Control Freak
Cipher x fem reader
Summary: It all begins with resistance and ends with something completely different. But in pure truth, no one can play hard to get with her for too long...
The room hums when I step inside. Faint and mechanical, like the walls are breathing. Someone’s been here.
Someone still is.
The monitors blink awake before I touch anything. Light spills across the floor in a fractured grid, casting shadows I don’t trust. And there she is, exactly where she shouldn’t be. In my chair. Arms draped like it belongs to her.
Cipher.
Her hair’s messy and defiant. Like she cut it with the same blade she guts firewalls with. She's not her usual self. She just watches me the way she always does. Quiet. With intent. Like I’m some complicated equation she hasn’t solved yet but desperately wants to.
“You’re getting slow.” she says. Her voice is low, like it’s meant to crawl under my skin. “I expected you to show up five minutes ago.”
“I should call backup.”
“You won’t.”
She’s right. I don’t reach for my phone. I don’t move at all. The air’s gone heavy. Thick with static and something unspoken.
I cross my arms. “Tell me why you’re here. And don’t waste my time.”
“There’s a breach in your system.” she says, tilting her head. “Remote, elegant, smarter than anything you’ve seen in years. Not mine.”
“And I should believe you?”
She shrugs. “I’m sitting in your chair, not erasing your files. That should say enough.”
God, she’s exhausting. Not just because she’s dangerous, but because she’s brilliant, relentless, and for some reason, obsessed with me. It shows in every line of code she lobs at my team like a love letter we’re too stupid to decrypt.
“You’re risking everything just to what? Play savior?”
Her gaze doesn’t falter. “I’m not interested in saving anyone.”
“Then what are you doing?”
She stands, and it’s subtle, but I flinch. Not from fear — from her sheer presence. Like the room shifts to accommodate her movements. Like she bends the grid around her.
“I’m trying to be something better.” she says, voice softer now, “For you.”
I feel that line like a wire pulled tight inside my ribs.
“You don’t get to say that.”
“I know what I’ve done.” Her voice flickers. Not quite regret, but something adjacent. “You’re the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a monster.”
“I never said you weren’t.”
“No,” she murmurs, stepping closer, “but you didn’t look away either.”
And that’s the problem. I still don’t.
⸻
She doesn’t speak. Just lifts her hand, palm up, and offers something small and metallic onto the console.
It clinks once.
I blink down at it.
A drive. Slim, black, unmarked.
Cipher watches my face, carefully. “You’re tracking a shell company laundering funds through your agency’s South Africa node, right? Stolen weapons, off-record movements, ghost files that don’t add up.”
I don’t answer. She doesn’t need me to.
“I pulled the original chain-of-command data. The real one. Before it was scrubbed.” She nods at the drive. “Names, locations, routes. They’ve been bleeding your system for months.”
My fingers close around it before I think better of it. It’s warm, like it’s only left her hand. Like it still carries her pulse.
“I could’ve sold it.” she says. “To your enemies. To mine. I didn’t.”
“No." I murmur. “You handed it to me instead. All dressed up like a peace offering.”
She smiles, faint. “More like a gesture.”
I stare at her. This version of Cipher stripped of theatrics, stripped of ego is almost harder to face than the one behind a keyboard. This one is real. And that’s the problem.
“I didn’t ask for a gesture.”
She exhales, a little too sharp. “No. You didn’t.”
I step in closer, until I can smell her — ozone and cold metal, the scent of wires overheating, of adrenaline and control. She doesn’t move.
“You think this is how it works?” I ask. “That you hand me a drive and suddenly I forget what you’ve done?”
“No." she says, barely above a whisper. “But I hoped it might make you see.”
“See what?” I press.
“That I’m not the same woman you hunted.”
I let silence stretch between us. I want her uncomfortable. I want her off-balance. Because I don’t know what she’s doing to me — and that makes me dangerous.
“Then prove it,” I say. “Not with tech. Not with gifts. Prove it with something that costs you.”
Her mouth tightens. “What do you mean?”
“Show me a weakness." I say. “Any genius can show off. But if you want to be better—for me? Let me see what scares you.”
⸻
The door slides open mid-briefing.
Of course.
She steps in like she’s been invited, which she hasn’t. Wearing all black, hair sharp, arms crossed like she’s bored already. Her eyes scan the room once before naturally landing on me.
Roman frowns. “Why is she here?”
“She has intel.” I say quickly, not looking at her. “That’s all.”
Cipher smiles, just a little. Enough to set off warning bells through my spine.
“Oh, don't be like that." she says, voice smooth as glass. “You sounded much more welcoming last night.”
Heads turn.
I don’t move.
Tej squints. “Wait — what?”
Cipher’s eyes flick lazily toward him, then back to me. “Just a… private conversation. Very enlightening.”
I clench my jaw. She’s walking the knife’s edge between harmless and intimate, threading her words with double meanings only I can really decode.
And god, she’s enjoying it.
“Should we be worried?” Letty mutters.
“You should be grateful." Cipher says brightly. “I cleaned up your network mess, exposed a leak, and I didn’t even ask for a thank-you. Honestly, I deserve flowers.”
“Or a straitjacket,” Roman mutters.
I try to refocus on the board. The mission. The data. But she leans beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat off her skin.
“You’re welcome, by the way.” she says just for me. “Though I’m still waiting for your version of gratitude. Something… hands-on.”
My head turns sharply. She meets my glare with a calm, pleased expression, like she’s testing how far she can go before I snap.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.” I whisper.
She tilts her head. “Isn’t that why you keep letting me in?”
Everyone’s watching us once again, but no one quite knows why. There’s confusion in the air. Tension. Curiosity.
Cipher just smiles wider, like she’s poured gasoline across the room and now she’s waiting to see what catches first.
⸻
When the second the door hisses shut behind the last person, I round on her.
“You think that was funny?”
Cipher’s already leaning against the far wall like she’s been waiting for this. Like this is the real meeting. Her arms are still crossed, but there’s a glint in her eyes now. Unapologetic. Amused.
“I thought it was tame, honestly.”
“You humiliated me.”
“No." she says simply, “Just rattled you a little. It's different.”
I stalk toward her before I can think better of it. “You want to ‘help’? Fine. But don’t you ever pull that kind of shit in front of my team again.”
She pushes off the wall slowly, like a cat stretching. Every movement measured. “Is this the part where you pretend you didn’t like it?”
“Like—?” I laugh once, sharp. “God, your ego is actually beyond unhinged.”
“Don’t deflect.” Her voice drops, quiet now. “You could’ve shut it down. You didn’t. You let them wonder.”
I glare. “Because I didn’t want to cause a scene.”
“You didn’t want to lie.”
My hands ball into fists. She steps closer, like she’s testing my perimeter. My willpower.
“You hate that I make you feel anything." she says softly. “But you do. That’s why you push me away so hard.”
I hold my ground. “You don’t get to play psychologist after screwing with me in front of half the damn room.”
Cipher tilts her head slightly, eyes scanning my face like she’s mapping my weak points. “I’m not screwing with you." she says softer. “I’m letting you see me. The question is, what do you see?”
I breathe out through my nose, steadying myself. “I see someone who still doesn’t understand consequences.”
Her gaze sharpens like I just said something important.
And I think I did.
She steps in, slow, deliberate. I don’t move. I won’t be the one to step back.
“Consequences.” she repeats, voice low. “Funny. You speak like someone who doesn’t want to deal with her own.”
I grit my teeth. “This isn’t about me.”
“No?” Her hand brushes mine as she moves past me. Not an accident, never with her. “Because the way you looked at me across that room said otherwise.”
I spin, catching her wrist before she can take another step. She stops instantly, her body going still under my grip. Her eyes flick in interest to where I’m holding her.
“I’m warning you.” I say.
“You always are.” Her voice softens into something more dangerous. “And you never mean it.”
Her skin is warm. Too warm. I let go, but she doesn’t step back.
She’s close now, too close, and every time she speaks, her breath ghosts across my cheek.
“I’m not trying to play you.” she says, quieter. “I’m trying to be real with you. But you’re terrified of what that looks like.”
I scoff, but my voice cracks around the edges. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“No.” she murmurs. “You’re scared of what you feel for me.”
That’s when it shifts.
Not because she's touching me, but because she doesn’t. She almost does. Her hand lifts, hovering near my jaw. Not quite brushing, not quite pulling away.
The tension coils in the silence between us, thick and crackling, charged like a live wire waiting for contact.
“I could kiss you right now." she says, soft and maddening. “And you wouldn’t stop me.”
My pulse kicks. “You’re so sure of yourself.”
“No, lovely." she says. “I’m sure of you.”
And then she steps back, slow and smooth, leaving cold air in her place.
But her voice lingers.
“Tell me when you’re done pretending.”
And she’s gone, slipping through the door before I can say a word.
⸻
Weeks pass.
I don’t bring it up.
What she said. What she did.
I bury it like a classified file and seal it twice. I move forward. I lead missions. I act like nothing’s changed.
But she keeps showing up.
Not in dramatic ways. Not at first.
Just… present. Always two steps behind me. Or two steps ahead.
⸻
One night, a debriefing ends late.
I head back to my quarters and find the door already open.
A soft click of music inside. Low. Haunting. Familiar.
She’s sitting on my bed, boots off, legs crossed. Her jacket folded neatly beside her.
“I fixed your surveillance logs.” she says without looking up. “The ones you didn’t realize were corrupted.”
I stare at her. “You broke into my room.”
She finally looks at me. “It's cleaner than when I came in.”
⸻
Another time, post-mission. I take a bullet. Shallow. Stupid. I downplay it.
She doesn’t.
Cipher’s in the med bay before the blood dries. She doesn’t speak. Just sits there, watching the nurse patch me up. Watching me breathe. Watching me lie about how fine I am.
When we’re alone, she presses a little container into my hand.
Custom-mixed salve. High-grade. Nothing on the market.
“It won’t scar.” she says. “Unless you want it to.”
⸻
She keeps giving.
Encrypted drives. Weapon blueprints. Shielded communications. A silenced pistol that fits my grip exactly.
She never says why. But I know.
Even when she speaks in riddles, her message is always the same:
“See me. Trust me. Let me be good for you.”
⸻
One night, she gives me a weakness. Just like I asked.
We’re alone. End of a long op. Everyone’s sleeping. She finds me in the hangar, bathed in red light from the aircraft beacon.
She walks up slowly. Quietly.
Then she holds out a photo.
A small, faded one.
A child. Maybe three. Pale curls. Big eyes. Smiling at someone behind the camera.
“My son." she says. “He’s gone.”
I blink. “I didn’t know—”
“You weren’t supposed to.” Her voice is careful, almost fragile. “But you asked for something that cost me.”
She leaves the photo in my hand.
Walks away again.
And still, I don’t let myself crack.
Not yet.
Not even when my fingers keep going back to that worn edge of the photo like it means something.
⸻
Mission site: Abandoned refinery outside Berlin. Intel said light resistance. Intel was wrong.
We’re pinned.
Smoke chokes the corridor. The comms are jammed. Someone — Dom? Letty? — is shouting through static. I’m behind cover with a jammed weapon and a gash in my leg that won’t stop bleeding.
And then everything goes silent.
Just for a moment, and the lights go out.
The enemy’s backup generator hums to life, but it’s no longer running their systems. The turrets fail. Comms flicker back online. Drones drop like flies midair.
“What the—” Roman breathes, somewhere behind me.
And then I hear it.
The soft click of her high-heeled boots on steel.
She steps out of the smoke like a ghost wearing leather and fire.
Cipher.
Expression unreadable.
“Really?” she says. “This is the team that almost took me down? Disappointing.”
Tej stares. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Stand down.” I bark, limping up. “She’s not here to fight.”
I think.
⸻
She doesn’t hesitate.
In less than five minutes she reroutes the extraction path, rewires the surveillance grid, opens locked doors we couldn’t blast through.
And when I freeze, cornered by a soldier I didn’t hear, she’s the one who takes him down with one clean shot.
Just like that.
No thanks.
No applause.
She doesn’t even look at the others.
Just me.
⸻
Later at the extraction site when the team’s recovering, she finds me behind the transport truck, away from the chaos. No blood on her, no scratches. Just calm, collected Cipher, like she didn’t just save half the damn team.
I turn, arms crossed, pulse still running hot from adrenaline and confusion.
“You tracked us.”
“I protected you.”
I shake my head. “You helped all of us.”
She nods once. “Because they matter to you.”
There’s a pause. The kind that stretches, taut and full of things neither of us wants to say out loud.
“I didn’t ask for this.” I tell her.
“No," she says. “but you needed it.”
I scoff. “So this is what now? Your redemption arc?”
“No." she says again, quieter this time. “It’s not about redemption.”
She steps forward, and suddenly it’s just the two of us again, the noise behind us fading into a dull hum.
“It’s about you.” she says. “And proving that I can be what you asked me to be.”
“Why?” I demand, voice cracking.
She studies me like I’m the most important puzzle she’s ever touched.
“Because I don’t want to destroy things anymore,” she says. “I want to protect something. For once. To find worth protecting. And that's you.”
⸻
The sky’s turning violet behindus as we leave the extraction point. Smoke still curls off metal. The team’s regrouping, shouting over the hum of the engines. Injuries, damage, half the op blown to hell, but we’re alive.
Because of her.
Cipher hasn’t moved far. She’s leaning against the transport crate like she’s part of the background, like she didn’t just rip apart half a militia with a keyboard and a sniper round. Her eyes are on me, of course. Always.
I don’t want to walk over.
Yet I do anyway.
“Why are you still here?” I ask, low.
She shrugs. “Waiting for you to decide if this changes anything.”
“It doesn’t." I snap.
She doesn’t flinch. “You don’t mean that.”
I step in closer. “You saved them. All of them. You could’ve just taken me and disappeared.”
“I thought about it." she admits, so casually it knocks the breath from my chest. “But I knew you wouldn’t forgive me.”
“You think I forgive you now?”
She leans in, voice quiet, steady. “No. But I think for one second, when I pulled you out of that blast zone, you didn’t hate me either.”
I hate how true that is.
I hate the image burned into my brain, the blur of her face, the way she cradled my head like I was something fragile. Like I mattered.
“You’re relentless." I breathe.
“And you’re still pretending this is one-sided.”
She reaches out, slow and careful, her fingers brushing mine. It’s not a grab. It’s barely a touch. It’s a question.
I don’t answer.
Not with words.
But I don’t pull away either.
My hand turns, slowly, deliberately to hold hers properly.
Her fingers thread through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I hate her for that.
And I don’t let go.
When she steps closer, I don’t stop her. When her other hand lifts to touch the side of my face — tentative, rare, like she’s not sure I’ll let her — I stay still. Her thumb grazes my cheekbone, barely there.
It’s the softest she’s ever been with me.
And I let her.
Only for a second too long.
And then —
“Hey.”
Tej.
His voice cuts through the space like a blade.
I rip my hand back, step away fast like I’ve been burned. Cipher just lowers hers without a flinch. Casual again. Mask in place. But her eyes are still on me.
Tej’s gaze bounces between us. His posture’s loose, but his eyes aren’t.
“You good?” he asks me. But it’s not really a question. It’s a flag.
I nod quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
He looks at Cipher, then back at me. “She really did save our asses today.”
“Guess even sociopaths have their moments." I mutter.
Tej doesn’t smile. “Right. But she didn’t just save you.”
“I noticed.”
He steps closer, voice quieter. “So… what’s going on?”
“Nothing." I say. “It's not like she's part of the team.”
“No,” he says carefully. “But she’s orbiting you like she wants to be.”
I go still.
“She doesn’t do things unless there’s a reason." he adds. “So whatever this is… you might want to figure it out before it figures you out.”
He walks off before I can answer.
And behind me, I can still feel her watching.
Always.
⸻
Days later, we're all together in Dom's garage.
Cipher's last stunt isn't forgotten. It's looming over us. So is the fact that she drops in every now and then with small gestures or facts or random pieces of information.
The energy in the room is off. Too many eyes, too many words unspoken. Everyone’s here — Letty, Tej, Roman, Ramsey, Dom — scattered around, pretending to focus on repairs or intel. But the tension crackles like static.
They’re waiting for someone to say it.
Letty’s the one who finally does.
“You gonna finally tell us what happened out there?” she asks, voice casual but not really. She’s leaning against the workbench, arms crossed.
I look up from the monitor in front of me. “Which part?”
“She showed up out of nowhere. Saved our asses. And then disappeared again.” Letty shrugs. “Only difference is, this time, you were the last person seen with her for a while."
“She found an opening in their firewall and jammed the strike system. No one else could’ve done it that fast." Tej adds, like he’s trying to stay neutral. “But yeah. After that… you were gone.”
“20 minutes." Ramsey says. “You weren’t answering comms.”
Roman whistles low. “And then you walked out lookin’ like you’d seen God.”
That gets a few uneasy looks. I just arch a brow. “You think she’s God now?”
“I think you’ve got some explaining to do." Letty says, firmer now. “Not just to us. To yourself.”
I close the laptop slowly and look around at the team.
Dom stays quiet, arms folded, watching.
“What do you want to know?” I ask.
Letty pushes off the bench. “Are you working with her?”
“No.”
“Are you protecting her?”
“Not from you.”
“Y/n, don't forget she’s dangerous." Ramsey says. “Brilliant, sure, but she’s left a trail of bodies and code behind her that we’ve been cleaning up for years.”
“She knows that." I say.
Roman laughs. “Oh, okay! She knows! Well that changes everything.”
“She’s trying to be different." I say, quieter. “She’s been trying.”
“People like her don’t change." Letty says.
“And she's not people like you." I reply, meeting her eyes. “And she’s not pretending to be.”
That silences the room for a beat.
“She saved all of you." I continue. “Not just me. She didn’t owe us anything. No angle, no deal, no leverage. She just did it. And she didn’t ask for credit. Didn’t stay. Didn’t even speak to anyone but me.”
Tej frowns. “So why did she show up?”
I hesitate. “Because I asked her to, once. Months ago. I told her if she wanted to prove she could be better, she needed to help more than just me. She remembered.”
Letty crosses her arms. “You gave her that chance?”
“I gave her the truth." I say. “She decided what to do with it.”
Roman looks between everyone, incredulous. “So you’re just… cool with her now? Cipher? Queen of war crimes?”
“No," I say. “but I’m not fighting her like I used to.”
That lands hard.
Ramsey speaks next, gentle but serious. “Are you falling for her?”
I blink. The words knock something loose in my chest.
“No." I say at first. “I don't think so.”
It’s quiet again.
Letty’s watching me the closest. She tilts her head. “So this is real.”
“Yeah.”
“You know what this means, right?” she asks. “If you’re wrong about her—”
“I know.” I pause. “But I’m not.”
Dom finally speaks. “We’ve all had moments like this. People we couldn’t explain. Couldn’t walk away from. But if you’re gonna stand in front of this team and ask us to trust her through you, then you’d better be damn sure.” He's not trying to be rough. More like a worried big brother.
I nod. “I am.”
That’s when the garage door opens and Cipher walks in.
She doesn’t say anything. Just stops near the threshold, her eyes sweeping the room. She’s in black again, of course, cropped jacket, hair a mess, calm like always — but her gaze lingers on me.
And this time?
I don’t look away.
⸻
I knock.
It’s unnecessary. Her surveillance footprint spans blocks, not feet — I know she saw me on the cameras. I know the heat signature of my pulse is probably outlined on some screen in real time.
Still. I knock.
The door unlocks with a low hiss. Mechanical. Precise. Her kind of welcome.
She stands in the doorway barefoot, holding a glass of something aged and amber. She’s not dressed for war this time — no leather, no black tactical precision. Just a loose shirt, black sweatpants, her hair falling slightly over one eye, mouth unreadable. Beautiful in a way that’s softer, stripped back. Unpracticed.
“Didn’t think knocking was your style.” she says, voice cool, but not cold.
“I can surprise you." I reply.
Her eyes flick down my body, slow. “You always do.”
She moves aside to let me in. Doesn’t ask why I’m here. Not yet.
The inside of the place is cleaner than I’d expect. Not warm, nothing about Cipher is warm, but it’s lived in. Minimalist tech elegance. Sparse furniture. Dark surfaces. Silence like a religion.
I take a few steps in. She closes the door behind me. Still watching.
“I assumed,” she says, walking toward the kitchen counter, “that after your little declaration in front of the team, you’d be forced into some kind of group therapy session or exile.”
“Not yet." I say.
“Give them time.”
She sips from her glass, slow. Calculated. Every movement measured like she’s calculating outcomes in her head. And maybe she is.
Her gaze sharpens. “So? What are you doing here?”
I take a breath. “You heard what I said.”
“I did.” She turns fully now. “But you didn’t stick around after to see what it did to me.”
Her voice is even, but there’s a crack beneath it. Hairline. Human.
“I meant it." I say.
She studies me like I’m something she hasn’t programmed for. “So you came all this way just to confirm that?”
“No.”
One step forward. Deliberate. Not too close yet.
“I came because I didn’t like how we left things.”
She lifts a brow. “We didn’t leave anything. You did. After that mission. After—whatever that was.”
“That wasn’t the end.”
“Felt like it." she says. “You looked at me like you wanted something, and then you backed off like it burned.”
“I didn’t back off because I was afraid." I say. “I backed off because I knew the second I let this happen… it wouldn’t be something I could walk away from.”
Her breath catches, barely. She covers it by setting her glass down. Her hands are too steady. Which means she’s trying too hard.
“I’ve had people lie to me," she says. “say things they didn’t mean. Offer feelings like currency. Try to use me to fix something broken in them.”
“I’m not here to be fixed.”
“And I’m not here to be anyone’s secret." she says, voice sharper now. “Or your rebellion. Or your maybe.”
I don’t respond with words.
I move closer, slow and unflinching. And when I reach her, I don’t touch her like she usually touches me. Not with power or provocation. I touch her gently. Like she’s allowed to be breakable in front of me.
Her breath leaves her in a soft exhale, like she’s been holding it since I walked in.
“You weren’t a maybe." I murmur. “Not when you showed up. Not when you got me out. Not when you saved them.”
She stares at me like she’s waiting to be betrayed. And I hate that it’s instinct for her.
“I saw your face after I spoke." I add. “You looked surprised.”
Cipher tries for a shrug, but it doesn’t quite land. “Didn’t think you’d say it like that. Like I meant something.”
“You do.”
I brush a hand down her arm. She lets me.
“I don’t know what this is,” I say. “but I’m not pretending it’s not happening anymore.”
Her expression shifts slightly, quietly. And it’s everything. The mask doesn’t fall, but it thins.
“You’re not afraid of what they’ll think?” she asks.
“They already think it.”
A moment of silence. Dense. Full of unsaid things.
Then she lifts her hand slowly and brushes her fingers over my cheek. The touch is tentative, unsure in a way that breaks my heart a little.
“If I kissed you now,” she says, “would you stop me?”
I don’t blink.
“No.”
So she does.
Not with the hunger she’s capable of. Not with control. But with something softer. A first kiss that tastes like tension and surrender, like trust given instead of stolen.
I kiss her back like I’ve wanted to for too long. And this time, I don’t pull away first.
When it finally breaks, we stay close. Our breath mingling. Her hand still on my face like she’s anchoring herself to the moment.
“You came to me." she says, voice small.
“I’ll keep doing it.”
She closes her eyes like the truth hurts and heals all at once.
“Stay." she whispers.
My answer is simple.
“Okay.”
⸻
It happens in fragments.
Not all at once. Not like a storm. But slowly and quietly, like water reshaping stone.
She doesn’t say, you can stay here now. Doesn’t ask. Just leaves the door unlocked more often. Just clears space in drawers that weren’t meant for anyone else. One morning, there’s a toothbrush beside hers in the glass. Later, a jacket of mine hanging near the door like it belongs there.
Like I do.
⸻
She cooks exactly once.
I don’t think she meant to. I just find her standing barefoot in the kitchen one night, hair tied messily back, a pan sizzling with something that smells like garlic and heat and unfamiliar effort.
She doesn’t look up when I enter, just mutters, “It’s not poisoned.”
I sit on the counter, watching her move — precise, efficient, but not robotic. She burns the edge of something and curses under her breath, and I swear, for a second, she looks almost human.
We eat in silence. On the floor. She complains about the table being “too performative.”
Halfway through, she hands me a forkful from her plate. I eat it without a word. She watches like it’s a test.
I must pass, because she relaxes against my side after that, thigh to thigh.
⸻
I catch her humming once. Just a note or two under her breath while she rewires something on her desk. Her lips barely move. She doesn’t realize she’s doing it until I tilt my head.
She freezes.
I smile. Say nothing.
But that night, when I curl up beside her, she exhales against my neck like I gave her permission to be soft.
⸻
She learns the shape of my body with her eyes before her hands.
I see her study me when I’m not looking. Or when I pretend not to be. The way my spine curves when I stretch. The scar under my collarbone. The way I crack my knuckles when I’m trying not to bite back a thought.
I think it soothes her, knowing me like data.
But sometimes she reaches out mid-sentence and fixes a stray hair behind my ear. Like instinct.
That always undoes me more than anything else.
⸻
Date one - Night Market
She doesn’t call it a date.
Of course she doesn’t.
To her, it’s just a walk through a market lit by strings of lanterns swaying in the dusk wind, somewhere between nowhere and nowhere else. No mission. No threat. No surveillance net dragging behind us. Just her in dark denim and a jacket that swallows her frame like armor she’s trying not to wear.
She keeps her hands in her pockets.
I try sweets from a street vendor, something unfamiliar and sticky with syrup. I hold a piece out to her without speaking.
Her lips part. She tastes it. Doesn’t flinch, but her jaw tenses like she’s debating whether this was a mistake. I wait.
“It’s… chaotic." she mutters.
I laugh. “So are you.”
She doesn’t argue.
Later, in the thick of the crowd, her hand grazes mine. Light. Barely a touch. But deliberate. She holds it there for three full steps before retreating, eyes straight ahead like she didn’t just shake my ribcage loose from the inside.
I say nothing.
But I feel it for hours after.
⸻
Date Two – The Jazz Experiment
She shows up at my door holding a vinyl in one hand and a bottle of wine she only half-pronounces. No warning. No plan I can decipher. Just says, “You trust me?”
I do. That’s the terrifying part.
We go to her place once again.
The change of scenery makes it seem more stripped of pretense tonight. No holograms or code bleeding from the walls. Just low light and shadows, and the soft flicker of a candle she must’ve lit because she read somewhere that people do that sort of thing.
She sets the record down. Static hums, then the needle drops, and it’s jazz. Smoky, aching, full of space and ache and restraint. The kind of music that doesn’t beg to be heard but waits to be noticed.
“I hate noise." she says. “But this kind? I make exceptions.”
She doesn’t sit too close. Just close enough. A folded distance between us, charged and deliberate.
She doesn’t look at me often, but I feel her watching when I let my eyes fall closed. When my head tips back. When my bare foot brushes hers under the table.
And then, slow as breath, I lean into her shoulder.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t stiffen. Just lets her arm rest against mine. A quiet touch that means stay in a language she’s still learning to speak.
Neither of us says a word for the rest of the record.
But when it ends, she leans her head to mine just slightly and I swear the silence shifts, getting warmer than before.
⸻
The movie’s almost over.
Some sci-fi classic she insists is “technically genius but emotionally bankrupt,” but I stopped paying attention halfway through. Not because the plot lost me. But because of the way Cipher’s thigh has been pressed against mine the entire time. The way her arm rests behind me on the couch, gently hugging my shoulders. The way her fingers brushed mine at one point and didn’t leave after.
We’ve done this a few times now — nights in, drinks shared, kisses stolen in between missions and long silences. We’ve become something soft without ever calling it anything. And tonight, like every time before, there’s been this rhythm to it: stay close, stay quiet, stay on the edge.
Except something’s different now. She’s quieter than usual. Less composed. Her eyes flick to me more often. Like she’s waiting for something. Or bracing for it.
The credits start to roll, and I feel her shift. A slight exhale. As if she’s about to say something and decides against it.
I don’t let her retreat.
“Tell me." I say softly, turning to her.
She doesn’t look at me. Her gaze stays fixed on the screen, though her jaw tightens. “I’m thinking… this is dangerous.”
“The movie?”
“You.” Her voice is low. “This.”
That makes me pause.
“We’ve kissed, Cipher.” I remind her gently. “You’ve slept here. I’ve slept there. You bring me tea, and I don’t even like tea.”
A flicker of a smile. Brief, crooked, vulnerable. “I know.”
“Then what’s dangerous about this?”
She turns toward me at last, and I see it. Want. Naked and raw, flickering just behind her eyes. She’s been holding it in for too long.
“Because I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
And suddenly the room’s too quiet. The flickering light from the screen dances across her cheekbones, her collarbones. She’s closer than she was a second ago. Or maybe I leaned in. I can’t tell.
“You really don’t have to." I whisper.
And when I kiss her, soft and deliberate, she kisses me back like it’s the first time and the last time all at once.
⸻
We fall apart in pieces.
Clothes peeled away slowly, not because we’re unsure, but because we are. Because this matters. Because we’ve imagined this so many times we want to get it right.
I straddle her lap as we kiss, her hands resting on my waist with careful, reverent pressure. But when I roll my hips against her, she lets out a breath that cracks something open between us.
She leans in, kisses my neck, my shoulder, the place just beneath my ear that makes me shiver.
“You’ve been driving me insane, you know?" she murmurs. “Every time I saw you laugh with them. Every time you looked at me like you wanted more.”
“I did.”
Her hand slips between us, fingertips grazing skin, learning the shape of me like she’s decoding something sacred. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to want it.”
I guide her hand lower. “You are.”
The bed is warm, unfamiliar with how lived-in it feels now.
She lays me back with aching patience. Traces her fingers down my chest, across my ribs, my hips. Each motion deliberate. She doesn’t devour, she memorizes. As if this is the only moment that’s ever mattered.
But when her mouth finds the inside of my thigh, when her teeth graze skin, when her voice drops and she tells me exactly what she wants to do to me, the tenderness fractures.
Her tongue moves like she’s trying to burn the memory into me. Slow strokes, sharp edges, that controlled precision finally unspooling into need.
“Look at me." she commands, voice low, rough.
I do. And the way she stares up at me. Lips slick, eyes dark, it unravels me.
She doesn’t stop when I come the first time. Doesn’t stop when I gasp her name again. She just keeps going until my fingers are buried in her hair and I’m begging her through gritted teeth for a break.
Only then does she rise and I pull her up into my arms, switching us so she's beneath me.
My turn.
She’s tense beneath me not out of fear, but anticipation. Cipher, the most unreadable woman in the world, is trying not to fall apart. And failing.
I kiss her neck, then lower. Watch her eyes flutter shut when I trace my fingers along her slick heat, teasing her until her hips lift with a desperate sound.
“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long. Like you matter." I whisper. "Because you do.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for weeks.
I slide inside her slowly, deliberately, and her mouth drops open in a silent cry. Her back arches, her hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
I move steadily. No teasing, no delay, just the rhythm her body begs for.
When she comes, it’s sudden. Shaking. Jaw clenched as her body clenches around me, eyes wide like she can’t believe she’s finally allowed this.
I kiss her through it. Hold her when it’s over.
After, the silence is softer.
She stays curled against me, face pressed to my neck, arms around my waist like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
“You okay?” I ask gently, brushing damp hair from her forehead.
Cipher nods. “Yeah. I just…”
“What?”
“I didn’t think I’d ever get this." she whispers. “Not with you. Not with anyone.”
“You’ve got me." I say. “I’m here.”
She doesn’t answer. Just presses closer.
Like maybe now she believes it.
⸻
The Next Morning
She’s half draped over me, her head tucked beneath my chin, one leg wedged possessively between mine like she claimed the entire left side of the bed in her sleep.
The room’s quiet, the kind of stillness that feels lived-in, not empty.
Our skin’s still warm. The sheet tangled somewhere below us, useless at this point.
I let my fingers trail along the bare line of her spine. Up. Down. Just enough to make her hum.
It’s the smallest sound, but she makes it without thinking and that feels like something big.
“You good?” I ask, murmuring into her hair.
“Hmm" she replies, already sounding unimpressed with the question. “You’re asking me that again?”
I smirk. “Just making sure you’re not plotting my death.”
“I’m not." she says, deadpan. “But I haven’t ruled it out.”
I laugh softly, and her arm curls tighter around my waist, which kind of ruins the threat.
She feels good like this. Relaxed. Warm. Bare, not just physically but not hiding, not calculating. Like she forgot to put the firewall back up and isn’t in a rush to do it.
She shifts just enough to glance up at me, messy-haired and pillow-creased, eyes still sharp even with sleep softening the edges.
“Stop staring.”
“Not staring." I lie. “Admiring.”
Her brow lifts. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Mmhmm. You should get used to it.”
“Unlikely,” she mutters, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she nudges in closer, her nose brushing my throat now, breath curling against my skin.
A beat passes.
“You’re clingy in the morning." I whisper, lips twitching.
“I am not.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You're wrapped around me like you’re afraid I’ll vanish.”
“That’s not clingy. That’s tactical.”
I snort. “You’re literally cuddling me, Ciph. It’s okay. You can just say you like me.”
She groans, dramatic and muffled. “If I say it out loud, will you stop talking?”
“Nope.”
Another groan. Then, quieter: “Fine. I like you. You’re tolerable. You make acceptable coffee. And your face is… bearable.”
“Wow." I say, grinning now. “Talk dirty to me, why don’t you.”
She tilts her head just enough to nip my shoulder. “Don’t tempt me. I’m still recovering.”
“You’re the one who—”
“I know what I did.”
We both laugh softly, the way people do when the sun hasn’t fully risen yet and the world still feels far away.
For a while, we don’t talk. I play with her hair, and she lets me. She traces invisible lines on my ribs with the tips of her fingers like she’s committing me to memory without needing to admit it.
Eventually, I murmur, “Wanna get up?”
“No.”
“Hungry?”
“Yes.”
I blink down at her. “Then—”
“I’m prioritizing.”
“And what exactly are your priorities right now?”
She lifts her head just enough to kiss the corner of my mouth. A slow, lazy thing. Then she whispers against my lips, “This. And maybe pancakes.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Pancakes. Okay.”
We finally pull ourselves out of bed, mostly because the floor isn’t as cold as we thought, and the kitchen feels like the right kind of domestic rebellion.
She steals my hoodie but I don’t fight her on it. Her legs are bare and her hair’s wild and she looks so good leaning against my counter that I forget I’m supposed to be whisking batter.
“You’re watching me again." she says without looking up from the coffee machine.
“Still admiring." I reply.
She smirks. “Clingy.”
“Says the one in my clothes and acting like this is our kitchen."
That earns me a glance. Sharp, amused, and far too soft at the edges. “I don’t hear you complaining.”
“I’m not." I say, flipping the first pancake onto a plate. “I could get used to this.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just reaches for two mugs, fills them both, then pads over and nudges one into my hand.
When she finally looks at me again, it’s quiet, steady.
“So get used to it.”
And I might do just that.