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Kiss me, kill me, touch me.

Ilsa Faust x Fem!spy!reader

summary: In the clandestine world of espionage, Ilsa and Y/N find themselves entangled in a dangerous game of love and betrayal. Bound by duty yet drawn to each other, the two spies must navigate a treacherous landscape where trust is scarce, and secrets are deadly. Will their love conquer all, or will loyalty tear the lovers apart?

Warnings: Smut, !minors DNI!, oral, fingering, lots of kissing, violence, guns, also !men DNI!, fluff, a bit of angst and a tiny bit of homophobia.

A/N: Btw sorry for my bad English, it isn't my first language. Enjoy <33.

Love is not a simple thing. That is a fact that is very famously and universally agreed upon. It is a dangerous, complicated, and tender yet cruel thing. Like a flower. A deadly flower, which can look oh so beautiful, sitting in your garden, and yet it spurs poison if you were to touch its tender leaves.

Ilsa was your flower and your poison. A drug which you couldn’t get enough of. And you were hers alike. Poisonous, yes, that was probably the most fitting word to describe the love which you shared. A relationship, that if it were to be revealed and publicized, its beautiful toxins would burn down not only your own livelihoods and occupations as spies, but also that of the people closest to the both of you, though you didn’t have many of such people. This was a deadly field to work one, one filled with mines hidden beneath every step of the way.

Oh, but how good it would feel to burn. To let the world see you both and the love you shared.

on the rare occasion that you got to go to witness the wedding of one of those few close friends mentioned earlier, and you got to see them basking in the joy of a love which was not looked down upon by society, and by everyone for that matter, you caught yourself falling down a bitter hole of jealousy.

“Till death do us part,” you would hear them promise, and you would roll your eyes covertly. No. Ilsa, Ilsa you would love even through death and hell. Through the burning fires and the glares of society. She would be yours, and you hers. Sometimes it even seemed as though you would love each other to death. You would regularly be sent to each other’s doorsteps with a gun in hand provided by your superiors and your agencies, of whom you were both the best which said agencies could offer. The best spies on each of your sides.

If you were to do the counting, then this would be approximately the fifth time this year that Ilsa Faust had attempted to kill you. And it was only still May. So still counting.

You gently tip-toed through your apartment, warm morning sun glowing through your dusty glass windows, windows that should have probably been changed out years ago, but this wasn’t exactly an expensive apartment either, so you had no right to complain. And in any case, the blurriness of the light which did manage to fight its way through the old glass had its charm, you supposed. It was old and antique in a way that it became a style of its own, and as the gentle smell of chamomile began wafting through the air, signalling the readiness of your tea, it all made sense together.

Vapour rose from your tea stained and decorated cup, flowers coating the, at some point, white porcelain cup. Though after several turns in the dishwasher alongside all your other cutlery and tableware, it had an almost yellowish tint to it. But it made the cup no less charming.

And picking up your cup, you warmed your hands on it appreciatively, and went to take a set on your couch.

Or at least that was what you would have done. But your movements were halted when a whipping like sound lashed across the room, accompanied by the delayed bang of a window being crashed, glass crackling and exploding across the room. Sharp shards of glass were hurtled over your carpeted floors, embedding themselves into the soft wool of the rug and threatening to pierce your bare feet if you were to take another step. You almost fell back as the culprit of this chaos darted past your face, before lodging itself into your flowery wallpaper. A bullet. You could see it even from where you had stumbled back to, back pressed against the wall, and your cup still in the palm of your hand.

It was small, metal. British design, clearly, you could deduct that from the rim on the back of the bullet. Which was the only part of the bullet you could actually see because the rest of it had practically planted itself in your thick walls, like a little tree stump just sticking it. Judging by the information that you had collected, it was quite easy for you to deduct just who this assassin was who had so clumsily tried to execute you in the early hours of such an otherwise peaceful morning. And you carefully went to tuck on your slippers, as to not ruin the soles of your feet with any of the glass shards which stuck out of the carpet like thorny shrubbery in some forest.

And you walked to your shattered window, unclasped the hinges, and then pushed it open with a small clack.

“You missed,” your voice called out mockingly to the person laying just a street away, on the rooftop of the opposing building, just a story lower than your own apartment complex. The woman, laying flat down on her stomach with a riffle positioned in front of her, gave a small, easily missed smile, and lifted her head up before slipping off the eyepatch which covered her unused eye. The one she didn’t use for aiming. “I missed on purpose,” Ilsa replied in a voice meant to sound serious, although it had an amused undertone to it that anyone of you would have easily missed.

“Of course you did. All a part of the big master plan, huh?” You teased her candidly and used the palm of your hand to nonchalantly brush off any pieces of glass which were still littering your windowsill from her attack earlier. You knew she missed on purpose; she always did. Even if she was well aware of the consequences that her failure to kill you would give her back at the British headquarters, she would never genuinely aim to kill you. Even if her brain wanted and tried to. Just a little slip of the hand, that was all. A little, entirely purposeful slip of the hand. You leaned forward on the windowsill, arms resting on the wood. “Are you going to give up or try again? Second times the charm, or third, or whatever.” You shrugged and lifted your still unscathed cup to your lips, to sip your tea.

“Depends,” Ilsa replied, dropping her eyepatch to hang loosely around her neck instead on the black string which had earlier been clasped around her hair. “Are you going to stop being a commie asshole?” She then continued, smirking down at you from her perched position on her rooftop, just a foot or so above you. You could see her getting comfortable up there, gloating down at her as always with a playful smile. Her blue eyes shimmered, making you shake your head with a scoff. “I work for a communist organisation, that doesn’t necessarily make me a communist myself. Not entirely,” you replied and put down your tea. Yeah, the KGB didn’t exactly have the best of reputations amongst any other organisations in, well any part of the world. But you didn’t exactly have many options either. You turned around and gestured to your apartment, “and I mean, look at the nice apartment they gave me. If you’d just quit shooting holes in my wallpaper. I’m too lazy to replace it.”

The British agent didn’t reply and instead lifted her riffle and shot off another bullet, letting it swish just past your head and into the wallpaper behind you, nicely placed just besides the other bullet. An exaggerated sigh left your lips as you turned to examine her artwork on your wall. Glass shards and ruined wallpaper. And you then looked back at her. “Meh, I suppose I’ll have to go buy a cheap picture to cover it up or something,” you muttered and sipped your tea once again.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to shoot that up as well,” Ilsa replied casually. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Watch me.” She maintained a steady eye contact with you as she spoke. Her blue eyes would surely mesmerise millions if she wished to do so, and her lips…

“You’re just avoiding having to shoot up me now, aren’t you?” You teased her and looked back at her with mirrored intensity, trying to match her controlled expression. But the light did shine through the cracks, in both your faces. It was almost impossible to hide. Both of you were walking, talking killing machines who had vowed to serve your countries no matter the cost, you had both vowed nothing else but loyalty. Like nuns when they vowed to love nothing but god, well your gods were your agencies. And they were such cruel gods indeed.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.” She replied, her tone a bit softer, so faint in fact that you wouldn’t have even been able to hear it hadn’t it been for the fresh winds which carried her sensuous voice down to you on its breeze. “Why don’t you come down and kiss it instead then?” was your candid reply, and there was no hesitation behind it. The words fell from your lips as easy as a coffee order, except you were calling for a war and not a medium double espresso shot. Though that was almost what she was, when it was just her, and not duty as well. A shot of espresso, bold and strong, always there to wake you up when you fell out of line.

The woman smiled and shook her head with a chuckle at your bold statement. But the smile on her face was a genuine one. Her gear was quickly packed away and discarded in an almost dismissive manner, she had never intended to use it properly anyway. It was never her intention to kill you. It never was and it never would be.

Slowly, she crawled down the side of the rigid building. It was soviet built. So, there was practically no space in between the two opposing buildings regardless, so Ilsa could easily make the small jump from one building to the other, with her nimble and athletic build easing the troubles of making the move. And as she leapt off the slim ledge, you were there to catch her. Always. With your arm outstretched from your window in an offer for her to grab onto, which she did. The British agent’s strong hands gripped your own, holding herself in a safe spot from falling while you hoisted her up and in through the window with no difficulty. She pushed herself through the last way and stumbled in besides you, your arms there to keep her from falling onto the still glass infested carpet which she herself had been the cause of. Her gaze met yours, her lips painted with a cheeky grin. “Now, you’re not going to try and choke me or anything, are you?” She asked sarcastically and leaned into your hold a bit, still smiling. “Not unless that’s the kind of stuff you’re into. Who am I to judge,” You reply with a teasing shrug, and she gently shoves you with a scoff, earning a laugh from you.

You’re then hastily pushed against a wall, all air leaving your lungs as she pins you against it. You make no move to stop her or put up a fight. You let it happen. Her hand reaches up to caress your soft cheek, an almost relieved sigh escaping her as she feels your skin beneath her cold fingertips. The chilliness of her long-awaited touch easily earns a shiver from you, your own hands coming up to gently feel up her neck. “I missed you…” You whisper breathily while she slowly edges her face closer to yours, lips parting as you breaths meets, warm sighs hitting each other’s faces. “Of course you did, darling…” She whispers back, and before you even manage to reply, her lips are crashed onto yours in a bruising kiss, lips locking. It instantly draws a surprised moan from you, tense body easing into it and your eyes closing.

She does the same, and you quickly feel her tongue demanding entrance, teeth nipping at your lips in an attempt to get you to open up, and you do so willingly, parting you lips and letting her tongue slip through. You both deepen the kiss, tongues clashing together, heartbeats in your ears and your faces feeling hot. You suck on her tongue, making her gasp and grip your cheek tighter, free arm snaking its way around your waist to pull you closer. Your own hands go to wrap around her shoulders and hold onto her, one hand pushing into the roots of her tied up hair. In between kisses, you both have to free your lips from each other as to not be suffocated in the passionate kisses, and even in those moments you remain interlocked, arms around each other and foreheads pressed together while you pant for air.

Clumsy hands fumble around each other’s bodies as you both crave more, hers pulling and tugging at your loose T-shirt, the same shirt you had woken up in and slept in, while your first instinct is to pull out her hair tie and release her long, cool brown hair, a moan escaping from you as you succeed and her hair falls, cascading down her back, allowing you to burry your fingers in it. She whines lightly, as she is too shaky to successfully pull off your shirt. This earns a smile from you, and she instead pushes down your shorts, one hand slipping to your inner thigh. You gasp and then retract a hand to instead place it on her shoulder, before gently beginning to nudge her backwards. Without protest, she inelegantly stumbles backwards in answer to your advances, and she eventually feels the couch behind her. “Lay down.” You demand breathlessly, pushing at her until she falls backwards.

You both have to part as she moves backwards, situating herself on the languid couch, her eyes following you as you move alongside her. Her captivating blue eyes are gazing up at you, your own eyes staring dreamily back at her as you hover above her, her hand once again finding your inner thigh and caressing the sensitive skin there while you slip off her shirt, leaning down to kiss at her chest which is slowly revealed until the shirt is entirely discarded and tossed across the room in a disregarding manner. She gasps and arches her back when she feels your lips on her skin, and you reach up to grab her hips and hold them steady while you tilt your head and begin to nip at her skin, each time discovering a new sound that Ilsa could make. And each time, your tongue darts out to soothe the bite mark before moving on to do it again.

Slowly, all clothes are pulled off and thrown to be forgotten somewhere in your living room, leaving only two women in their undergarments. While you continue to work on her neck, Ilsa has the clarity of mind to reach around your body, nails trailing along your skin making you shiver, before they reach your bra clasp, and she unlocks it before dropping the black lace bra to the floor, a gasp escaping her at the sight of you. Your perky breasts, nipples hard and begging for her attention. Something which Ilsa happily obliges to, her hands moving to your waist where she pulls at you, beckoning to move up a bit, which in turn allows her to wrap her hungry lips around one of your nipples. You gasp, the sound followed by a desperate moan while all your resolve falters at once, causing you flounder and fall slightly above her. But she keeps you steady while her tongue twirls around your hardened nipple, other hand going to message the opposite breast, making sure to be attentive to both of them. Your mouth falls open and you swear you could fall apart entirely just at this.

You lift your knee up roughly, pushing it in between her legs and against her soaked core, causing her to yelp and bite down slightly on your nipple. You mewl in partial pleasure and partial pain, hands moving to fist her hair while she begins to grind down hard on your knee, begging for a release. The sounds of your passion is resounding through the small apartment, and you push back her head harshly, making her let go of your breast with a small pop and a reluctant groan, and you soothe her disappointment by leaning down and connecting your lips in a short and passionate kiss, before pulling apart and beginning to slide down her warm body. You lean in and biggin kissing your way down Ilsa’s stomach while she squirms beneath you, her hands reaching for your locks of hair as well, while your own hands move to trail down her body. “Y/N, please,” She pants and gazes down at your flushed face before letting out a whimper and leaning back her head, gripping at your hair, and earning a pleased sigh from you. “Spread your legs for me,” you then demand in answer, your voice soft and breathless, eyes following her as she does as you say. Your own hands move to aid her, and you grip her soft thighs, massaging the soft flesh while you keep them apart, your eyes now falling upon her beautiful centre. A smile spreads on your face as you lean in to gently fan your warm breath over the sensitive muscle. “Is this all for me?...” You ask in a teasing voice, and before Ilsa even manages a proper answer, your tongue is on her, licking a stripe up her wet lips, making her gasp and throw back her head in a moan while she desperately tries to push your head closer into her cunt. You oblige.

Immediately you get to work and move your head in closer, kissing and nipping at her sensitive folds, earning multiple pleased sounds from the British spy, accompanied by unintelligible shouts and praises as she grips onto you and quiver under your ministrations. And as you continue working her, Ilsa’s legs move to wrap around your neck, thighs pressed against your shoulders, almost suffocating you. But you don’t mind, far from it, you take it as encouragement and you push in your tongue, making her scream your name. And you pick up your pace, one hand moving to press on the sensitive nub just above her slit, and you press down, moving your fingers in circles while you thrust your tongue in and out of her. The sounds you rip from her only egging you on to move faster, deeper, and more passionate. You are almost out of breath, choking on her sweet pussy when you move to push in the finger at her nub as well and she convulses above you in pleasure as you thrust in and out of her at an even more intense pace.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N, please, I’m so close!” Her pleading only gets her so far and you smile into her center while continuing your movements, ripping into her pleasurably, until she eventually falls apart. Ilsa’s body shakes and quakes beneath you, but you hold on to her roughly and fuck her through the orgasm while her eyes roll back, seeing stars and feeling nothing but your tongue and finger deep inside her. she cums hard on your tongue, and you waste no time licking it off her, you wont let a drop go to waste. The woman’s shouts and moans of ecstasy don’t die down as she is driven off the edge in a violent crash of love and pleasure, her body sweaty and hot beneath your fingers, and it takes a good couple minutes before you finally pull out off her, sucking off your fingers while she heaves for air on the couch, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, head still lolled back in a blissed out manner. It brings an amused smile to your face, seeing the deadly spy in such a position, beneath you and shivering from the pleasure you just brought her. and you bring your free hand to her chin, tilting her head back to look at you, “Y/N…” She breathes out in a longing tone, and you nod at her, “right here with you,” your tone is gentle and caring in a way that was so strange to hear from a spy who usually spends her time killing without a second thought. With her you were someone else entirely, and with a genuine smile, you lean down to plant a loving kiss on her now swollen lips, a kiss that she returns clumsily. A kiss much more caring than the passionate ones you shared before before.

Ilsa sighs, coming down from her high gradually and comfortably as she brings you closer to her, almost as if she were scared you might slip through her fingers and disappear. “I’m gonna have to explain to my boss why you still aren’t dead once I get back, you know…” She murmurs into the sloppy kiss, and you simply hum in reply, “I’m sure we can make something up.” You nonchalantly shrug on your shoulders while shifting your body to lay down on the couch along with her, limbs entangled with each other as your bodies both seek each other’s warmth. A small chuckle leaves her lips, one which could be mistaken for a simple amused laugh, but you could clearly recognize the somber undertones. How you wish it would just be a simple happy laugh, how you wished to see her at peace. But this field of work that you were both in, it was never at peace. That was the harsh truth.

“I swear, you’ll get me killed one of these days, you idiot…” She whispered softly, and you knew that she meant it with all the love in the world. And yet you were afraid that one day she would be right, and the thought made you pull her a bit closer, sighing against her smooth skin. “Idiot spy…” She then added in a murmur and leaned her head into the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your skin and closing her eyes. Idiot spies who were digging their own graves. But… You supposed it wouldn’t be so bad after all. As long as you could share that grave. Together.

#ilsa faust #fic #<33

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