Summary: Lyutsifer notices Y/ns hesitation as she browses items she can’t afford, and he won’t have any of it.
༻♱༺༻♱༺༻♱༺༻♱༺༻♱
It’s quiet in the manor.
Snow falls like ash outside the window, coating the glass in a thin, misty film that blurs the trees beyond. The warmth of the fireplace flickers across the room, casting soft golden light on velvet cushions and heavy tapestries. You’re curled beneath a mountain of blankets, a warm weight behind you, breath soft and slow against the back of your neck.
Lyutsifer’s arm is around your waist-
gentle but firm, his hand resting flat against your stomach as though to hold you in place, to remind you without words: you are here. You are mine.
He hasn’t spoken in a while. That’s not unusual. His silences say more than his words.
You're too focused on your phone to notice the way his eyes follow the tilt of your head, how he watches every blink, every little sigh that escapes your lips when something catches your eye. You're browsing, mostly-nothing serious. Just scrolling through clothes and jewelry and little home decorations you know you can't afford, letting yourself imagine for a few minutes what it would be like if you could.
Every so often your finger hovers over the “Add to Cart” button… only to pull away. You don't even notice how you whisper to yourself sometimes.
“Too much…”
“Nope. Can’t justify that.”
Your voice is soft. Apologetic, even to yourself.
Lyutsifer notices.
And he doesn’t like it.
He shifts closer, his chin resting against your shoulder now, his breath ghosting along the shell of your ear. You tense slightly but don’t pull away. His presence is familiar-comforting, in a strange, intense way. He’s always like this: a little too close, a little too quiet. But you’re used to it. That strange, magnetic stillness of his.
“What are you looking at, little one?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth like poisoned honey. His Russian accent softens the edges of every syllable. "Hm?"
You tilt the screen away, embarrassed. “Nothing. Just... browsing.”
“You keep sighing,” he says, voice warm against your skin. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”
Your cheeks flush, but you laugh nervously. “It’s just silly stuff. Clothes. Things I don’t need.”
He doesn’t respond at first. His hand slowly slides from your stomach to your hip, fingers curling with almost unconscious possessiveness. You don't see the way his eyes narrow, the quiet intensity behind them. You don’t see the sharp shift in his expression-the way his mouth presses into a thin line, not out of anger, but out of cold calculation.
You're too used to being alone, he thinks. Too used to denying yourself.
That will change.
He tucks his head against your neck now, voice soft, so quiet it’s almost reverent. “Why didn’t you add it to your cart, zaychik?”
You blink. “What?”
“The dress,” he says simply. “The one you lingered on for so long. It was beautiful. Red. Silk.”
His voice darkens with something unnameable. “I would like to see you in it.”
Your chest tightens. You didn’t even think he was paying attention. How did he see that?
You laugh again, awkwardly, trying to brush it off. “It’s way too expensive. I was just looking…”
Lyutsifer’s hand slides under the hem of your oversized hoodie, resting on your bare hip. His touch is so gentle you barely notice. He hums, soft and thoughtful.
“Money,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “You worry about this. Often.”
“I mean… yeah?” you say, twisting slightly to look at him. “That’s kind of what most people do, Lyutsifer.”
His face is unreadable, those eyes like two deep, still pools of water-calm, but with something far darker beneath.
“You know I have more money than I could ever spend in a lifetime,” he says quietly. “You live here. You know this.”
“I-I know,” you stammer. “But that’s your money. I’m not just gonna-“
“Why not?”
You pause. “Because it’s not mine.”
Lyutsifer pulls you tighter to his chest, like he’s trying to mold your body into his, protect you from a world that no longer exists outside his home. The fire crackles, throwing shadows across his face.
“I brought you here,” he whispers, voice husky. “I took you away from all that noise, all those people who never saw you. Who never appreciated you. I made this place yours, too. You are not a guest, my angel. You are mine.”
You feel it in your bones-that strange heaviness in his words, the way he means them completely. With a depth that borders on terrifying.
Still, you smile gently. “That’s sweet, Lyutsifer, but-“
“No.”
You flinch slightly at the firmness in his voice.
He exhales, softening, brushing a kiss to your shoulder. “I will not let you deny yourself anymore. Not in my house. Not in my arms.”
You shift, trying to turn, but he keeps you close.
“Add it to the cart,” he murmurs.
“But-“
“I will pay for it. And for everything else you want. Everything you looked at. Every pair of shoes. The necklace. The bedding you liked. All of it.”
Your breath catches. “Lyutsifer…”
He nuzzles into your neck, his voice nearly breaking with devotion. “Please. Let me give this to you.”
There’s something about the way he says it-not desperate, not demanding, but hungry. Like giving you things is the only way he knows how to express what’s inside him. As if he thinks he can stitch his love into fabric, into precious metals, into every comfort you’ve ever denied yourself.
Your thumb hovers over the screen.
“…Okay,” you whisper.
He makes a low, pleased sound in his chest and presses a slow kiss behind your ear. “Good girl.”
You try not to react to that, even as your skin warms.
He shifts to rest his head against your back again, but you feel it- the subtle change in him. The tension melting into satisfaction. Possession.
As you scroll again, this time actually clicking “Add to Cart,” you don’t notice how his eyes linger over your shoulder, taking in every choice you make. How he memorizes your preferences, your sizes, your favorites. Already, he’s planning another shipment. Already, he’s making arrangements-ensuring your closet will be full before the end of the week.
You belong to him.
And in Lyutsifer Safin’s world, anything that belongs to him is cared for. Guarded. Adored.
He whispers to you again, so soft it’s almost inaudible:
“I would burn the world to keep you warm, little one. All you have to do… is ask.”
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Masterlist
Y/N is working undercover at a Strip Club in Vegas when she encounters Safin meeting with a potential supplier for his newest concoction, usually a top performing agent she suddenly finds herself being unable to tell a lie. (Word Count: 2553)
Warnings: Guns, Blood, Death, Drug usage, Drink spiking (but not by Safin)
“I said this was a terrible idea...” Y/N said as she adjusted the tight leather dress she’d been forced to wear.
“We just need to get the benefactor’s name; it shouldn’t take much longer.” Q explained as he checked his surveillance gear; he usually didn’t leave London, but Y/N had specifically requested Q join her as she trusted him the most.
“It’s been two weeks, Q...”
“Apparently someone’s booked the VIP booth tonight, so this might be the last night you have to do.”
MI6 had been trailing a possible drug ring that operated in Las Vegas; rumours had spread a drug that completely erases a person's ability to lie, making them more controllable. As one of the youngest female agents, Y/N was assigned to go undercover at one of the target strip clubs and figure out who was funding the operation. They’d found a job at a club called ‘Bunny Girls’ and inserted Y/N in as Cherry, the club’s newest waitress.
“Anyway, you’re running late for your shift, so go go go.” As he spoke, Q pushed her out of the small building he’d been operating from. Once Y/N was outside, she huffed before walking around the corner and entering the club she was undercover at.
"Cherry, just the girl I want to see.” The club owner greeted her as she entered the dressing room, “The VIP booth is booked tonight, so I want all your attention on our big spenders.”
Y/N bat her eyes, taking on the role of Cherry once again. “Sure thing, boss,” she said, earning an appreciative look from the owner. Once he left, she sat down in her chair and started getting ready.
When the club opened an hour later, Y/N had her hair curled and her makeup completed, the glitter on her eyes making them sparkle under the club. Standing, she readjusted her dress one more time before making her way on to the main club floor.
“Hey Cherry!” John, the barman, greeted her as she stepped behind the bar. “You dressed up pretty tonight.”
She repressed the urge to roll her eyes; ever since she’d gone undercover, John had taken every opportunity to shamelessly flirt with her. According to the other girls, he took it as tradition to sleep with all the new starters.
“I’m dressed the same as I usually do, John,” Y/N stated, and she started getting the VIP buckets prepped, filling them with ice.
He simply smiled at her. “I know..." John titled his down as she crouched to pull out the bottles for the ice buckets. “But I think you get hotter every night.”
“Does that line usually work?” She stood back up and started placing the bottle in the buckets.
“Don’t pretend it isn’t working on you.” He leans into her space as he speaks; Y/N backs up slightly.
“I’ve got a job to do so…” As she speaks, she gestures to the two buckets she needed to take to the VIP booth.
"Well, before you go, at least taste test my newest drink.” She sees a shot glass slide across the counter in front of her. “It’s cherry-flavoured.”
Y/N is about to say no; tell him to fuck off with his desperate attempts to seduce her, but instead she just sighs and drinks the shot quickly so she can continue this night without any more problems. He’s right, it does taste like cherries; it’s sweet and a little tart, but Y/N still finds herself enjoying it. Placing the glass down, she turns to John, “Happy now?”
“Very, now go on; we can talk later.” He had a strange look on his face, but Y/N decided to just leave it until later. She walks back out of the bar while carrying the two buckets, heading to the VIP booth.
In the booth are what seems to be two different groups of men, clearly some ‘business’ discussing some type of criminal partnership. One group Y/N recognises as an infamous casino owner and drug dealer in Las Vegas, but the other is an enigma. Her eyes scan the second group; they seem more professional than the first group. The first group greets her with cheers and whistles while they keep their expressions guarded.
Sitting in the middle of the booth are the two leaders of the groups. The first group’s leader is an older man, dressed in what you’d expect a mob boss to dress in. The second is younger but still mature-looking; his face is covered in scarring that reminds Y/N of lighting; it’s eerily beautiful. His blue eyes are calculating as he looks at her; he seems almost amused.
Shaking off his gaze, Y/N retakes her ‘Cherry’ persona: “Hello Gentlemen, welcome to Bunny Girls; I’m Cherry, and I’ll be your waitress this evening; anything you need, just give me a call.” She finishes her introduction with a flirty wink.
The scarred man doesn’t speak to her instead choosing to whisper to his companion, who looks at her. Instead, the other leader turns to her with a leer. “This is why I like this place; they always give us the pretty ones.”
He gestures to the space between him and the scarred man, “Come sit with us, darling.”
Y/N hesitates for a moment and glances at the scarred man subconsciously, who simply gives her a subtle nod. As she moves towards the empty space beside him, her heart beats faster. She feels the man’s gaze on her, causing shivers to spread through her body.
The other man put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, leaning in close. “What’s a pretty thing like you working in a place like this?”
Her body feels hot suddenly, and thinking it’s just from the men's body heat, she ignores it. “Just making sure you lovely gentlemen enjoy your night.” She answers, but a part of her feels compelled to keep speaking; she bites her lip to stop herself.
“Not what I mean, darling,” the man responds, “I mean, how’d a girl like you end up here and not under the arm of some billionaire?”
Without thinking, she blurts out an answer: "Well, I didn’t want to work here, but my boss made me.”
‘Why are you saying this?’ Y/N thinks confused with herself; her mind feels cloudy, and her body starts to loosen. She keeps thinking back to that cherry-flavoured shot she’d drank. ‘Shit… I’ve been drugged.
The scarred man leans back to look at her; his eyes suggest he’s thinking of something. “Interesting…” His voice is deep and hoarse with a thick Russian accent. “And why did he make you work here?”
“We need information on a potential drug ring; the drug currently circulating could compromise The Crown’s security.” She needed to get out of here before she’d kept talking, but she couldn’t move.
He leaned in closer, assessing her carefully. Close enough to smell, she inhaled sharply—florals and something else. Y/N felt out of control; her body wasn’t computing with her mind anymore. He spoke in a low whisper, “And why would a girl like you care about the safety of the crown?”
This was bad; it was clear this man knew Y/N had been drugged. “She’s a goddam spy!” The other man yelled alarm as he pulled his hand away and stood, his men following suit. He pulled out his pistol and aimed it towards her.
The scarred man's smirk widened as he watched the scene play out, the revelation of her identity causing a shift in the room. The other man is now pointing a weapon at her. He remained calm, unmoving. He was amused by the development, intrigued by the young women.
"A spy? How intriguing." He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, his voice dripping with a hint of mockery.
"You have quite the nerve, Miss..." He let the question hang in the air, waiting for her response.
“Y/L/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” She said through gritted teeth, still trying to resist the effects of the drugs, forcing her body to stand.
Safin chuckled softly, appreciating her determination. "Miss Y/L/N..." He savoured the way her name rolled off his tongue. "How interesting, a spy from MI6.”
He watched her struggle to stand, her attempts to resist the effects of the drugs in vain. His eyes scanned her figure and the way her body moved uncontrollably. There was something so enticing about the way she was fighting, the way she was losing her composure.
He stood slowly, walking towards her. His voice was low, almost seductive. Y/N was overwhelmed with how this man was able to effect her, but trying to regain her dignity, she held her head high and responded, “You never introduced yourself, sir.”
"Ah, forgive me, where are my manners?” He spoke, standing to move in front of her, his eyes predatory. “I am Doctor Lyutsifer Safin.”
She stepped back from him in fear but froze when she felt the end of the gun. The other man was still aiming towards her. The man she now knew as Safin watched her carefully, “Leave us; we will discuss our business later.” He spoke to the other group, not taking his eyes off the young agent.
The other men left without hesitation, their gazes lingering on Safin and the young agent before they exited the VIP booth. As soon as they were alone, the atmosphere changed drastically. The club around them was still alive—the music, the laughter, the dancing. She could hear the announcer introduce another girl as the crowd cheered. But in their isolated vicinity, it was almost quiet, almost intimate.
He took another step towards her. “You... don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Should I?" She couldn’t move, allowing him to take a mother step forward, their chests almost touching.
He smiled slightly amused by her response, reaching a hand to trace his finger along her jawline, his touch as light as a feather. “You’re the one undercover, spying on my people.”
“I was given a very... limited mission assignment.” She explained, giving up on stopping herself when it was clear nothing could, “We didn’t know who we were looking for.”
His touch became more purposeful, fingertips gliding down her arm, feeling her body shiver under his touch. His eyes roamed over her face, observing her closely. "Who sent you here, Miss Y/L/N?"
“I think you already know," she spoke, trying to hold onto the last piece of information her drugged mind hadn’t given up.
His eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. His voice was a whisper; she could feel his breath on her neck. “I want you to say it out loud.”
Y/N clenched her eyes shut, unable to hold back any longer, “I work for MI6.”
She heard Safin hum seemingly pleased with her response. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh just a little harder.
He leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching her neck, his breath hot and heavy against her skin.
"Good girl..." he murmured. "Now tell me, are you alone in this operation?”
"I...” she could feel herself speak, about to expose the entire operation, when another dancer, Honey, stepped into the booth. “Cherry, you’re needed at the bar.”
Safin's eyes met those of the dancer. His gaze hardened at the unexpected intrusion, but he let go of Y/N. He took a step back, looking between the two women. "Miss Y/L/N and I are still having our conversation."
Sensing an opportunity to escape, Y/N moved to the entrance of the booth before speaking, “I should go see what they need; it was a pleasure meeting you, Doctor Safin.”
She left before he could react, but instead of going to the bar, she went to the dressing room. Grabbing her bag, she escaped through the backdoors, hoping to reconvene with Q. As she moved through the parking lot, texting Q that she’d been compromised, a voice behind her made her freeze. “Going somewhere?”
As she turned, she came face to face with John, but his face was different from his usual personality. His eyes were dark and narrow as he stared at her. Her hand reached into her grab to grip her gun, and she spoke, “You drugged me.”
John chuckled at her accusation, clearly amused by her realisation. "Drugged you? I was simply making you comfortable.”
“What did you give me?” She asked, thankful the night air was helping to clear her head. “Where did you get it from?”
“A friend of mine hooked me up; it's... experimental, but most of the girls have enjoyed it.” John admitted no longer seeing the need to hide, taking a step forward.
As he began to approach, Y/N pulled her gun from her pocket, aiming at him. “Stay right there!”
John smirked at her, nearly laughing, “Give me a break; you’re just a stripper... what damage could you do?”
“You have no idea." She tried to steady her hand, but it still trembled slightly. She was coming down from the drug, but it’d still be a while.
Josh ignored the gun and began to run towards her, planning to ambush her and knock her down. He nearly reached her when suddenly his body fell and blood sprayed on her face. Y/N looked at her in confusion; she hadn’t fired.
Her eyes looked from her gun down to John's body, breathing heavily from the adrenaline. She looked up from the body and was face-to-face once again with Safin. He was holding a small silenced pistol, the muzzle still smoking.
Y/N shuffles on her feet slightly under his intense stare. He seems allured by the crimson splatter now staining her face, stepping closer, causing her to take a step back. She’s still breathing heavily and tries to catch her breath.
“Most people would thank the person that saved their life.” He spoke as he calmly handed his gun to his second in command.
“I had it handled.”
"Oh, I’m sure you did.” Safin replied almost mockingly.
A car’s horn sounded, causing Y/N to finally turn away from him; just down the road, she recognised the lights of Q’s car. Without speaking again, she sprinted down the street and flung the door open. Throwing her bag in, she was about to jump inside too, but she paused. Turning back for a moment, her eyes once again met the piercing blue of Lyutsifer Safin, and you both knew this wouldn’t be the last encounter.
As Y/N hopped into the car, she ignored Q’s rapid questions and closed her eyes. She sighed as she ran through the last hour through her head; her face was still wet with John’s blood, but she didn’t have the energy to wipe it off. Resting her head on the window, she fell asleep as her friend quickly drove them away from Las Vegas and towards their extraction point.
Safin watched as the car you entered pulled away and quickly raced from the scene; it was only as the car turned the corner did he finally look away. He briefly looked at the body on the ground before he began giving orders to his men. “Get rid of the body,” he stated as he began to walk away, “and find me anything you can on Y/N Y/L/N”.
Could you do a Lyutsifer Safin x reader, childhood friend who joined him in on his plan. They had a relationship…kind of. On a mission they got shot in the head. He thinks they died, but later on he finds out they survived with no memory of him, but is helping Bond/ MI6 thinking they work for them. Time to remind them where their true loyalties lie. Whether they want it or not.
ты помнишь меня?
Lyutsifer thorned his eyes away from the surveillance recording.
He hesitated for a moment, before reaching for the small, black book on the desk in front of him. It laid heavy in his hands, filled with memories.
He opened it gentle, and even so gentle, he went through the pages. There was no handwriting. No notes to himself. His father teached him early on, writing meant confession. Writing one's thought down meant someone else could use it against one.
Instead, the pages were filled with pressed flowers and keepsakes.
The thinly pressed bloom of a yellow crocus. Springtime. The laughter of a child.
A pressed Carnation, the rich pink colour an echo on the paper. A stolen kiss on a family gathering.
The faint lila of an iris. Fleurs de lis. Sneaking out to dance under the moonlight.
The blosom of a Marigold. The jealous of adolescence.
The broken rest of fern, bound by a strand of golden hair. A promise to be better. To find each other again.
Lyutsifer snapped the book shut. Closing his eyes, he pressed the book on his chest, the memories overwhelming.
He went no further. He knew the next entries of his ... diary , so to speak. The next were herbs
Gingsen and Chamomile.
Echinacea and Poppie
Lavender and ... Foxglove
The pain was sometimes too hard to bear. There are still days ... it would be easier this way.
But the rage! The rage was stronger. How could he avenge without it? It was not his time to rest. Not yet.
And now? Now , he had found her. The girl in the garden he danced with under the serious moonlight, barefoot, and in his pyjamas .
The girl with the wild laugh and the sweet lips , and the promise.
He threw the book back on the desk, insulted by his sentimental urge. It truly burned.
He played the video again. His storm-blue eyes fixated on the screen, waiting for her to appear. His mouth dry, he watched her entering the SIS facility, swiping her pass at the entrance. Her confident posture, as the security cameras followed her to her workplace. A laboratory no less.
There was no sound, but Lyutsifer didn't need any. What she was working on was called 'smart blood' . Insurance for SIS to control their employees' work craft and time tables. A poor cousin to his own craft, of course. Alas, the similarly of her tasks with his, filled him with glee.
There were more than the connection of childhood memories. She would understand his work and his life goals. Perhaps the connection, the similarities, were always there.
He took a deep breath and switched his monitor out, while ringing up a servant. No need for them to see what he was occupied with.
"Tea. Chamomile. A spoonful of honey.", he ordered.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
