file #20 (Patreon)

top secret

synopsis: sleepless nights and dangerous missions don't mean much when your life is on the line every shift. except when a single mistake lands you in the bed of a certain asshole and in the sights of another. untangling the conspiracy of a murdered CEO becomes a lot harder when you're tangled between the two men at the center of it, forced to choose between your fellow agent and your target. from fake dating to falling in love, how far are you willing to go to unravel the truth? and who will be there to pick up the pieces of what's left?

content: angst + plot, spy au, mutual pining, betrayal, trust issues, trauma, reader is really going through it, really just more suffering, tension, heartbreak

₊˚ᘏᘏ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ᘏᘏ˚₊

“You’re going to get caught, idiot.” 

Maybe. 

Probably. 

“I can’t just abandon her,” he muttered, well aware that he already did. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” 

Words Y probably should’ve said when that asshole showed up swearing the only way to save you was to leave you. 

But now all he could do was suggest his own awful schemes, staring at an unfamiliar wall and flipping a coin between his fingers as he tried to ignore the TV playing in the corner of the room. One that was currently tuned into the breaking news of an ongoing manhunt with his face currently plastered in the corner of the screen. 

“Do you have a better one?” He dryly asked, glancing over his shoulder at one of the few people he had left to trust. An old tech-savvy friend from grad school, one with, ah, shady connections. Someone who wouldn’t snitch and give him a place to stay for a few days while he tried to figure out a way to fix this. 

He wasn’t even supposed to still be in the country. 

That’s what his lawyer practically screamed at him when he made the call from a burner phone two hours after he walked out of that motel door. 

But even with his new passport in hand, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to drive to the private landing strip where a small plane was waiting for him to board and disappear to some country where they wouldn’t be able to extradite him easily. 

Not when they had you. 

Not when they were doing god fucking knows what to you. 

Sure, your partner had sworn to protect you. Promised that he’d look after you and make sure you would be safe. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made a grave error by going without you. 

How was he supposed to believe that you would be okay when he wasn’t there to make you smile? 

“You get the fuck out of here for a while until this blows over a bit?” His friend muttered, sipping a soda that had probably gone flat already. “I can make arrangements to get her to you when it’s safer.” 

What, were you just a moving box? 

Something he was packing away to save for later? 

Logically, he knew that what he was saying made sense. 

It would be hard, but the longer he stayed put, the higher the chance he’d screw everything up. 

So why couldn’t he make himself do it? 

Why was he stubbornly spending the night and prolonging his own suffering? 

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he mumbled, excusing himself out of the room as he tossed his fake passport back on the table. 

Instead of using it though, he just found his palms gripping the cold porcelain of the counter, loose hair hanging down in front of his eyes as he tried to summon the strength to do something. Make a damn decision already. 

Save his own skin and skip countries. 

Or risk returning for the slim chance he could swoop in and steal you away. 

His lawyer said it would be almost impossible to fight it out in court with a secretive agency who had spent months planning precisely how to frame him. But what good was the rest of his life when he’d waste it wondering where you were? Whether or not you were okay? 

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. 

Disgust bubbling up when he looked up at his own reflection, splashing water on his face like he could wash away everything that was wrong with this. With him. 

Self-preservation had brought him here. 

Bought him security at the cost of his sanity. 

Only for him to regret his moment of weakness the moment he got what he wanted. He shouldn’t have left. And now he could hardly live with himself. 

Stuck with the stranger in the mirror and the sinking feeling that you might not even forgive him if he ever got the chance to see you again. 

He didn’t even get to leave you a note. 

Couldn’t afford to spare more than a few seconds to press a kiss to the top of your sleeping forehead. 

He had coughed up enough cash to persuade his friend to try and figure out where they’d take you too, dig into what would their next plans would be once they had you – but fuck, he didn’t know if they would give you another fake name or create a new identity to keep you an asset. 

If they even believed the kidnapping ruse. 

All he needed was a moment though. 

An opportunity to take you back and escape. 

But when it was too perilous for him to go back and pry you out of their greedy palms himself, he’d once again have to put his faith in someone else. Convince his friend to find you and get you to flee one last time. 

You would, right? 

For him? 

No, maybe not after he left like that. 

Forgiveness wasn’t something he could afford to assume you’d give him. 

The two of you had promised each other a future he’d foolishly traded for the faint promise of freedom. 

Y desperately wanted to believe it was still attainable. 

Although, he wasn’t sure if he was making the correct choice in waiting to whisk you away or making good on the deal he made with your former partner in fleeing first. 

“Hey, you’ll want to see this, man,” his friend called out. 

He stepped out, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he heard the tv volume steadily rise from the other room. 

More of the same boring broadcast rehashing the same headlines playing, the audio cutting out just as he walked back in, head swivelling towards the tv only to freeze at the sight waiting for him. 

You were there. 

Fingers trembling as you stood in front of a microphone, like you were about to give a goddamn speech. Flagged by strangers he’d never seen before, all of them respectfully watching you as a flashing line began to cross the bottom of the screen. 

Kidnapping victim speaks out against-

“Think they got to her?” His friend disdainfully muttered, his nose scrunching up as you bit your bottom lip. 

Someone had done your makeup. Dressed you up in soft colors, a loose cardigan covering your frame as you avoided looking directly into the cameras. 

“No,” he shook his head, even though he had no way to know. 

This was the plan. 

But seeing it was different than simply knowing it. 

He couldn’t touch you. He couldn’t say anything to you. Couldn’t reach out and brush his fingertips against your cheek, couldn’t comfort you and promise that his feelings for you hadn’t changed no matter how much the situation had. 

You started to speak, shyly introducing yourself as you read off a printed piece of paper in your trembling hand, but he was distracted by the way your wrist was bandaged beneath your sleeve. 

Did they install a new tracker to replace the one you cut out? 

Anger he hadn’t expected started to spread inside his chest, his skin flushing as each shaking word that left your lips only stoked the heat burning inside him. Were any of the sentences you were speaking your own? 

There was a hollowness in your eyes he hadn’t been prepared for. Empty and cold while you stared down the camera. Your mouth twitching with each fresh lie you delivered like it was fact. 

He couldn’t fucking believe he agreed to this. 

To letting them have you and use you all over again. 

“I thought you said-” 

“Shut up,” he muttered through gritted teeth, brows scrunching together tightly to watch you continue, effortlessly playing the wounded animal they wanted the public to believe you were.

“Please, if anyone has seen this man,” you swallowed hard, and it sounded like you might start crying when you flipped around the last page to hold up his picture and started to offer instructions on who to call. Were those tears real? 

If they were, who were they for? 

It hurt so fucking bad to see you cry.

Crushed him so completely he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to go on.

Pierced straight through his soul when you reached up to wipe away a stray tear that slipped out, especially when some woman he’d never seen stepped up next to you and grabbed your arm hard enough that her nails had to be digging through that thin cover-up of yours. 

“You have to get out of here,” his friend hissed. “Tonight.” 

Y couldn’t make the same mistake. 

“No,” he stubbornly shook his head. “Not without her.” 

♡

Tonight, they’d be replaying your speech on a thousand different news channels and retelling the slanderous story you’d spun for the media. 

They reminded you of birds, picking and playing with all the details you’d memorized of a kidnapping that never actually happened, the ones that had been written down and carefully notated by a handful of detectives. Who, ah, seemed awfully close with your director. 

And despite your best efforts to maintain the charade, to play the obedient role they had thrusted you into yet again, you knew this wasn’t going to end well for you. 

Or the person you had put it all on the line to save. 

Where was he now?

Watching you pathetically plea to the nation for his arrest?

Seeing for himself how easily they turned you back into a pawn? 

God, it was all pointless. 

Coming up with question after question, torturing yourself of answers you’d rather not know anyway. 

They had assigned someone to stick next to you pretty much at all times, but X refused to leave your side as you were led through confusing hallways in the basement of one of their branch offices. 

It hadn’t even been a day since the doctor signed off on your release and they were already using you to make moves. 

“You did great,” X murmured, ruffling your hair as you felt a fresh crack start to splinter your hardly stitched up heart as he opened up a plain, white door for you. 

“You think so?” You asked, holding your breath while you peeled off your cardigan and glanced around the barren bedroom they stuffed you in temporarily. 

For your own safety, they swore. 

No doubt to keep a careful eye on you. 

Microphones and cameras certainly hidden in the handful of knick knacks they conveniently left as decorations. It was too cold. Frigid conditioning running with a dull hum that hurt your ears and gave you a headache as he shut the door behind you – and kept the other agent out. 

Really, you’d been thinking they were more like a warden, even if they were technically a coworker. 

The status of your employment hadn’t exactly been clarified since your short time in ‘captivity’.

You assumed that the director was just waiting to see how useful you could be before cutting away any loose connections. 

Once they got what they wanted, or realized that they couldn’t, you would surely be on the chopping block. 

Maybe literally. 

You curled up on the bed, something inside you seconds from crumbling under the concerned stare of perhaps one of your only friends left. 

Knees pressed against your chest on the bed as X sat next to you, care etched into the crinkles by his eyes as he sighed softly. You picked at the loose threads on the thin blanket they provided, a heavy weight on your chest he would never be able to help you bear the burden of. 

“They said you could come stay at my apartment at the end of the week,” he offered, giving you a small apologetic smile that didn’t look quite right on his face.

Had they planted bugs there too? 

Or did they simply trust him enough to not betray them? 

God, every time he looked at you like this, it just reminded you of what a goddamn mess you dragged him into. 

Maybe you hadn’t even liked him a handful of months ago, but he deserved better. He had everything ahead of him. A shiny career with plenty of promotions and a cushy position higher-up just waiting with his name on it. Respected. Revered. 

And he’d gotten caught up in you and your petty feelings and your pathetic need to do what you felt was right. 

At the cost of everything else. 

Because maybe, if you hadn’t meddled, the three of you wouldn’t have gotten swept up in this anyway. Maybe they never would have found what they were looking for. Maybe they would’ve left him alone. 

Doubtful. 

But the thought lingered.

Blossomed into guilt that ate at your bones and made the bile rise in the back of your throat. 

“Do they have any leads on him?” You slowly asked, not sure what you’d do if he said yes.

“Not yet,” he murmured, still playing along with the act. “I’m sure they will soon.” 

“I hope so,” you lied. 

“You don’t have to be scared of him,” he spoke tenderly, doing his damndest to sell this. “This place is guarded. And afterwards, I think they’ll be assigning another agent to keep an eye on you in case he comes back.” 

Great. 

This was his way to give you a heads up that the surveillance surely wouldn’t be over any time soon. 

God, you were scared for him. 

Just how screwed would Y be if they found him? 

You weren’t much for praying, but you were tempted to start just to ask whatever was out there listening to please let him be somewhere safe and far, far, far away right now. 

“Thank you,” you murmured, offering him a pitiful smile. 

You were supposed to be the victim here. 

Considering the pity party you were preoccupied with throwing yourself, it was pretty fitting. 

He leaned in like he was going to kiss you, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb over the bone before just barely narrowing his eyes. A signal, you supposed? 

Trying to make sure you played along? 

“You know, I missed you more than I can say,” he spoke, managing how loud he was speaking before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

You couldn’t make yourself return it. 

Just sitting there numbly as you shut your eyes, doing your best not to curl your fingers up into a fist as he parted for air, murmuring beneath his breath, “I don’t think he left the country.” 

“What?” You whispered back, trying not to let your face betray both of you. 

“They’re starting to think he’s still here,” he confirmed, kissing you again as if he could control your reaction that way. 

Fucking hell, maybe he should’ve gotten you under the sheets so you could scream into your pillow if that was the case. Let the rest of them think it was out of pleasure instead of sheer pain and frustration. 

You kissed him back, biting down on his bottom lip to make him break it before narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Do. Something.” 

₊˚ᘏᘏ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ᘏᘏ˚₊