you asked him to do that or…?” 

“I didn’t,” Alix replied as she struggled to wrap her head around why Joe would even bother. 

“Well regardless, I come bearing gifts," he announced, leaning forward to plop the folder onto the coffee table, sending a cloud of dust billowing towards the ceiling. 

“If that's another after-action report, vaffanculo," Alix remarked, taking a seat on the sofa across from him.

"I've already typed up at least ten of them for you today, Nix, and my hands are cramping. You want it done, do it yourself." 

"Oh c’mon, relax," Nixon scoffed, taking a swig from his flask and lowering his voice to an exaggerated stage-whisper dripping with sarcasm. 

“What is it, Runt, ‘that time of the month’ or something?”

 

“Just finished actually, not that you care,” Alix bit back and her handler visibly recoiled. 

“Didn’t need to know that,” the thirty-something replied, making a face reminiscent of Gio's when the family doctor had given him castor oil for his stomach troubles.

He'd looked about as green in the gills as the Captain did now and Alix rolled her eyes with a snicker.

Men could be so juvenile. 

“Then don’t ask, Nix."

“Well it’s not another AAR, alright,” Nixon said airily with a lazy, one-handed mock-bow.

“So you’re welcome.” 

“I don’t recall ever receiving a Thank-You for typing all your shit in the first place," Alix pointed out, stretching her legs lazily as she lounged on the couch. 

“Well–" 

He took another long gulp of his whiskey before continuing,

"You see, Runt, the great thing about being an authority figure is--"

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks," the spy remarked with a roll of her eyes before cutting straight to the point, leaning forward in her cushioned seat so she could better scrutinize her handler.

"So level with me, Nix: Why're you here? You wouldn't be bringing me a folder that big for no reason and if it's not AAR's...?" 

Alix trailed off, some of her long raven tresses escaping from her ponytail as she shook her head.

Gesturing with his flask and sending small droplets of whiskey sloshing onto the moth-eaten throw rug, Captain Nixon motioned wordlessly for her to open the folder.

Obliging, Alix neatly lifted the folder's cover and was momentarily stunned. 

Inside was a mountain of paperwork, topped by a red passport with Cyrillic lettering embossed on the front of it, a permanent propiska or residency permit from Moscow as well as additional travel papers. 

"So," Nixon asked, barely containing a satisfied chuckle like a proud parent watching their child open Christmas presents.

"How's your Russian sounding, Runt?" 

"Probably better than yours," Alix quipped easily as she lit up a cigarette, still waiting for Nixon to elaborate. 

Her case officer cracked a grin at her joke. 

“Good because you’re going to need it. You've got an assignment."

"In Russia?" Alix was aghast and instantly dropped the folder back onto the coffee table as though it was a hot coal but Nixon barked out another laugh. 

"Not unless you have a death wish."

With that, he took another swig of his whiskey before continuing amiably, 

"No, your newest assignment is going to be much closer to home. How does Paris sound?" 

"Paris?! That's swell!" Alix whooped, swinging her legs off the shoddy sofa and sending her book clattering to the floor in her elation.

"Thought you might like that," Nixon chuckled. "You've read up on Major Kieffer, right?" 

Alix cocked an eyebrow. 

"You mean Hans Josef Kieffer? The head of the Parisian Sicher…Sicher…"

"Sicherheitsdienst," Nixon added helpfully. 

Alix took a grateful stab in the air with her cigarette and replied, "Yeah exactly, that.”

"Looks like somebody read the notes after all," her case officer snarked and the spy rolled her eyes bemusedly. 

"Oh don't act so shocked," she scolded with an expression of mock-reproach. 

"I do pay attention when I type, you know." 

"Could've fooled me" was the sardonic reply and Alix hurled one of the deflated-looking throw pillows at his head, which the older intelligence officer batted away with his free hand. 

Alix took a drag of her cigarette, speaking on the exhale and letting the smoke dissipate with her words. 

"So you going to fill me in on the op, Nix, or do I have to do everything myself?" 

Now it was Nixon's turn to roll his eyes. 

"You can read, can't you?" he remarked dryly but Alix crossed her arms doggedly. 

"You know as well as I do that nothing important goes on paper, Nix." 

"You got that from me, you little shit," he grumbled, taking a final drink before screwing the cap of his flask shut with a slight rattle, muttering something about using his own words against him.

Once the dark-haired man had retrieved a handful of caramels from his rations to snack on, the time had finally come to divulge much-needed information.

"Alright, so here’s the dope," he began, popping a candy in his mouth before steepling his fingers like one of her mother’s gossipy friends at tea.

"Kieffer's birthday is in 3 days and being a public official, it's kind of a big deal so his cronies are throwing him some glitzy gala or whatever to celebrate, some sort of masquerade shindig, you know the type."

The captain took a brief pause to gnaw through his second caramel before continuing,

"By the sound of it, it’s going to be a real Who’s Who of upper-crust Krauts so of course Donovan being Donovan, he got you– Well, ‘Tanya’– an invitation.” 

Crumpling up the wrappers in his fist, Nixon gestured vaguely, 

"You put on a mask, you dance, you take out some Krauts on the fringes while no one's looking, conduct an interrogation or two...Piece of cake, really."

Alix narrowed her eyes, her mind racing with suspicion. This sounded too easy. 

“So what’s the catch?" she burst out. There's always a catch." 

"See, this is why I wanted you to just read through the folder," Nixon remarked through a mouthful of his third caramel block.

"If I wanted the third degree, I'd go back to HQ."

"Stop stalling," Alix pressed, beginning to bounce her knee with such anxious vigor that she could hear the floorboards creaking their complaints. "What's the bad news?" 

"You can read about it later," her case officer replied cryptically as he finished chewing.

"The Gestapo have an APB out for you so the first order of business is disguise. Everybody-- and I mean Everybody from the SD to the Milice-- is looking for you. Krauts are sick of you flitting away."

He lit up a cigarette, the worry lines creasing his forehead making him appear almost twice his actual age.

"One million Francs to the man, woman, or child apparently, who brings in Der Schwarze Schmetterling– The Black Butterfly." 

The Gestapo wanted her badly enough to give her a nickname? 

Alix wasn't sure whether to be flattered or horrified. 

“And with Le Fantôme making it his personal mission to hunt you down, your cover needs to be rock-solid. No one’s ever seen him face-to-face but he's still somehow gotten hundreds of Allied agents arrested!"

“Then how do we even know he exists?” the spy retorted skeptically. “Sounds like agitprop to me.” 

“Guy's all over Kraut radio. Unfortunately, he’s very real–" 

Her case officer took a strong puff of his cigarette as though attempting to summon some strength from the smoke. 

“And he’ll be at Kieffer’s birthday shindig somewhere, you can bet on it."

"Well, that's just great." Alix remarked facetiously. "Eight different agents in the program and they chose the one with the bounty on her head to go in solo. This oughta be a real cakewalk." 

"Hey!” Her case officer's voice rose with indignation and he sat forward immediately, brotherly concern written all over his face. 

“Who said anything about you going in alone? You really think I'd abandon you in a goddamn pit of vipers?"  

"Maybe I'm a discard" was Alix's automatic reply but the unexpected scrunching of his brows instantly made her regret it. 

“Well you’re not," her case officer snapped, hands gripping the chair’s arms, but Alix could still detect the faint pang of hurt in his tone at her mistrust. 

After all, Captain Nixon had visited her weekly. 

He had kept her updated on the outside world, brought her playing cards from Don so they could play Go Fish and even broke up the monotony by bringing her newspapers when he could grab one.

Even typing his AAR's, she realized, had its purpose: to keep her busy and in the know.

Yes, he'd made a joke out of the task, his perpetual smugness never wavering, but it had a purpose after all.

He had been playing a role, helping her to stay informed without even realizing it, through the guise of simply being too lazy to do it himself.

She must have grown on him some after all.

Alix knew she should probably apologize for doubting him but the memory of him scaring her half to death earlier quickly changed her mind.

No, fuck that, she thought wryly. It'd be a cold day in Hell before she'd apologize to Lewis Nixon.

"So who's my partner?" she asked instead.

"Fresh meat," was the dismissive reply as he reached for the folder. "Now--"

He began rifling through its contents, the rumbling undercurrent of laughter in his voice telling her that her doubts were water under the bridge.

"--if you're done being a pain in my ass--"

Without even a second's hesitation, he plucked a packet from near the bottom of the stack and tossed it over for her to catch before sitting back in his chair with his usual cryptic smirk.

"-- We can get down to business.” 

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 2 | 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, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

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 car ride was tense, with only the sound of tires humming against the asphalt breaking the silence. You stared out the window, watching the trees blur by, trying to suppress the anxiety gnawing at you.

“We need to get to the train station,” you suggested, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Too risky. We have to stay low for a while.”

You nodded, your mind racing through the possibilities. If a motel or hotel was too dangerous, where could you go? “We should camp. I have the gear in the car.”

Bucky glanced at you, a small nod of approval. “Good.”

The awkward silence returned, thick and suffocating, until a small voice broke through.

“This is destiny,” Lori murmured, her face lighting up as she reached into her bag to pull out a notebook. She began scribbling furiously.

You and Bucky exchanged a confused look. “What’s got you writing all of a sudden?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“New ideas for my fanfiction,” Lori said, her tone excited.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Lori…”

Bucky kept driving, his eyes scanning the road ahead until he found a secluded area surrounded by trees. He maneuvered the car off the road, hiding it as best he could among the foliage.

“Who is she, really?” Bucky asked, his tone serious.

“My niece,” you replied, your voice low.

Lori, sensing the conversation was about her, raised her hand like she was in class. “Oh, I have a confession to make. I’m the one who replied to your email.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something else. “Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. But thanks to her, I finally know your real name.”

Lori, completely missing the tension in the air, beamed. “You didn’t even know each other’s names, but you kept looking for her? That’s so romantic.”

Bucky shot you a look, his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze lingered made you uncomfortable. Was she really your niece? He couldn’t help but wonder.

You shook your head, grabbing your bag and pulling out a burner phone. You needed to call your sister and let her know you were taking Lori with you, that things had gotten… complicated.

Lori, oblivious to the serious undertone of the situation, watched you and Bucky closely, analyzing every glance and gesture. Through her writer’s lens, she saw the tension between you two as something else entirely. She grinned, her mind already spinning a new story of enemies-turned-lovers.

“Uh, I have a question,” Lori piped up. “After I replied, did you immediately read it?”

Bucky didn’t answer, his silence louder than any words could be. Lori took it as confirmation. “So, before you replied, you rushed to find my cool aunt, and when you got closer, you finally sent it. That’s such dedication to chasing love.” She squealed, hugging her notebook to her chest like a love-struck fangirl.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Both of you walked in silence, the tension between you growing thicker with every step. You stayed close to the car, unwilling to stray too far, as if the vehicle was the only thing grounding you in this increasingly chaotic world.

“We can’t be together,” you finally said, your voice heavy with regret.

“But—” Bucky began, but you cut him off.

Without a word, you reached up and tugged down your collar, revealing a line of jagged scars etched into the skin of your neck. You usually kept them hidden under layers of makeup, but today, there was no time for that. The collar had been your only shield.

“These… they still haunt me,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s eyes softened, and without hesitation, he pulled up his shirt to reveal the scars marring his shoulder. The sight of them made your heart twist with guilt.

“It’s not just you,” he said, his voice low and filled with a shared pain. He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “We were both in the wrong.”

In the world of espionage, trust was a luxury neither of you could afford. You had been a double agent, living in the gray area between loyalty and betrayal. Bucky, a triple agent, had danced even closer to the edge. The scars you both bore were reminders of the countless times trust had been shattered.

The real reason you were being hunted wasn’t just because you were a skilled operative; it was because you had broken a vow. You had promised never to contact Bucky again, a promise made under the threat of being burned by your agency. But you had broken that promise, and now, you were paying the price.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice filled with an ache you couldn’t suppress. But your words died in your throat as you caught sight of movement behind a tree.

Lori. Your creative, ever-curious niece was hiding, scribbling furiously in her notebook as if she was documenting your every word.

“So, both of them feel guilty. It haunts them,” Lori muttered to herself, her eyes wide with fascination as she jotted down her thoughts.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You marched over to Lori, grabbing her bag with a grunt. “Why is this so heavy?” you demanded, feeling the strain in your arm. Then it hit you. “Didn’t I tell you not to bring your books?”

Lori snatched her bag back, clutching it to her chest protectively. “No! I can’t live without them. This one is my favorite.”

You sighed again, rubbing your temples as if it would somehow alleviate the stress of the situation. Arguing with Lori was pointless; she was as stubborn as you were. You glanced over at Bucky, who had been watching the exchange with an amused yet concerned look.

“We should set up camp here,” you said, your voice resigned but firm.

Bucky nodded, but the way his eyes lingered on you told you that he wasn’t just agreeing to the plan; he was agreeing to this unspoken understanding that, despite everything, you were in this together, whether you liked it or not.

As you began to unpack the gear, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The scars, the guilt, the constant running—it was all too much. But here you were, setting up camp in the middle of nowhere with a man who was both your greatest ally and your deepest regret, and a niece who seemed determined to make you believe again in romance.

And all you could think about was how much it hurt, how much it haunted you, and how much you wished things could be different. But in the world you lived in, wishes were just as dangerous as promises.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

After setting up the camp, you busied yourself with preparing dinner. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a dusky twilight that painted the sky in shades of purple and orange.

The scent of the forest mingled with the aroma of the food, creating a comforting atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the tension from earlier.

Bucky sat by the lake, his figure a dark silhouette against the shimmering water. He occasionally stole glances in your direction, watching as you moved with practiced efficiency. The sight of you, so capable and yet so burdened, stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite name.

A soft voice broke the stillness. “🎵I’m just a talking plant, don’t mind me,🎵” Lori sang in a playful, lilting tone as she twirled her way over to Bucky. She stopped beside him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Do you like my aunt?” she asked, her tone innocent yet oddly probing.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. What’s wrong with this kid? He raised an eyebrow, trying to mask his surprise.

Lori, undeterred by his silence, continued with a knowing smile. “I get it. You’re a man of few words. You’re exactly like the male character from this book.”

She held up the novel she’d been carrying, the title "The Red Swan" emblazoned on the cover. Bucky tilted his head, the title vaguely familiar but not enough to place it.

“Are you really her niece?” Bucky asked, his curiosity piqued by Lori’s strange mix of wisdom and childlike wonder.

Lori shrugged a carefree gesture that spoke volumes. “My dad is a theater teacher.”

Bucky nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. That explained a lot—her flair for the dramatic, her perceptiveness, her relentless curiosity.

“Here,” Lori said, thrusting the romance novel into his hands.

“Why?” Bucky asked, looking down at the book with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lori sighed as if explaining something painfully obvious. “It’s as clear as the sky is blue that you like my aunt. But you never express it. If your actions alone aren’t enough, you need to use your words. From the start, you’ve only said thirty-one words. None of us can read each other’s minds.”

Bucky found himself unexpectedly impressed. This kid had been counting his words? And, annoyingly enough, she was right. He glanced at Lori, who gave him a confident salute, her eyes twinkling with a mix of innocence and cunning.

“Trust me,” she said with a playful wink before scampering back over to you, her small figure darting between the trees with the energy of a whirlwind.

Bucky watched her go, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was something endearing about Lori’s antics, the way she seemed to bring a different side out of you, a side he hadn’t seen before. A side he realized he wanted to know more about.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and looked down at the book Lori had handed him. Romance novels had never been his thing, but something about the way she insisted piqued his interest.

He flipped to the summary on the back cover, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise at the plot. It was more intricate than he’d expected, with themes of loyalty, betrayal, and forbidden love woven through the narrative.

Intrigued despite himself, Bucky began reading, his fingers brushing the pages as he turned them. As he read, his breath hitched slightly. The story was compelling, drawing him in with its depth and emotion. “This is… interesting,” he murmured to himself, unable to deny the pull of the story.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, the three of you made your way to the train station. It was too risky to fly; the airport would be crawling with potential threats. You handled the ticket counter, purchasing a ticket for Lori while she waited with Bucky a short distance away. She noticed the way he kept his eyes on you, his gaze lingering as if trying to memorize every detail.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Lori leaned over and pinched his thigh. “You should talk to her,” she whispered, her tone insistent.

Just then, you returned, holding the tickets in your hand. “Alright, I got it,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for helping us.” Your voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something unsaid, a tension that hung in the air.

Bucky hesitated, his thoughts warring within him. Then, out of nowhere, he felt a sharp kick to his shin. Lori again, urging him forward. “Say something before you lose this chance!” she hissed.

“Seven years,” Bucky finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

“What?” You turned to him, confused by his sudden declaration.

“I’ve been looking for you and waiting for seven years,” he continued, his eyes locking onto yours.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, stirring up emotions you’d buried deep. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded in your chest. Seven years. The weight of those words hung between you, thickening the air. Lori squealed beside you, her excitement palpable, but you could barely hear her over the rush of blood in your ears.

Bucky took a step closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped searching. Every lead, every dead end—it all brought me back to you.”

Before you could respond, a sudden prickle of awareness swept over you. You didn’t have to look around to know—you were being watched. Instinct kicked in, and you grabbed Lori’s hand. “We have to go,” you said urgently, pulling her along.

“But Aunt, he’s not done!” Lori protested, glancing back at Bucky as you hurried away.

Bucky was right behind you, not willing to let you slip away again. “We can’t stay together, Bucky!” you insisted, your voice edged with both desperation and regret.

“You’re going to Massachusetts,” he replied, undeterred. “I want to go there too.”

“Why?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing.

Bucky held up the book that Lori had given him. “Because of this.” He pointed to the title on the cover, his expression serious.

“The Red Swan.” The words rolled off your tongue with a sense of familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. The title dredged up old memories, ones you’d tried hard to forget.

Bucky saw the recognition in your eyes and pressed on. “From what I’ve read—”

“You read it?” Lori interrupted, her voice tinged with awe.

“From what I’ve read,” Bucky continued, his gaze never leaving yours, “the mission in this book mirrors the one we had. The same code names, the same hotel rooms…”

Lori gasped, her eyes wide with amazement. “Oh wow!”

“You don’t mean—” you started, your mind racing to catch up.

Bucky nodded grimly. “I need to see the author of this novel. What’s his deal? How does a romance author know so much about a mission we both lived through? The details are too precise to be coincidence.”

Your heart pounded harder, and you exchanged a glance with Bucky. The implications were chilling. Someone out there knew far too much about your past—a past that was supposed to be buried. And now, that knowledge was in the pages of a book for anyone to read.

"Let's go," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. But then you hesitated, realizing, "Oh, but I didn’t buy your ticket."

Bucky chuckled softly, a rare sound that almost made you smile. "I’ll handle it," he replied, his confidence soothing your worry.

The three of you boarded the train, slipping into a quiet compartment. Lori, practically bouncing with excitement, clasped her hands together. She was thrilled that you and Bucky weren’t parting ways.

Unable to contain her joy, she started singing softly, “🎵We’re all in this together…🎵”

Join the tag list:

@thezombieprostitute

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@dexter99

@seresingirlie

@missvelvetsstuff

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@kjah97

@tfatwsoldir

@itsteambarnes

@thebadassbitchqueen

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@vicmc624

@natashasilverfox

@unaxv

@sapphirebarnes

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

@animegirlgeeky

@bellabarnes1378

@calwitch

@winterslove1917

@sofiaavarga13

@sxnshinebxcky

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@zunigabarnes

@moonvis

Author Note: Hey friends,

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

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[lenny-link]

made a lil engiespy fic as a continuation of the sniperscout comic and basically the 7th comic too, hope you enjoy :>

——————————————————————-

The war was long over. All the mercenaries had returned to normal, peaceful lives they had almost forgotten. They were older now, lines drawn on their faces, but the bond created in the heart of battle remained. Tonight, they were all here, gathered at Jeremy’s for Christmas.

Jeremy’s house was filled with the chaotic energy of his children, the laughter of his old teammates, the smell of pine tree and smokey turkey that was a far contrast to the gunpowder and battlefields that had infested their lives for so long.

Christmas candlelights shined, reflecting Spy’s surprisingly softened gaze. He watched the children, the miniature versions of Scout, running around, their laughter a sound he hadn’t realized he have been missing.

 

Surrounded by the energetic children who were unknowingly his own grandchildren, felt a pang of longing. He kept his relation a secret from Jeremy, a part of his past he had buried deep a long time ago. The children, however, had jumped into his carefully constructed walls with ease, their innocent affection had created a desire he thought he had long forgotten: the desire for a family.

 

As the night went on, each ex-mercenary made their goodbyes and took their leave. Dell stayed finding himself cleaning up the dinning table spontaneously while Jeremy had slipped away with Mick to his bedroom, leaving Spy to manage the energetic youngsters. He didn’t mind. He found himself surprisingly content telling stories and playing charades with the kids, a different warmth bloomed within him with every giggle.

 

Eventually, the children fell asleep, their small forms tucked into their respective beds. The house fell silent. Engineer and Spy were the only ones left, cleaning up the rests of the festive party.

 

As Spy dried and stacked the plates, he felt a wave of melancholy washing over him. He yearned to stay, to be a part of this family, his family too, but the secret he held kept him from getting this chance.

Dell, being the smartest of the bunch, had noticed the change in Spy’s attitude, from his usual cold, rude persona in battlefield to his new softer fatherly side. He saw him, he understood the unspoken conflict within the Frenchman.

At some point, in their old absurd lifestyle, they had become close, two strategics, two intellectuals, they understood each others with just a glance, despite the counterintuitive nature of their classes, they felt like two side of the same coin, they matched each other’s minds, they knew they belonged together.

 

“They’re good kids,” Dell stated softly, breaking the silence. “Reminds me of… well, reminds me of simpler times.”

 

Spy offered a small, sad smile. “Indeed.”

 

Dell paused, then spoke with a quiet sincerity. “Y’know, my place ain’t far from here. It gets… lonely. I’ve got plenty of room” He looked at Spy who had his gaze still on the plates but had stopped drying them.

“You’re welcome to stay there. As long as you like. It would… it would be nice to have some company." he hesitated slightly "Y-you’d be closer to the kids too"

 

Spy’s eyes widened slightly, surprised with a flicker of hope shining in him. Living with Dell, close to Jeremy and his grandchildren… it felt like a new chance for him to have the warmth of a family he long loved, it was more than he could have wish for this Christmas.

“Dell…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion, he puts the plate down.

 

Dell, sensing the unspoken emotions of Spy, stepped closer, placing carefully both his hand on each of Spy’s shoulders, turning him around to face him. “We’ve been through a lot together, me and you, through thick and thin, and well, we’re not getting any younger" he laughed slightly "I’d love to spend the rest of my days with you Spy, and Jeremy and the kids" he gets even closer "Come, live with me" he slowly slides his hands down Spy’s arms now holding his hands "Only if you want this too"

 

Spy was speechless, his eyes widened as he looked straight at Dell’s eyes, not able to muster any word. He wants nothing more than this, having a family once again, how ideal could it be.

As they stood there, a small shiny light caught their attentions. Above them, hanging from the kitchen doorframe, was a branche of a mistletoe.

Time seemed to stop as they exchanged a silent, meaningful look, years of unspoken understanding passing between them.

 

Slowly, hesitantly, they leaned in. Their lips met in a tender, gentle kiss. Spy cupped Dell’s face deepening the kiss, his brows met in a focused expression, he needed this. Dell on the other end, had pressed his hands on Spy’s lower back, pressing their bodies against the other, his heart beating like a drum frantically in his chest, he wanted this.

It was a kiss of shared history, of unspoken longing. It wasn’t their first, but felt entirely new.

Moments later they broke the kiss, they stared at the other’s tender eyes, a silent promise of partnership in the years to come. The chaos of the day has faded away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of two men who had finally found their way home, to each others.

[carminegoescrazy]

What if Thomas is indeed a spy sent by WCKD?

Basically Thomas is given a long-term mission as a spy to lead (some of) the Gladers to escape and find the Right Arm, thereby gaining trust and gathering intelligence. And eventually helping WCKD uproot the Right Arm and any other resistance when the time is ready.

This could be Thomas somehow fooled Ava Paige into trusting him, seizing this precious opportunity to help Newt and everyone. Or, he could be aligned with WCKD at the beginning of the mission, but changed his mind later as he spent more time with the Gladers.

Thomas has his memories intact, but he is chipped, with everything being monitored constantly. To further complicate matters, WCKD also sent Teresa to ensure that they could “keep an eye on each other”. Every step needs to be super cautious. Imagine how he walks on a fine line between providing WCKD with some intelligence to avoid suspicion, and sabotaging their plans to keep everyone safe from WCKD.

When it comes to Newt, it would be so overwhelming for Thomas, as he remembers everything, and he wants to make up for the past. Newt’s unconditional trust and protectiveness make him hurt, especially when many others remain suspicious of him.

Then comes the inevitable. As days pass, room for manoeuvre gets smaller and smaller. He needs to find a way to get rid of WCKD once and for all before running out of time. Then his cover was blown at the worst possible moment…

[sentrysapper]

I don't know if any of you have read my engiespy fic... I'm horrible when it comes to posting the last chapters of things I've written, but I promise I am working on it...

Here is a snippet :3

if you have NOT read it, it is linked down below in case you are curious...

[j-nipper-95]

2024 in review

Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy and @nausikaaa

Wow. 2024 has been ... a year.

I've spent this last year flip-flopping between periods of intense creativity and intense burnout. I've barely posted anything on here, and even less over on AO3, but I have been writing, and the plot gremlins have been working overtime when it comes to planning out where the WIPs are going.

Object permanence and keeping timelines straight in my head are things I struggle with, so I can't remember exactly when I actually achieved any of these things, but I did, and that's all that matters.

Huge thanks as always to Ashton for the incredible artwork in this fic, and for the beta help along with my editor Zoë, @cutestkilla and @iamamythologicalcreature

I posted one chapter of The Trails We Blaze, my 2023 @carryonthroughtheages fic, which is a SnowBaz/The Road to El Dorado au.

Simon and Baz have been through a lot together. Growing up as criminals on London's streets; surviving the Great War; dealing with a lot of repressed feelings. But after their latest con goes wrong, they're left with nothing but an ancient map, a signet ring of unknown provenance or value, and promises of a city that doesn't even exist.

Thrust into a world of adventure with danger at every turn, they're forced to decide how far they're willing to go for a myth, a fortune, and a chance at love.

This fic is going to be a real labour of love and I have big plans for it going forward. If you haven't started it yet, here's what to expect:

adventure across post WW1 England, France, and Spain

exciting action

political machinations

idiots in love pining for each other

epic romance (when they eventually get their shit together)

I know roughly how this is going to end, and I have a first draft up to the 'It's Tough to be a God' sequence (if you know the original film), but I'm currently trying to rewrite a large section of that draft. Discovery writing has been a massive learning curve for me, but I'm excited to get back to this fic and the characters.

Again, massive thanks to Ashton for the stunning artwork of Lauren. I never stop geeking out over the fact I get to call this incredible woman my friend, and that I get to actually look at my chaos gremlin MC anytime I want!

Most of my time writing this year has been spent on approximately the billionth rewrite of my original novel, A Survivor's Revenge.

I am desperate to get this story into the hands of readers, whether that's though trad or indie publishing, and so far I've had good feedback from my editor and alpha reader on the previous draft. But me being me, I couldn't leave it at that.

So now I'm rewriting the book and completely changing the way it's written. The shift from 3rd person/past tense to 1st person/present tense has finally got things moving in terms of developmental edits; the plot flows more smoothly, character interactions and growth are coming more naturally, and for once the villain motivations and plans are becoming clear! Praise the chaos gods.

Lauren Atkins is many things. Student. Daughter. Friend. But at her core, she’s a survivor. And she has one thing on her mind … revenge.

For the lovers of genre spanning sci-fi, morally grey main characters, full spectrum queer identities, and found family, A Survivor’s Revenge will have you asking, how far are you willing to go to protect the ones you love?

I went back and looked at some super old drafts of ASR a couple of months ago; after a conversation with my alpha reader decided to reinstate an old plot line that I'd shelved, and I am super excited to get back to this one. Lauren has become even more morally grey since I last handled this plot line, so things are going to get very bloody very quickly.

So the last two months have been spend sporadically rewriting this behemoth, and I'll be continuing that into January. Originally I was doing this as part of the PaWriCo writing challenge, but I don't think I'll manage to finish the full draft by the end of January. Currently it's sitting at 27.3k words, and if I wanted to hit par I should've been at 65.2k. So, likelihood of hitting 100k by 31st January is minimal.

This little floof is largely the reason for me falling behind.

Benjamin has been back in the vets consistently since the end of November for scans and surgeries, and now for an ongoing infection following the most recent surgery. It's safe to say my nerves and wallet are strained to the maximum, but he's 100% worth it.

So yeah. 2024 may not have been the most productive year for writing, but things have been happening behind the scenes, and I'm hopeful that I'll be able to share more in the new year.

I've missed interacting with people on here, I'm tired of just lurking. This chaos gremlin is back, baby!

Tagging (sorry if you've already done something like this):  @aristocratic-otter @blackberrysummerblog @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @emeryhall

@hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @letraspal @orange-peony

@shrekgogurt @skeedelvee @theearlgreymage @you-remind-me-of-the-babe 

[softone-ao3]

Trust Me, Trust You - by softone.

After the war, Hermione Granger is no stranger to impossible missions, but infiltrating the remnants of the Death Eaters requires more than courage—it requires her to work alongside someone she never thought she'd have to see again. Draco Malfoy - a man she has every reason to hate and no reason to trust.

Thrown together in a world of deception and danger, their partnership is anything but easy. Each mission pushes them closer to their breaking points, forcing them to rely on one another in ways neither of them is prepared for. Between tense standoffs, moments of vulnerability, and secrets they can’t afford to share, lines begin to blur.

What starts as hatred simmers into something neither of them can name—a connection that feels as dangerous as the world they’re trying to take down. But in a game where every lie could be their last, is trust the most dangerous weapon of all?

Enemies. Partners. Lovers. In the end, they’ll have to decide where they stand—and whether they’ll stand together.

Chapter 1: The Devil You Know

The meeting room was cramped, the air heavy with the exhaustion of too many late nights. The small, round table was cluttered with mugs of lukewarm coffee and half-empty bowls of stale biscuits. Hermione sat at the edge, arms crossed, staring at the map of wizarding hotspots spread across the table. The murmurs of her colleagues filled the room, but nothing seemed to settle the storm inside her.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Auror Jenkins asked, his voice tight with disbelief. “We can’t go in blind again. The Ministry’s been doing this for months—if we don’t have more intel, this whole thing will blow up in our faces.”

“I know, I know.” Harry’s voice was strained, an edge of frustration beneath his calm exterior. “But the Intelligence Division is tied up with the bigger players. We’re on our own for this one.”

Hermione shifted in her chair, her eyes narrowing. The situation had grown more volatile by the day, but it felt like they were circling a problem that no one had the courage to face head-on.

“What’s the real issue here, Harry?” she asked, her voice cutting through the rising tension. “We’ve been chasing shadows for months, and we still don’t have anything concrete. The Death Eaters are regrouping, but we can’t even figure out who’s leading them. This isn’t just a logistical problem—it’s political.”

She could feel everyone’s gaze on her, the subtle shift in the room as her words landed. It wasn’t just the information that was missing—it was the trust. Who could they rely on when the walls were closing in?

“We’ll deal with that when we know what we’re up against.” Harry rubbed his temples, frustration visible on his face.

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. “But plans have changed. Again. We’re not getting the reinforcements we expected, and the timelines have moved up.”

The tension in the room ratcheted up a notch. A few Aurors exchanged uneasy glances; others muttered curses under their breath.

“So what, we wing it?” Jenkins snapped, his face red. “We’re supposed to be the Ministry’s first line of defense, and they’re treating us like bloody house-elves fetching their tea!”

“Enough!” Harry’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the noise. “I know you’re angry. I am too. But sitting here and griping about it isn’t going to solve anything.”

The room fell quiet, though it wasn’t calm. Jenkins dropped into his seat, arms crossed, his glare fixed firmly on the tabletop.

Hermione leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. “What exactly has changed, Harry? What are we walking into this time?”

Harry hesitated, glancing down at the pile of reports in front of him. The pause was brief but heavy, as though he was trying to find a way to soften the blow. When he looked back up, there was no softness in his expression though, and Hermione wondered if she had imagined it.

“We’ve got confirmation that the Death Eater remnants aren’t just a scattered threat anymore,” he said grimly. “They’ve reorganized under someone new. And whoever it is, they’re smart. They’ve managed to evade every probe we’ve sent their way. Every lead dries up before we can act on it.”

“Brilliant,” muttered an Auror at the back. “So we’re fighting a ghost.”

Hermione’s jaw tightened. “What’s the plan, then?”

Harry’s gaze landed on her, and for a moment, she felt the weight of it pressing down on her chest. “We need someone inside. Someone who can earn their trust, gather information, and figure out who’s pulling the strings.”

The silence that followed was deafening, his stare pointed. Hermione could feel the shift in the room as every eye turned to her. She didn’t need Harry to spell it out.

“Absolutely not,” Jenkins barked, shoving his chair back. “You’re talking about sending one of our own into the middle of that mess on her own? It’s suicide!”

“It’s not suicide,” Harry shot back, his tone icy. “It’s necessary. And it’s not just her. There’s already someone embedded in the network. Someone with experience.”

Hermione frowned. “Who?”

Harry hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. The pause was long enough to make Hermione’s stomach churn.

“Draco Malfoy.”

The name dropped like a boulder in the room. Jenkins let out a bark of laughter, though there was no humor in it.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Harry said firmly. “He’s been working as a double agent for months now. And whether you like it or not, he’s our best shot at cracking this thing open.”

Hermione’s chest tightened. Memories of the war, of battles fought on opposing sides, flashed in her mind. She forced herself to breathe.

“Does he know I’m being brought in?” she asked, her voice calm despite the feelings raging inside her.

“He does,” Harry replied. “And he’s not thrilled about it either. But like the rest of us, he doesn’t have a choice.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Jenkins slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the room. “This is madness.”

“It’s what we’ve got,” Harry said sharply. “And it’s happening. So if anyone else has something useful to contribute, speak now. Otherwise, get to work. Dismissed.”

The room erupted into movement, chairs scraping against the floor as Aurors grabbed their things and filed out. Hermione stayed seated, her thoughts racing.

After a few short moments that seemed to stretch into forever with how busy she was inside her own mind, she noticed that Harry lingered behind, watching her carefully. “You alright?”

She met his gaze and squared her shoulders, her expression unreadable. “I will be.” ***** Hermione stayed seated as the room emptied, watching the other Aurors file out with a mix of frustration and exhaustion etched across their faces. Jenkins muttered something under his breath as he passed her, but she didn’t bother to catch it. Her thoughts were already miles away.

Draco Malfoy.

Of all the names Harry could have dropped, his was the last she’d expected. The war had ended years ago, but Malfoy was still a tangle of contradictions in her mind—arrogant, cowardly, redeemable, and infuriating in equal measure. Her stomach churned with an acidic mix of anger and unease. Memories she had buried deep—cold floors, jeering laughter, and the sound of Bellatrix’s voice—threatened to surface.

She clenched her fists under the table, her nails biting into her palms. No. She wouldn’t let herself spiral. Not here. Not now.

Harry sat down across from her, his tired eyes scanning her face. “You’re not going to back out, are you?”

She shook her head sharply. “No. But I need to know—can we trust him?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Trust isn’t the right word. He’s useful, and so far, he’s delivered results. But he’s still Malfoy. He’s not doing this out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Then why is he doing it?” she pressed, her voice tight.

“Self-preservation, mostly,” Harry admitted. “And maybe a shred of guilt, though I wouldn’t count on it. He’s walking a fine line, Hermione, and if he slips... Well, let’s just say it won’t end well for him.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on the facts. “And you’re sure I’m the right person for this? No one else can do it?”

“You’re the best we’ve got,” Harry said simply. “Smart, resourceful, and more importantly, you’re not blinded by grudges. You’ll see things clearly, even with Malfoy in the picture.”

Clearly? Hermione nearly laughed. There was nothing clear about the tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume her. Anger, revulsion, fear—but also, strangely, a thread of grim determination. She’d survived worse than working with Draco Malfoy. She would survive this too.

“When do I meet him?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Harry glanced at his watch. “He’s in the briefing room now. I thought it’d be better to rip the bandage off sooner rather than later.”

“Brilliant,” she muttered, standing up.

As she followed Harry down the corridor, the weight of the mission settled heavily on her shoulders. She’d known this job would demand sacrifices, but working with Malfoy? That was going to take every ounce of restraint she had. The walls of the Ministry seemed to close in around her as they approached the briefing room. Her breath quickened despite her attempts to control it.

The door loomed ahead, and Harry opened it without hesitation. Hermione stepped inside, her heart pounding, and there he was.

Draco Malfoy leaned against the far wall, arms crossed and an expression of faint irritation on his face. He was dressed in dark, nondescript robes, his pale hair tied back neatly. Time had refined him—his features sharper, his posture more composed—but it was unmistakably him.

The air seemed to leave the room. Her vision narrowed, the edges blurring as her mind betrayed her with flashes of the past. Malfoy Manor. Her screams echoing off cold stone. Bellatrix’s wild eyes. The way he’d stood there, frozen, watching. Not stopping it. Not even trying.

“Granger,” he drawled, his voice pulling her violently back to the present. The sound was smoother than she remembered, but it still carried that same grating arrogance. “This should be... interesting.”

Hermione’s chest tightened, a flush of heat rising to her cheeks. She could feel the weight of Harry’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t look away from Malfoy. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to walk out, to refuse. Instead, she forced her lips to move.

“Malfoy.” The single word was cold, clipped, but it was enough.

Harry stepped between them, his tone sharp. “Don't start. You don’t have to like each other, but you do have to work together. Understood?”

Malfoy smirked faintly, but he nodded. Hermione’s hands were trembling, so she crossed her arms to hide them. This was going to be harder than she’d thought.

The room felt colder with Malfoy in it, though she couldn’t tell if it was him or the memories he dredged up. Even as Harry launched into the briefing, Hermione’s mind snagged on the details—Malfoy’s stance, the faint curl of his lip when Harry spoke, the way his eyes flicked briefly to hers and then away, like a predator taking measure of its prey.

His hands were too still, clasped loosely in front of him, and she hated that she noticed. Was it calm, or was it calculation? He was always a puzzle, one she’d long since stopped trying to solve, but now the pieces were forced into her hands again.

“Hermione,” Harry’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

She blinked, her focus snapping back to the present. “Sorry, what?”

“I said you’ll be taking the lead on this mission,” Harry repeated, his tone patient but firm. “Malfoy will provide the intel and support you need, but the strategy is up to you. He’s already embedded, which means—”

“You’ll be stepping into my world, Granger,” Malfoy interrupted smoothly, his voice like silk stretched over steel.

Hermione stiffened, her jaw clenching. “I’m well aware, Malfoy.”

“Good,” he said, his lips curling into a ghost of a smirk. “I’d hate for you to fall behind.”

Her fingers itched to hex the smugness off his face, but she forced herself to remain still. Instead, she let her gaze drift to the folder Harry had placed on the table—a thick stack of parchment bristling with clipped-on photos and hastily scrawled notes. She focused on the top photo, a grainy image of a cloaked figure slipping into a dimly lit alley, and let its details ground her.

The world narrowed to ink and paper. The curve of a streetlamp, the glint of a wand in the figure’s hand. She noted the angle of their stride, the way they seemed to favor their left leg.

“Do we have confirmation on their identity?” she asked, her voice steady now, crisp.

Harry nodded. “We believe it’s Caleb Mulciber. He’s been recruiting heavily in the north. This operation is our best chance to cut him off before he consolidates power.”

“And I assume he’s dangerous?” she pressed.

Malfoy chuckled softly, and she bristled at the sound. “Granger, if he weren’t dangerous, we wouldn’t be here.”

Her head snapped up, and their eyes locked. For a moment, she forgot about the photos, the mission, even Harry’s presence. All she saw was the man who had stood silent while she screamed, who had watched her break and had done nothing.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. His face was harder now, his gaze sharper. There was something fractured in him, too, she realized—a shadow behind his arrogance that hadn’t been there before.

She looked away first, her stomach twisting.

“Right,” she said briskly, turning back to Harry. “Then we’d better not waste time.”

[trypo-p]

I finally finished my first ever fanfiction 😼🙏

This one will probably be.... very, very long. Hope you guys like slowburn engiespy angst!

[easternpine]

Life gets in the way and thus my 2024 Mass Effect Big Bang project fizzles into a regular story. But... a trilogy! This is a story that's been living in my head and on my computer as little bits and bobs for a long time now. I was happy to finally have the excuse to write it. Description:

Ex-Alliance soldier, Jane Shepard, is out of work and down her luck when an old childhood friend, Gianna Parasini, comes calling. With Gianna’s help, Shepard high-tails it to the Citadel and begins a brand new life as a corporate investigator. But things quickly turn deadly as one of Gianna’s former colleagues is found drowned in the galactic capital.

Under the guidance of C-Sec’s special investigator, Detective Garrus Vakarian, Shepard and Gianna work to unravel a tangled knot of avarice, murder, and corporate corruption.

A Shakarian, No Reapers AU

There was nothing to weigh her down, not really. Two pairs of sensible shoes, a selection of shirts (black or gray) , three pairs of pants, one pair of brand new jogging shorts, socks, underwear, and the usual personal hygiene products: these were the things that Jane Shepard had brought with her onto the ship that had ferried her from Earth. She owned little in the way of personal effects. She had no use for sentimental things—no family heirlooms, no trinkets bought on holiday, not a single photograph committed to physical form. The only thing she’d packed besdies the basics was her Alliance service medal, a heavy, brassy thing that had never been removed from its original box, now shoved into a hidden pocket inside her rucksack like a forgotten, ancient talisman. Leaving Earth was not as regrettable as she had expected. Seven months she’d been unemployed, about the same amount of time since she’d finished serving her last tour with the Alliance, and she was desperate to do anything, anywhere, as long as it meant keeping her nose clean and keeping herself housed and fed.

continue reading the story on AO3

[stcrfeesh]

the complexities of simplicity

(and the friendships built with sandwiches)

No warnings apply; Safe for work.

The retelling of the roundabout way Al Haitham tries to become friends with you.

Or, how not to be spies with covers as employees in the corporate world.

Al Haitham was such a conundrum. Unlike everyone else, he was different.

Despite the field he was working in, one where he was required to lie, he was still never one to engage in false pleasantries and hollow compliments. He’d openly refuse to take time out of his day to chat about the weather to get the information he needs—the twists and turns were unnecessary to him.

If he could walk into an establishment to steal information, then he’d do just that. It was simpler to walk in and then walk out without being detected anyway. It wasn’t like anyone would suspect some feeble man for information theft. Why would they? After all, he was just another paying customer using the washroom after trying out a new coffee blend.

Al Haitham gets what he wants and what he needs, in a roundabout, but oddly efficient way. Why aim for the straight path to his goals when he could simply jump to his goal? It would save him so much more time and effort—save him his breath and thoughts.

The path between point A and point B was, indeed, already simple. Even a pigeon would understand such simplicity. But in his mind, anything that was already efficient would always have something to make it even simpler.

The simpler it was, the less work he’d have to do, and the less work on his plate, the better. It was like dealing with fractions in math—always answer with the simplest form.

He was a conundrum in the way he contradicts himself. The lengths he’d go to for certain things; an extensive plan on how to steal intel without having to talk much with anyone, or perhaps, commissioning someone to fashion a device for him so he wouldn’t have to water the plants outside every single morning himself.

Al Haitham in all of his contradictions, turns simplicity into complexity, and sometimes, it made your head spin in confusion.

You would always see him enter the building at eight in the morning—on the dot every day. It was the same routine for the most part; a cup of coffee in his hand, and his coworker? Friend? You weren’t sure, but the guy would always be complaining behind him as he rubbed the sleep off his eyes. Then, Al Haitham leaves at four in the afternoon. At that time, though, without his partner—who you’d usually see cursing his very being—in tow.

In all the days he’s passed by you, you’d give him a smile—not the same one you give everyone else, though. This smile was reserved for him alone, you thought that perhaps, he needed a little more kindness in his life—so, you’d smile at him every morning and every afternoon to greet him. Much to your dismay, however, he never greets you back. No “good morning” or “thank you”, and especially not a single glance towards you. And so, you have come to a conclusion.

Al Haitham was not nice. Though, of course, not in the way where you’d call him an absolute prick. He wasn’t a dick, per se, he was just… unsociable. Well, maybe he was a little bit of a dick for never greeting you back, but it wasn’t like a greeting less affected your entire life. He was just some sleeper agent working on the top floor of the same company you’ve been stationed in, who, also happens to not like making small talk.

Yes, that was definitely it. Perhaps he liked being in his own little world where nothing bothers him, and you could get around that. That much was understandable. After all, with years of undercover work at the front desk of a company where the rudest people in all of Teyvat would barge in with their incomprehensible demands, you too would like to be in your own little world.

Alas, such is life in the world of espionage.

Al Haitham wasn’t an important part of your life—okay, maybe he was, but that was if, and only if your covers were to be blown. You weren’t high up in the ranks to have had the immediate clearance to know his codename, it even took you half a year of running errands for headquarters to figure it out yourself. Turns out, Al Haitham, the quiet man who’d never greet you back, was the Agent Vulture everyone either feared or idolised. Or both.

Should your covers be blown, you’d trust him enough to get the both of you out of trouble. That was assuming he’d even lend you a hand.

You wonder then if he knows you were just like him—a sleeper agent, which you now begin to doubt he does 1. He probably doesn’t even know your name despite the gold name tag pinned onto your uniform. Does he even see you greet him? You’ll never know, to be honest, nor do you ever plan on knowing.

That thought changes, however, on one unsuspecting morning.

You watch him enter the front doors. On the dot at eight in the morning. His companion mutters curses under his breath as he follows behind him. Today, you manage to make out what the blond man was complaining about.

“Oh, I don’t know, Al Haitham,” You heard the blond whisper sarcastically. “Maybe a ‘Thank you so much for helping me out, Kaveh’ would do!”

You watch Al Haitham inch closer towards the front desk, probably to clock in. He hisses at his companion, “Why should I thank you, oh great Kaveh? I pay for your share of the rent. Isn’t that a ‘thank you’ enough?”

Kaveh, you let the name resound in your mind. So that’s what the blond guy’s name was. The name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t pinpoint why or how. Not that it mattered.

When they were near enough, you put on a smile to greet them, “Good morning,”

The blond guy, whose name you now know was Kaveh, stops ranting furiously at his companion and flashes you a toothed smile. “Yes, hello, darling, good morning.”

Al Haitham presses his hand against the clocking device, and it makes a little ding sound, signifying that he’s successfully clocked in. You already assumed he wouldn’t pay you any mind like always did, that he’d walk away, but he doesn’t. He stops in his tracks, to look you directly in the eye.

He doesn’t glance at your name tag, but somehow, he says your name as if he’s known the entire time. You hadn’t expected him to know your name, quite the contrary, actually. You believed he didn’t even know your face. So, when he says your name, your jaw drops the slightest in shock, and then you snap it back shut when you realise you must’ve looked like a fool.

“Yes?” You answer simply, testing the waters. “Is there something you need?”

He shakes his head letting you know that he didn’t, and then hands you something wrapped in wax paper, “You left your lunch, so I bought an extra sandwich for you instead.”

Now you’re just confused. What in Teyvat was he even saying? What does he mean you left your lunch at home? You narrow your eyes at him, wondering if he was a double agent out to get you, but his expression remains as stoic as ever. Had it not been for his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk, you would have believed what you wanted to believe.

Message, you managed to gather from his tapping. You nod, getting his message as you take the item from him. “Oh… I was in a rush earlier, and I forgot to make lunch for myself. Thank you, you didn’t have to trouble yourself.”

Al Haitham nods one last time before he and Kaveh disappear into the hallway.

When they were finally out of earshot, your front desk partner playfully bumps your shoulder. She grins at you, and you immediately knew she was up to no good, “I see you have someone bringing you lunch now… I wonder who he might be. Boyfriend, perhaps?”

When she says that, you couldn’t help the snort that comes out of you. You? A boyfriend? And the best operative in Sumeru, no less? When Shroomboars begin to fly.

“He’s just a friend,” You lie—or, maybe, it was a small little white lie. Al Haitham wasn’t your friend, you didn’t even know his favourite colour, but you knew him just enough to get your lie to work. Plus, you certainly weren’t lying when you denied being in a romantic relationship with him.

You are a spy, an asset specifically placed in this specific company in case someone from your faction needed immediate help. Dating was far, far off the list of things you needed to do.

“Just a friend?” She asks you, her voice full of doubt. “Dear, you can’t expect me to believe that. Friends don’t just bring each other lunch because they’re friends.”

You frown at her mindset, that was untrue. Friends do bring each other lunch from time to time. You flick her forehead. “Not everything is about romance, you know?” You stare at the wrapped food in your hands. You knew better than to play with food, but you were curious, so you squish it lightly—it was probably a sandwich.

You cough, clearing your throat. The next thing you say, now this—this was a lie, “I need to put this away. I’ll be real quick.”

“Be quick,” Your desk partner reminds. “The front doors will be opening soon.”

And that’s what you did. Quick on your feet, you find yourself in the break room in no time. When you notice that the room was deserted, you carefully unwrap the wax paper. You find a small card tucked between the wax paper and the sandwich (you were right).

Report to headquarters at 6 PM.

You flip the card around to find nothing else. You stare at the card for another moment longer. Not only did he actually know your name, but he also knew who you were—that you were an operative like him. Which now begs the question, was he just being a dick the entire time?

You shove the card in your pocket before placing the sandwich in the fridge.

Seriously. You thought to yourself, was it so hard to just tell me this in person?

Al Haitham giving you homemade sandwiches did not stop that one time.

The next morning, he gives you another one. Using the same excuse as the day before, but this time without the message from headquarters. He does it again every single day for the next week, and then the next two months. Throughout it all, he uses the exact same excuse over and over again, “You forgot your lunch again,”

On one of those mornings, you raise a brow at Kaveh. A silent question of why. What was his companion planning? Why must it be you, in particular? But, when Kaveh furrows his brows, you realise then that even his own companion had no idea—the poor guy was even confused.

“Here,” Al Haitham says, handing you the sandwich. He stops to look at you for a short moment, and begins to tap his fingers against the desk as he speaks, “It’s cheese and turkey.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap—A message.

“Oh,” Is all that you’re able to let out, despite all the thoughts racing in your mind. “Thank you again, Al Haitham.”

As he was about to leave, you stop him, “Hold on!” You pull out the box hidden in a cubby behind the desk before walking towards him, “I was making cookies last night, and I made a batch too many. So, uhm, these are for you.”

That was a lie. You made the cookies for him, and you were quite certain he knew you were lying. But, if your lie works, then it works. He didn’t need to know the truth.

He raises a brow at you, and for a glimmer of a moment, you swore you saw a smile grace his lips. It was small and subtle, but you swore you saw it. Maybe you were imagining things, maybe you were not—you were leaning toward the latter, though—but regardless of whether it was real or a mere trick of the light, you thought that smiles suited him. It made him look nicer.

“Al Haitham!” Kaveh called, letting out an annoyed groan. “Come on! What are you still doing over there?”

“Thanks,” Was all he tells you as he takes the box from you. You hold your breath for a moment, afraid his hand would brush against yours, but it doesn’t. Not even the slightest bit, and you almost let out a snort in front of him. Thankfully, you were able to stop yourself.

“Thank you,” You reply, like the fool that you are. You cough, pretending something was just stuck in your throat. “I mean, yeah, sure. No problem.”

Al Haitham nods, following his companion further down into the hall. When you were certain he was gone, you let out the breath you were holding. What the hell?

Of course, it wouldn’t, you think to yourself. Why should it? You weren’t some protagonist in a cliché romance novel scene.

You return to the front desk, peeking inside the wrapper of the sandwich he had made for you. You discreetly slip the note out, stealing a glance before shoving it into your pockets. Eyes darting towards your desk partner, you let out a sigh of relief. Good, she didn’t see.

Meet me for lunch, if you’d like, was what was written on the note. And you do, you meet him for lunch a few hours later. You find him waiting for you by the front doors, in his hand a brown paper bag—which you assumed was his packed lunch.

“Hello,” You greet politely. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“I didn’t. Let’s go?” The man begins to walk, and at first, you assumed he was going to leave you by yourself, but he doesn’t. He looks back at you, waiting for you—again. That was embarrassing.

Despite the heat that was evidently creeping onto your cheeks, dusting them with a shade of pink, with your whole chest and whatever arrogance was left in you, you decide then and there that Al Haitham wasn’t the dick you thought he was. Of course, he still wasn’t nice in your books, but he was a decent guy.

You jog up to him—at least, with your heels, you attempt to. “Thanks for the sandwich again, Al Haitham.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me every time you see me, you know?” He chuckles. You immediately look up at him in surprise. He chuckles. You’ve never heard him chuckle before. Holy archons.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me a sandwich either,” You tell him. “Actually, why do you give me a sandwich every single day? Are you trying to condition me or something?”

If you thought a chuckle was surprising enough, then you weren’t prepared for the laugh he lets out. Al Haitham laughs at your words—at the notion of you thinking you were being conditioned by him.

“I’m not, don’t worry,” He says, still laughing. “I just find making an extra sandwich for a friend therapeutic.”

At that very moment, realisation finally dawns on you. The sandwiches were because he wanted to be your friend. Al Haitham wanted to be your friend. The twists and turns he went through all because he wanted to be your… friend. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at that.

In the little moments you had been allowed to catch glimpses of him beyond the stoic exterior, you learn that he was one contradicting and ironic man. He was a man that made the most simple of things complicated, and a man who was too honest, despite the life he leads as a spy.

Al Haitham was not nice, you were definitely certain of that. He was not someone who engaged in false pleasantries to get into the good graces of people. So uncharacteristic of an operative—or, at least, that was what you think.

He was blunt—a little too honest, but you realise then that in a life where everything around you was a lie, you didn’t mind having an insanely honest man for a friend; even with all the contradictions and irony.

“Friend,” You repeat, smiling at him. “Well then, friend, would you like to have lunch with me every day from now on?”

“I see no reason as to why not,” He replies. “Friend.”

Who knew sandwiches were such a good, albeit roundabout way to make friends?

This is me experimenting with insert-reader fics. Please take my silly interpretation of Al Haitham. He's a funny guy. I am also sorry if this doesn't make sense. I'll probably rewrite this some day. I just needed to get the brainrot out of my head to continue writing off the precipice. I hope you enjoy, though!

A sleeper agent, also called sleeper cell, is a spy who is placed in a target country or organization not to undertake an immediate mission, but instead to act as a potential asset if activated.

GENSHIN MASTERLIST  |  KO-FI SUPPORT

© stcrfeesh 2020-2023 — reposts, translations, and any other form of reproduction of my work is prohibited.

[s3znl-gr3znl]

[INCOMING COMMS]

//SENDER: [ENCRYPTED]

//SUBJECT RE: STOLEN DATA OF JOINT TRAINING BETWEEN BALAM RECRUITS AND INDEPENDANT MERCENARIES(I.M.)

//BODY: Thought you might find something useful in here about Balam tactics, but it seem we've stumbled upon something better, their trainer. We will need to renegotiate payment.

I.M. : ...lets begin.

I.M. : ...*static*

I.M. : ..on your fucking left, rook.

I.M. : ...if you wait until the last second to fire, you've waited too long.

I.M. : next one...

I.M. : useless, they've got no talent, and even less awareness...

I.M. : better keep these pups in the sims, Volta. Otherwise, Rubicon will eat them alive.

[sees-writes]

Writing fanfiction am I right

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 6 | spy!Bucky

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 ,-

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. ❤️

Lori was spinning around the room, singing with a mischievous grin on her face, "Aunt is a nasty girl, yeah, she's a nasty girl," mimicking the moves from a viral dance she must have seen online.

You rolled your eyes, wincing slightly as Bucky gently cleaned and treated the wound on your arm. He glanced at Lori with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Meanwhile, Henry, sitting nearby with a puzzled look, watched Lori's performance unfold. "What on earth is she doing?" he asked, clearly baffled by her antics.

"She's making fun of me," you replied, sighing as you glanced over at your niece. Lori continued her exaggerated dance, clearly enjoying herself.

Bucky, focused on wrapping the bandage around your arm, muttered, "She's not nasty." His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of tension in his eyes.

Lori suddenly stopped dancing and sprinted over to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Tell me more about your ex!" she demanded, her curiosity getting the better of her.

You noticed Bucky’s hands falter for a moment as he tied the bandage a little tighter than necessary, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. "He's not my ex," you corrected, your tone firm but tinged with frustration.

Lori giggled, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Yeah... right..." she drawled, drawing out the word as she smirked knowingly.

You shook your head, exasperated. Your niece, always with her head in the clouds, had now latched onto the idea of some dramatic romance after discovering that you had encountered someone from your past.

And that someone was the very reason you were sitting here now, with fresh bandages and a sore arm. Lori’s song and dance were just her way of processing the excitement of what she imagined to be a grand love story, not realizing the pain and complexity it actually brought.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

24 hours ago

"What you said is pointless because we don't have the data," you replied, frustration lacing your tone.

Henry shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that might be true, but I know where they hide it."

A groan escaped your lips, and you brought a hand to cover your face. "I hate where this is going."

"Why?" Lori asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.

Bucky leaned forward, his expression serious. "You want us to steal it," he stated flatly, already seeing the direction Henry was headed.

Henry chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Steal is such a strong word. I prefer to think of it as... liberating the truth. Recovering what's rightfully ours."

You shot him a skeptical look. "Liberating the truth? That sounds like something straight out of a heist movie."

Lori’s eyes widened with excitement. "A heist? Oh, this is so cool! Can I help? Please, let me help!"

Bucky gave her a wary glance. "This isn’t a game, Lori. It’s dangerous."

Lori bounced on her toes, her enthusiasm undiminished. "I know, but I want to be part of it! I can do it, I promise! You said I was a good actress, remember? I could be the distraction or, like, the tech whiz or something! Whatever you need!"

Henry grinned, clearly amused by her enthusiasm. "See? The girl’s got the right attitude! Nobody would suspect someone like her to be involved in espionage."

You sighed but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Alright, alright. If Lori wants in, then we’ll find a role for her. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you, Henry."

Lori clapped her hands, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! This is going to be awesome! I can’t wait!"

Henry clapped his hands together, his smile broadening. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get to work. We have some planning to do."

At Charity Event

The grand lobby of the company was abuzz with activity. Children laughed and played, their faces painted with bright colors. The "Make It Together" charity event, hosted by the company’s CEO, had drawn a large crowd.

Both of you are planning to steal data from a CEO known for holding everyone’s dirty secrets. This CEO also loves to host charity events at his company to enhance his public image and boost his business.

Dressed as a happy family, you and Bucky played the part of doting parents, while Lori, full of youthful enthusiasm, easily fit the role of your daughter. Henry, blending in with the crowd, kept a vigilant eye on the situation.

Henry knew about the vault because he had been there when the CEO proudly showcased it and placed the secret data inside.

As you and Bucky moved toward the restricted areas, you leaned in close, whispering urgently, “If things go south, remember—no matter what happens, save Lori first. She’s the priority.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in concern. “I don’t think—”

You cut him off, your voice firm but laden with emotion. “This is my only request, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “I understand. But I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too.”

As you and Lori approached the vault with Henry’s directions, Bucky positioned himself by the entrance, watching for any sign of trouble. You worked swiftly with the digital key cracker, trying to stay calm despite the tension.

Inside the Vault

The vault door opened with a soft click, revealing rows of safety deposit boxes and data drives. Lori, playing her role perfectly, had successfully distracted the guard, allowing you and Bucky to enter unnoticed.

“Got it,” you whispered, retrieving the data drive from its place on the shelf. “Let’s get out.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the tense atmosphere. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite double agent.”

You froze, hearing that familiar voice filled with spite. Standing in front of you was Romeo, your former colleague. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes locked on you with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

“Romeo,” you said, trying to remain composed. “What are you doing here?”

Romeo’s smirk was a blend of flirtatiousness and anger. “I didn’t expect to see you here, especially not with him."

Bucky stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t have time for this.”

Romeo’s gaze flicked to Bucky, then back to you. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you chose another. I’m just curious—did you miss me at all, or was it all just part of the job?”

You kept your tone even, but the past echoed in your words. “It was always part of the job, Romeo. Nothing more.”

Romeo's eyes flashed with a mix of fury and betrayal. He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with contempt. “Of all people, you choose to work with him? The most wanted fugitive and the worst traitor?” His tone was laced with disbelief as he gestured toward Bucky with a sharp, accusing finger.

Bucky stepped in, his voice firm. “Well, she chose me.”

The words hit Romeo hard. His face contorted with anger. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re just going to flaunt it in my face? How charming. I always knew you had a talent for stealing—both hearts and secrets.”

Lori, watching from a distance, could hardly believe the scene unfolding before her. She stayed silent, her eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. This is a LOVE TRIANGLE!

You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Romeo. This isn’t about us anymore.”

Romeo’s anger flared. “I guess some things never change. You always had a knack for making everything personal.”

Before you could react, Romeo lunged, reaching for the data drive. Bucky moved to intercept him, but Romeo’s partner appeared, grabbing your arm and twisting it painfully.

“Gotcha,” the partner sneered.

You struggled free, delivering a swift kick to his side. The fight erupted in full force as Bucky and Romeo grappled, exchanging blows. You managed to push back your attacker, but Romeo drew a knife, aiming it directly at Lori.

Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of her, taking the hit to your side. Bucky’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N!”

You gritted your teeth, trying to stay upright. “Get Lori out of here!”

Bucky fought off Romeo and his partner with renewed determination, eventually knocking Romeo out cold. He helped you toward the exit, Lori’s worried face visible in the doorway.

Henry, who had been monitoring from outside, was already pulling up in the getaway car. “Get in!” he shouted.

Bucky helped you into the back seat, and Lori followed closely. The car sped away from the building, leaving the chaos behind.

As the adrenaline began to wane, Bucky pressed a hand to your wound, his face a mask of concern. “Hold on, we’re almost clear.”

Lori, her face pale but determined, asked quietly, “Aunt, are you okay?”

You managed a weak smile despite the pain. “I’m fine, Lori. Just a scratch.”

Henry glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Was it worth it?”

You held up the data drive, the evidence of the CEO’s wrongdoings. “We got what we needed.”

Henry grinned, relieved. “Then let’s get out of here before more agents show up.”

The car sped into the night, leaving the confrontation and the chaos of the charity event behind. You leaned back in your seat, clutching the drive tightly. Despite the pain and the narrow escape, you knew you had accomplished your mission.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Present Time

Lori was still buzzing with excitement, peppering you with questions about Romeo. Bucky, visibly agitated, clenched his jaw and avoided eye contact, his jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

Meanwhile, Henry was in the other room, trying to uncripted the drive. He took a drag from his cigar but suddenly erupted into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. The sound echoed through the room, making him look vulnerable.

Lori quickly sprang into action, grabbing a glass of water and handing it to Henry with a concerned expression. “Here, drink this,” she said softly.

Henry accepted the glass with a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

Lori watched him closely, her concern deepening. “How long have you been sick?”

Henry looked up, surprised by her insight. “How did you know?”

Lori pointed at the medicine in his bag, her voice carrying a tone of familiarity. “I used to help my mother take care of my father when he was sick. I remember most of the names of the medicines he used.”

Henry was impressed by her knowledge. His gaze softened, though his eyes still held a trace of sadness. “I just found out,” he admitted. “My life is now just counting days.” The doctor didn’t tell him, but he knew. That’s why he doesn’t want to die miserably in the nursing home.

Lori’s expression reflected a deep empathy, recognizing the bitterness in his words that mirrored her own father’s struggles. She glanced at the cigar and whiskey near Henry, then met his eyes with a gentle resolve.

“Do what you love while you still can,” she said quietly.

Henry chuckled, a bitter but appreciative smile playing on his lips. “I will.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

As Bucky finished treating your wound, the dim light from the room cast soft shadows across his face. He looked up, his expression serious yet tender.

“You’re in the danger zone, James. Why did you try to find me?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

Bucky’s gaze locked with yours, filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. “I realized that knowing I can’t be with you forever is haunting me.”

You studied him, feeling the weight of his words. The room seemed to shrink around you, making the moment feel intensely intimate.

Bucky continued, his voice hushed but resolute. “I know I’m a bad person. I’ve lived my life constantly looking over my shoulder. If I die tomorrow, at least I need you to know how I feel. I don’t want to leave this world with regrets.”

You felt a lump in your throat, a mix of frustration and tenderness. “You’re a fool, Bucky.”

He let out a soft, bittersweet chuckle, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I know.”

“That’s why I liked you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air between you, carrying an unspoken promise.

Bucky’s smile grew, and he reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve always liked you too. Even when I didn’t want to admit it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. You could see the vulnerability and longing in his gaze, and it mirrored your own feelings.

Slowly, he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours. “If we make it out of this, let’s promise to take whatever chances we can get. Let’s not waste another moment.”

Your heart raced as you closed the distance between you, sharing a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken words and emotions that had built up over time. The kiss was both tender and passionate, a release of all the feelings that had been pent up for so long.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and Bucky’s eyes were filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Let’s fight for a future where we can be together,” he whispered.

You nodded, your heart full of resolve and affection. “We will.”

As the romantic moment unfolded, a sense of quiet intimacy enveloped you and Bucky. But that peace was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a soft chuckle. Both of you turned, your sighs of frustration mingling with the realization that you were being watched.

There, peeking around the edge of the door, was Lori, her eyes wide with curiosity and amusement. You and Bucky exchanged a knowing glance, recognizing that your private moment had been intruded upon.

"Lori!" you called out, your voice a mix of exasperation and embarrassment.

Lori’s face broke into a playful grin, and she quickly darted away, her laughter echoing down the hallway as she ran.

Bucky shook his head with a chuckle, the tension from the moment melting away. You couldn’t help but smile at Lori’s antics, feeling a sense of warmth despite the interruption.

Bucky turned to you, his eyes softening with affection. “Well, at least she’s in good spirits.”

Author Note: Thank you for reading and reblogging. What do you want to see for the next chapter? Join the tag list:

@thezombieprostitute

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@dexter99

@seresingirlie

@missvelvetsstuff

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@kjah97

@tfatwsoldir

@itsteambarnes

@thebadassbitchqueen

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@vicmc624

@natashasilverfox

@unaxv

@sapphirebarnes

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

@animegirlgeeky

@bellabarnes1378

@calwitch

@winterslove1917

@sofiaavarga13

@sxnshinebxcky

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@zunigabarnes

@moonvis

@saiyanprincessswanie

@just-levyy

@vioplay19

@lokislady82

@clockworkballerina

Author Note: Hey friends,

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

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[sk1fanfiction]

Chapter Ten: Parry, Feint, Castle

“What is it?” asked Harry, pushing himself up into a sitting position so he could get a better view.

Sirius let the medal slip through his fingers, the satin ribbon held between his index finger and thumb, slowly rotating in the ample light of the Hospital Wing, the ‘M’ sparkling.

“Order of Merlin,” he said. “First class.”

I knew it was something important! thought Harry triumphantly.

“Not something you drop in a junk shop,” said Sirius contemplatively. “Not something you’re really intended to wear, either. Some sort of message, maybe… a warning… or a threat…”

There's something he suspects, thought Harry, his stomach lurching uneasily, searching Sirius’s face studiously, noticing the slight clench of his jaw. Something he doesn’t want to tell us.

“What is it?” Harry breathed.

Sirius sighed heavily, his voice growing more and more bitter as he spoke. “I can’t be sure. But there’s one Death Eater who definitely owns one of these, one Death Eater for whom it is his crowning glory, his only achievement.”

All the time Sirius was speaking, it was as if something dark and heavy was settling on the Hospital Wing. Harry felt as if the light had dimmed, the room had darkened, a great shadow was leaning over them.

“I can’t be sure,” said Sirius again, frowning at the medal. ”But I think this may belong to—"

Dumbledore, T.M. Riddle, and Bill get to the bottom of the mysterious curse. Sirius visits Harry in the Hospital Wing. Tonks trains Mafalda for her new and dangerous mission — spying on Narcissa Malfoy. Read from the beginning at FFN|AO3!

[snowed-leopard]

Uh, I write fic sometimes, and even more rarely, I post it! First upload to ao3 and it’s angsty miscommunication practical espionage. Maybe probably ooc

Here’s the summary:

Dell Conagher may not be the best man at taking hints and understanding emotions in others and himself, but even he can get a memo eventually. After one too many taunts from his dear Spy towards the other Engineer’s accent. Dell decides it’s high time to fix in himself what his partner clearly doesn’t like. Displeasure ensues from both sides, but for vastly different reasons.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56828164

[a-drifting-mannequin]

Cowboy on the field!

Summary: One stupid thing leads to another. No matter how smart the BLU Spy might be, curiosity will always be humanity's worst curse and blessing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mon cher, may I ask a question?" Pierre asked suddenly. His arms snaked around the engineer's waist, feeling the scars here and there left from the Respawn machine not being able to heal everything.

Jack hummed in response, his eyes were more focused on reading his technical manual before but now the spy has his full attention.

Unsurprising to anyone, it was near midnight and the spy was just lucky enough to sneak in undetected. With the flawless victory that the RED team had secured earlier today, it wouldn't be a surprise that they ended up celebrating a little. Some stuck around longer than Pierre anticipated, but they were eventually advised to go rest soon by the RED Spy.

Jack was kind enough to not trap Pierre outside his room again like last time. Although it wasn't intentional, the BLU Spy still felt frustrated with the engineer's forgetful nature. Jack took more than an hour to get Pierre to forgive him that day. Even during battle ghe next day, the poor engineer still apologize everytime he spot the spy.

"Why do you always have that cable hooked onto your belt?" Spy popped he question, a look of curiosity on his face. "You don't need it for any of your buildings, anyways."

Admittedly, even the Texan doesn't know why he carried that cable around for. It just felt right having it there. Jack sat there silently, unable to form a proper answer to give his lover, his hands slowly lowering his book down. His silence didn't go unnoticed though, as a small chuckle left Pierre as he bury his face into the crook of Jack' neck.

"Mon dieu, you don't even know yourself, do you?" Pierre chuckled light heartedly. He could practically feel the engineer dying of embarrassment at the moment.

"Quiet down, will ya? Mah teammate might hear ya." Jack tried his best to not appear like an idiot in front of the BLU Spy, but he unfortunately failed.

The laughing spy eventually calmed down, snuggling closer to the engineer and leaving small kisses on his neck. Jack snorted and put his book down on his night stand. He laid down and turned to face the spy, kissing his on the cheek and watching a small smile form on his lips.

"G'night, sweetpea." Jack said, a hand trailing along the scar on the spy's neck.

The stitches didn't healed entirely and sometimes needed re-stitching just to make sure his head doesn't fall off again. Jack had Pierre go through Respawn multiple times, but the scar remained stiffly on his neck, refusing to leave.

At some point, Jack broke down in frustration and dread, feeling guilty for everything that his Medic had done to the French. It took Pierre about a week or two to get the Texan to stop bringing up the problem.

"Try finding a use for the cable, will you?" Pierre requested, a hand coming up and holding Jack's.

A small, intrigued smile formed on the Texan's lips. With a subtle nod, Pierre kissed Jack's forehead goodnight before falling victim to incredible tiredness and stress.

•••••

Smoke and gunpowder filled the air, heavily weighing down lungs that aren't adapted to the harsh conditions. The sun beamed down mercilessly, burning skins that aren't thick enough to handle the heat.

Jack wiped a sweat off his brow, mustering up yet another call to tell his teammates that a building is going up. Unsurprisingly, it was a dispenser that had been built, and Scout just happened to be nearby to pick up some ammos before running off.

Badwater Basin, despite its name containing water, was a dry and nearly deserted land. It would be entirely deserted if it wasn't for the mercenaries running around in red and blue uniforms, trying desperately to land hit on their enemy who just happened to be each other.

Jack rested against his sentry, labored breaths escaped his lips as he watched his team trying their best to stop the cart. Of course, he could've just ran over and help them, but the RED Engineer has to be on constant lookout for any members needing any of his buildings which could take a lot out of him.

Just as Jack let out a sigh, his PDA started buzzing and beeping rapidly in his pocket. This shocked him a bit and Jack tried his best to get the PDA out without dropping it. At this point, it's not surprising that one of his sentry just got sapped by his lover, but it still has his full attention.

Picking up his forgotten toolbox on the ground, Jack ran as fast as he could over to where his sentry was supposedly sapped. It did took him a while to get there, but when he laid his eyes on his sapped sentry, the BLU Spy was leaning on it. A teasing smile on his face as he blowed smoke out from his nose. He seemed almost relaxed.

"Sorry, laborer, I didn't mean to through a wrench into your plans." Pierre chuckled, a foot tapped impatiently and waited for the engineer's next move.

Of course, Jack isn't as furious but mocking is something else. If it's from friends then he'll try his best to take it half-heartedly, if it's from his lover then its's game on.

"I'm gonna lay you out!" The RED Engineer shouted, a wide smile on his face as he chased after the spy with a shot gun in hand.

Unfortunately, Pierre was smart enough to cloak and slip away without notice. Jack stopped dead in his tracks, his smile slowly falling off his face. It was almost obvious that the spy would cloak himself but not this quick into the chase.

Jack sighed, a different kind of smile appeared on his face as he made his way back to his sentry. However, as soon as he reached his little sentry nest, speakers blared with the round's finishing announcement.

Today was again RED's lucky day, the cart almost made it too the last point but there wasn't enough time for BLU to even do any damage. His team's Demo and Soldier were arms in arms, dancing around with wide smiles on their faces. Pyro stood clapping their hand neatly beside a Scout that was groaning heavily on a dispenser.

"Ah, Engineer, zhere you are." Medic said, his arms were crossed behind his back as he leaned down a little to match Jack's height. This gone unnoticed to Jack, even if the RED Spy was eyeing the Medic weird.

"Ve vere planning to go and raid the BLU's spawn, but ve couldn't find them." Medic explained while sounding awfully chipper. Jack listened on without question, just waiting for Medic to finish so he could go and find Pierre.

Scout eventually got off the dispenser and head over to to Pyro, whispering something into their ear before both ran off to somewhere. Sniper didn't bother stopping them, but he followed close behind just to ensure RED Spy that they won't get into trouble.

When Jack turned his attention to the others, Heavy was talking to Demo and Soldier and seemingly looking like he was scolding them. Before Heavy could finish whatever he was saying though, Soldier interrupts him and started pointing fingers at Demo. The Scottish didn't take this lightly as he punched Soldier in the face, breaking his nose.

Medic turned around due to the commotion and grimaced at the sight of Demo and Soldier fighting. No matter how well they get along, there will be at least two or three fights between them each month.

"Ach, not again." Medic sighed in disappointment, a hand came up and rubbed at his temple. "Anyvay, you can go and find any BLU members that you vant to kill before we're sent back, I'll need to deal vizh zhese dummkopfs first."

With a grunt, Medic stalked off towards the two who are fighting while shouting something in German. Jack slipped off without being notice, desperate to go and find Pierre.

It didn't take the Texan long though, as he rounded t

the corner and found the spy smoking near his own spawn. The spy didn't seem to notice the engineer sneaking up on him. Jack presumed that his mind wa wandering again.

The request from last night caught up to him. Somehow, thinking about it makes him feel weird inside.

As swiftly as he could, Jack removed the cable from his belt and tied a precise knot, just tight enough to form a lasso.

"Giddy up!" The Texan shouted, swinging the lasso in the air as he charged towards the spy.

Pierre reacted a bit too late due to the fact that he was thinking of something else and got lasso by the excited engineer. The BLU Spy fell backwards, kicking up some sand and dust as he nearly hit his head on the hard ground.

Without another second to adjust his standing position, Jack pulled the lasso hard and Pierre was inevitably falling towards the Texan.

"Christ, Jack, don't you dare sneak up kn me again!" Pierre shouted, an angry and slightly terrified look on his face told Jack everything he needed to know.

"Sorry, darlin'." Jack apologized and untied Pierre from the lasso. "Didn't mean ta spook so hard."

The French let out a frustrated huff, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at the Texan. A minute or two went pass thay just includes the two standing together and being awfully silent. Jack started to worry that his little antics might have angered Pierre a tad too much, the thought of losing him again clouded his mind.

"Pfft-"

"Huh?" Jack looked up and evidently, a smiling and giggling spy was seen.

Pierre covered his mouth with one hand while the other slowly lowered itself on Jack's shoulder. His eyes scrunched up with an unbelievablly wide smile on his face.

"Oh, mon ami! Is that what you use your cable for?" Pierre laughed, occasionally coughing to get some air for himself.

Jack could basically feel a little smile tugging at the sight of how happy his lover is. Even if he didn't intent for the cable to become a lasso, the engineet still felt like he should make that official. He must ask the Administrator first, though.

"It wasn't mah first intention! Now stop laughin' at me." Jack explained, letting himself relax and enjoy the cheerful atmosphere that he accidentally created.

Pierre leaned heavily against Jack, his laughing fit hasn't subside yet and still he tried to pepper the engineer with small kisses. Jack understood his lover's intention but tried to stop him from doing so. If he keeps laughing like that, he might end up breathless and possibly tired.

"Private!" A very familiar voice shouted out to the two laughing couple, startling Jack violently.

He instinctively reached towards Pierre and hold onto his coat. The BLU Spy pulled out his revolver and pointed in the direction of the voice. It's not surprising to see that it was the BLU Soldier who called out to them, but the thought about being caught was still new and terrifying to the couple.

The BLU Soldier flinched a bit as the revolver was pointed at him, not from the enemy but his own teammate. His arms immediately stuck to his side, his helmet swayed a little with how hard he flinched.

"I am here to ask about the RED Demoman!" Soldier shouted, his voice rang through Jack's ears and a high pitched ring presented itself uncomfortably inside.

Pierre lowered the gun and glanced at his lover, who was still clinging on his coat. Jack looked up at Pierre, even behind the goggles he still tried to give him a skeptical look.

"Sure, he's over there, I guess." Jack said, pointing to a different direction that guaranteed that BLU Soldier would be far away enough from them.

With a stiff salute, BLU Soldier marched off into the direction that Jack pointed.

"Maybe we should pick out somewhere more private when on the field." Pierre suggested, leaving a small kiss on Jack's eyelid.

"Yeah, you're probably right." The engineer chuckled. "Be prepared to wrestle with a cowboy next round."

It was light hearted and maybe he wouldn't even do the same thing again, but Pierre had high hoped to see his lover in action again.

He fell for a fool, and now he's foolishly in love. How ironic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was really hard to write cause I barely have any inspiration :'D

@gingerale13