#virtual background office

[zouislut]

.

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 4 - technical foul]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Azzi keeps her world controlled. The draft is just days away, and everything is in place—except her. Paige still lingers in the corners of her thoughts, uninvited and impossible to ignore.  

When they meet again under city lights and camera flashes, the air between them shifts. What was once a maybe becomes something charged, dangerous—and marked by a revelation Paige never saw coming. 

Warning: The man is still here.

Word count: 5,352

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. March 2025. 

San Francisco was growing louder by the day. 

It began subtly, just a few banners draped across downtown intersections, bold streaks of purple with gold lettering that shimmered in the late afternoon sun. 

Then came the bus stop ads, flashes of the Valkyries crest rotating between digital weather reports and local event promos. 

Even the Golden Gate Bridge pulsed with purple and gold one weekend, its towers casting shadows in the team’s rising legacy. 

Along the freeway, billboards lined up in rhythm, each stamped with the same emblem, the same declaration. 

Golden State Valkyries. 

By week’s end, the campaign had taken over. 

Shop windows in the Mission bled team colors. Coffee sleeves carried the crest. Local papers ran cover stories. Even radio hosts found ways to wedge the team into weather segments and morning banter. 

The city didn’t just notice. It absorbed the momentum like weather moving through its streets. 

Amidst all the chaos outside, Azzi shut everything out unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Her phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter, sharp against the marble. 

She knew it was Jake. The unanswered messages were piling up.  

But guilt had a funny way of tying itself to desire, and lately, she’d been spending her attention elsewhere. 

And that attention, that distraction, was now appearing across San Francisco too. 

Posters. Murals. Quick sketches on walls near her building. 

Paige Bueckers’ face, everywhere, woven into the city’s mounting anticipation for the draft. 

She leaned against the kitchen counter and stared outside.  

A billboard blinked from across the street. The city didn’t wait quietly. It built pressure. It ran with a pulse. 

Azzi pressed her fingers against her temple. The headache had settled in early and stayed. She wasn’t sure when it would leave. 

The excitement didn’t touch her. 

She just wanted stillness.  

Azzi checked the time and made her way to her home office. Less than five minutes. 

Her laptop sat open on the desk in front of her, camera angled, mic tested, background blurred just enough to keep the room from feeling too personal.  

The meeting link was already up. Blue and waiting. She hadn’t clicked it yet. 

Most of the team was out in the field today.  

Media walkthroughs, sponsorship check-ins, logistics runs across the city.  

A virtual check-in made more sense than dragging everyone back into the office. Still, the thought of staring into a screen for the next hour added weight behind her eyes. 

She adjusted the light on her desk. Soft, clean, good enough for the frame.  

A chime went off—one minute to the hour. She reached for her mouse, clicked into the meeting, and waited for the faces to load. 

The meeting opened smoothly, each face joining one by one. A round of greetings passed between departments. A few short exchanges, the kind that softened the start.  

Azzi listened, nodded where needed, let them have a moment before she began. 

She thanked them first. For their time. For the work that had carried them this far. No dramatics. Just a clear recognition of what they’d built together. 

The team was close now. Just a few weeks from the start of the season, and everything around them was beginning to lock into place.  

The pieces they’d spent almost a year shaping were real now, seen and felt across the city.  

She spoke to that momentum, not with excitement but with clarity. The work wasn’t done yet. 

Azzi moved through her notes without looking down. 

Marketing and PR were her first instructions. All visuals needed to be finalized for draft day. That included press kits, digital banners, welcome assets for the draftees. She wanted everything aligned, nothing waiting until the last minute. Once the names were called, the materials had to be ready to go live. 

She turned next to admin and sales. Merchandise needed to be prepared in full. The team gear, fanwear, signage. Sizes confirmed, quantities rechecked. She didn’t want follow-up emails or missing shipments. Everything should be in motion before the picks were even made. 

Then, she paused. 

Her eyes moved to three windows on the screen. The general manager. The head coach. And the scouting director, Kaitlyn Chen. 

“The three of you are going to Tampa,” Azzi said. 

 Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. 

 “You’ll talk to her in person. Let Paige know the team is serious. She’s our priority. She should hear that directly from us.” 

 They nodded. No questions, no back-and-forth. 

 Azzi gave a small nod in return, then shifted to the next item on the agenda. 

- 

The Westin Tampa Bay, Tampa. April 2025. 

The win over USC still lived in her body. Not the noise of it, just the weight. UConn was heading to the championship, and the air around the team had shifted. Three days to recover, to prepare. Not much room for anything else. 

Paige had already showered. Her hoodie was zipped, shoes on, hair pulled back in a loose tie. She stood by the hotel room window with her phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen before unlocking it again. 

The message was still there. Her agent had sent it the night before. 

Valkyries want to meet you at 9. Conference room, third floor. Hotel arranged the space. Should be simple. 

Simple. She had read it twice already, but this time it stayed a little longer in her hands. 

Plenty of teams had reached out already. Calls, texts, emails. Some sent video breakdowns. Some wanted dinners. Some had asked her to fly out weeks ago.  

But this—this was the one she had been waiting for.  

Golden State. The Valkyries.  

She didn’t say it out loud, but the pull had always been there. Something about it felt right. 

She checked the time. Eight fifty. Ten minutes. Right on pace. 

The elevator ride was brief. No music, just the soft shift of floors. Paige kept her eyes ahead, jaw relaxed, hands easy in her pockets.  

Her body felt light in the wrong ways. That strange middle space between adrenaline and come-down. Winning had done its job. This was something else. 

Her agent stood just outside the door. One glance, one nod. 

"Right on time," the agent said to her, then knocked once. 

The door opened with purpose. A man in a black suit greeted them, posture straight, hands folded in front of him with practiced ease. He gave a small nod, then stepped aside to let them in. 

Paige followed, her attention shifting as they entered. The room was simple. A round conference table sat in the center, surrounded by clean lines and soft lighting. A pitcher of water rested beside stacked folders, nothing extravagant but everything intentional. 

Then she saw her. 

Lisa Leslie stood at the head of the table, a calm command in the way she held herself. The tailored navy blazer, the unshakable focus in her eyes. Paige had seen her in highlights, documentaries, interviews. Seeing her in person, here, in this room, was something else entirely. 

She felt it in her chest. 

Lisa stepped forward with a smile that didn’t try too hard. "Hello Paige. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lisa Leslie, General Manager of the Valkyries.” Her voice carried the weight of it.  

Paige’s mind was catching up to what had just been said.  

She hadn’t known. Articles speculated, but none confirmed. Lisa Leslie. GM. 

She reached for her handshake. Her grip held steady, but there was heat under her skin. 

Lisa then turned slightly, gesturing to the two women seated at her side. 

"This is Natalie Nakase, our head coach." 

Natalie gave a firm nod. Her suit was sharp, her expression steady. She sat tall, assessing without judgment, with an ease earned through experience. 

"And Kaitlyn Chen, scouting director." 

Kaitlyn smiled. There was a calm alertness in her eyes, a quiet kind of sharp that took in every detail. Youthful, polished, confident. 

Paige took her seat across from them after shaking their hands.  

The air in the room had shifted. Every face around the table held purpose. She sank into the moment, shoulders easing back, ready now in a way she hadn’t been before. 

They started with small talk. 

Congratulations came first. Natalie offered a brief but sincere nod toward UConn’s win. Kaitlyn smiled as she mentioned the fourth-quarter run. Lisa leaned forward with a glint of something warm in her tone. 

“Championship game in three days,” she said. “Big stage. You looked locked in last night.” 

Paige let the praise settle in her chest. It didn’t swell, didn’t distract. Just landed and stayed. 

Lisa continued. “We’ll keep this quick. This won’t take away from your focus—we know what’s at stake for you right now. But with the draft coming fast, we wanted to make ourselves known. Let you know we’re watching. We’re interested. If all goes to plan, we want you as our number one.” 

There it was. Clean, direct.  

Paige felt her jaw shift slightly, but she kept her expression steady. Her voice came out even. 

“Appreciate you saying that. Means a lot.” 

Lisa gave a short nod. Kaitlyn jotted something in her notebook. Natalie leaned back in her seat. 

The meeting stayed short, just as promised. Logistics were touched on lightly. A few expectations, a couple of questions. Then the conversation softened again as they began to wrap. 

Before they stood, Paige glanced up from the table. 

“Can I ask something?” 

Lisa raised a brow, open to it.  

“The owner,” she said. “Still a mystery?” 

A faint smile pulled at Kaitlyn’s lips. “You’ll meet them on draft day,” she said. “For now, you’ve got a title game to win. Focus on getting that chip first.” 

Paige gave a small laugh through her nose and leaned back in her chair. 

“Yeah. One thing at a time.” 

The meeting ended soon after. Hands were shaken again, final glances exchanged. Paige walked out with her agent beside her, her steps even, her mind sharper than when she’d come in. 

- 

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. April 2025. 

The door opened with a soft click. 

Nika walked in, a folder tucked under one arm. She crossed the room with her usual ease, setting the file down in front of Azzi’s desk. 

“Final paperwork from the Stevenson deal,” she said. “All signed. Transfer cleared yesterday.” 

Azzi glanced at the folder, then opened it. A skim of the summary page told her everything she needed. Numbers aligned. Timelines confirmed. 

“That one moved faster than expected,” Azzi said. 

“Owner didn’t want to sit on it,” Nika replied. “Said she was already looking at properties in Sausalito. Big plans. You know how they get.” 

Azzi gave a nod, eyes scanning one more page before closing the folder. 

“Keep eyes on the zoning notices. She might try to flip it into commercial space.” 

“Already flagged it,” Nika said. 

They paused, the rhythm of their exchange smooth and practiced. 

Nika leaned back slightly, arms crossing. “How are you feeling? Draft’s in three days.” 

Azzi didn’t look up right away. She slid the folder to one side of her desk before speaking. 

“I’m flying to New York tomorrow morning. Ines handled the logistics—hotel, transfers, security.” 

“She’s efficient,” Nika said. 

“She’s excellent,” Azzi corrected. “She even pulled together the after party. Tight guest list. Private venue. It’s solid.” 

Nika raised an eyebrow, curious. “You going?” 

Azzi lifted her eyes then, expression unreadable for a moment. 

“Haven’t decided,” she said. “Let’s see how the night goes.” 

Nika lingered near the desk, arms still crossed, the edge of a grin pulling at her cheek. 

“So what’s the plan, then?” she asked. “Grand entrance? Flashy dress? I still can’t believe you managed to bribe the league into keeping your name off every pre-draft press kit. Impressive, really.” 

Azzi gave her a look—flat, almost amused. 

“That wasn’t bribery,” she said. “It was negotiation. And it gave me a migraine.” 

Nika scoffed. “A migraine you bought your way out of.” 

Azzi leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the framed skyline beyond the glass. 

“They wouldn’t stop pressing for a feature. Something glossy. They wanted to make it a story—who’s behind the Valkyries, what kind of owner she’ll be. I told them if they want a story, they can wait for a championship. I’m not a headline.” 

“Well,” Nika said, voice light, “you’ll still have to walk through that ballroom eventually.” 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She drew in a breath, slow and thoughtful, her fingers absently toying with the edge of her desk. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

Nika tilted her head. “That’s unlike you.” 

Azzi didn’t say anything. Her mind had drifted elsewhere. 

That night had stayed with her longer than it should have.  

Paige standing at the end of the kitchen counter, the paper bag crinkling in her hand, the unmistakable scent of fried food slipping past her usual defenses.  

Azzi hadn’t eaten fast food in years, hadn’t even thought about it. But when Paige held the box of chicken tenders out to her, something inside her softened. She took one without hesitation. Then another. 

They didn’t talk about anything important.  

Paige had joked about sauce ratios, about soggy fries, about how she didn’t trust places that didn’t give extra napkins.  

Azzi remembered snorting through every ridiculous thing Paige said.  

The night ended without fanfare. Paige had a flight to catch in the morning. Azzi had deadlines.  

But later, in her room, a notification lit up her screen. It was from her official Instagram account. 

Just a good night. A few emojis.    And the mistakenly @paigebueckers in the username on top. 

There was no follow. She understood the effects it will cost once the public gets a hold of Paige following the Azzi Fudd.  

Azzi had stared at Paige's message longer than she wanted to admit. She didn’t reply. Not because she didn’t want to, but because something about it made her hesitate. The simplicity of it. The warmth. And the complication that was starting to brew. 

She left it on read. 

And then she ignored the itch to reread it the next day. And the next. 

She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Nika, who always pried without pushing.  

The door knocked once, firm and polite, before easing open.  

Ines stepped in, tablet in hand, her voice level. “Excuse me, Ms. Fudd. Mr. Jacob Williams is here to see you.” 

Azzi’s spine straightened before she could stop herself. The name pressed against something inside her chest. Guilt. Heavy, immediate. It sank low and hard.  

She had been ignoring him. The calls. The messages. Each one rationalized away under the weight of schedules and season prep. That had always worked before. Until now. 

She nodded once, slow. “Okay.” 

“Well, he must miss you a lot for him to fly and see you on a busy Friday morning.” Nika stood, brushing a crease from her pants. “I should go anyway. Early flight tomorrow?” 

“Morning,” Azzi said. “Everything’s already arranged.” 

“Good. Enjoy New York. And the draft.” Nika gave her a look, half-meaning, half-knowing. “Try to show up for the after party. You deserve to.” 

Azzi managed a small smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

When the door clicked shut behind her, Azzi turned to Ines. “Let him in. And clear my afternoon, please.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Azzi sat still, her hands folded together as she waited, the weight of her choices pressing in from all sides.  

Work, she told herself again. It’s always about work. 

But the voice inside her stayed. The quiet one. The one she had kept buried ever since a girl with a messy ponytail handed her a box of fries. 

-    Jake’s hotel room, San Francisco. April 2024. 

Azzi rose from the bed, moving slowly, carefully untangling herself from the sheets. The room was dim, painted in the cool gray of early morning.  

She found her clothes where they had fallen—her blouse draped over the chair, her jeans on the floor by the window. She pulled them on one by one, wordless, each motion deliberate. 

Behind her, the sheets shifted.  

Jake’s voice came out rough with sleep. “Where are you going?” 

She didn’t turn around. Just reached for her watch, fastening it around her wrist. “Home,” she said. “I have an early flight.” 

He sighed. Not loud. But long enough for her to feel the weight of it press between them. 

She had thought maybe this would help. That giving him the night would ease the slow unraveling between them. That sex, tender and familiar, would hold them together a little longer. But it hadn’t. Not really. 

“When am I going to see you again?” he asked. 

Azzi paused at the foot of the bed, her back still to him. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Once the draft’s done, we roll straight into the season. I might not even have time to breathe.” 

There was a stretch of silence, and then his voice, soft. “Okay. I get it. I support you.” 

The words were kind. Too kind. They only made it worse. 

She finally looked over at him—half-buried in the covers, eyes soft, wanting something she wasn’t sure she could keep giving. A life she was slowly stepping out of. 

Guilt gathered in her chest. Heavy and slow-burning. She hated the transaction she had reduced this to. 

A few hours in a bed to make up for absence. A kiss goodbye instead of real time. And still she left, never knowing when she’d be back. 

Azzi picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. 

“Sleep in,” she said, her voice low. “I’ll text you when I land.” 

He nodded. She was already halfway out the door. 

- 

The Ritz-Carlton, New York. April 2024. 

Azzi sat in stillness, high above Manhattan, the city glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse. The television glowed across the room, casting flickers of light over the sleek marble and muted furniture.  

She had muted every call, silenced every alert. Her laptop was open beside her, phone faced up but untouched.  

This moment didn’t require action. Lisa had everything handled. 

She had submitted her preferences days ago. Paige was number one on her board. Lisa knew that. The entire room did. The call had already been made. 

But Azzi stayed watching. She told herself it was due diligence. 

On the screen, the event hall swelled with applause. The commissioner stepped forward.  

The words were official, proud, final: 

“With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.” 

Azzi’s breath halted, just for a second. 

The camera swept over the crowd, cutting to Paige as she stood from her seat at the front. She rose with ease, calm under the lights, her name echoing through the room as applause built around her.  

The moment wrapped itself around her like it had always belonged to her. She hugged her mom, then her dad, then her coach—her expression composed but unmistakably full. There was a shimmer in her eyes, unshed tears she wasn’t going to let fall. 

And then Azzi saw the change of outfit. It was different from what she wore during the red carpet.    A tailored black suit, sleek and sharp. The blazer shimmered subtly beneath the lights, cut low and left undone, exposing bare skin beneath it—no shirt, just a string of pearls draped delicately across her collarbone.  

She moved like she wasn’t fully aware of the effect she had. Or maybe she was and didn’t care. Either way, it worked. Too well. 

Azzi watched, still. Her hands curled slightly against her knees. 

When Paige took the stage, shook the commissioner’s hand, and pulled the Valkyries cap over her blonde hair, the crowd roared. Cameras flashed.  

Paige turned toward them, smiling with that barely-there smirk—something between confidence and defiance—and lifted the jersey. 

Azzi felt her pulse climb. 

She didn’t shift in her seat. Didn’t blink. Just let herself feel it: the burn of attraction, the warmth coiled low in her abdomen, the unwelcome ache of wanting.  

Paige didn’t look like a rookie in that moment. She looked untouchable. Bold. A little smug. 

Azzi hated that it worked on her. 

She should have looked away.  

She didn’t. 

The lights had softened by the time Paige stepped into the curtained side hallway, Valkyries cap still angled slightly off-center on her head.

Holly Rowe waited there with a practiced smile, mic in hand, the red carpet rolled out for post-pick interviews. 

“First pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft,” Holly began, grinning at the camera, then back to Paige. “How does it feel?” 

Paige tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the edge of her smile still lingering from the stage. “It’s surreal,” she said, voice steady. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a kid. It means everything.” 

Holly nodded. “You’re headed to the Bay Area—are you excited for the move?” 

Paige laughed softly, glancing off-camera for a second. “It’s not a Minnesota winter, but I’ll take the cool summers.” 

The room chuckled with her. 

“Well, San Francisco’s been ready for you for months,” Holly said. “The fanbase is electric already.” 

“I’m ready to play for them. Ready to put in the work and grow with the team.” 

Holly smiled, then leaned in slightly, her tone shifting toward warmth. “You’re going from UConn, one of the most established programs in college basketball, to the newest team in the league. That’s a big transition. What’s your mindset heading into that?” 

Paige didn’t hesitate. “I like challenges. I always have. And I believe in the Valkyries. Everyone in that organization—from the top down—I know they’ll take care of me.” 

Holly’s smirk curved sharp, playful. She dipped her chin and said with a wink, “Oh, you will be taken care of, for sure.” 

Paige blinked, lips parting just slightly. There was a glint in her eye—brief, startled, maybe intrigued—but she caught herself, smiled again, and looked straight into the camera as the mic dipped away. 

Azzi didn’t flinch when her phone buzzed again. It had been vibrating on and off since the draft began, but this one lit up with the name she’d been waiting for. 

Lisa: Package is secured. 

She let the message sit on her screen for a moment, chest rising with a breath that didn’t quite make it out. Then she locked the phone and placed it back on the table beside her untouched wine. 

The rest of the draft unfolded without surprises. Efficient. Predictable. Seamless. Just as she had helped plan. 

Here and there, the camera returned to Paige. It always did. There was something magnetic about her, something the production team couldn’t resist—even in a room full of future stars. 

They cut to her when Aubrey Griffin’s name was called by the Lynx. Paige had jumped out of her seat, yelling something unheard over the crowd, clapping until her hands turned red. Later, when Aliyah Edwards went to the Mystics, she threw both arms around two UConn teammates like they’d all just won a national championship. 

Azzi stood slowly, every movement deliberate, and crossed to her closet. 

The black dress waited for her like a promise. 

She reached for it—then paused. 

She turned back to the screen. 

Right on cue, the camera found Paige again. 

Three different team caps were stacked crookedly on her head, her teammates cracking up beside her. Paige beamed, squinting into the lights, shoulders shaking with laughter. And then, with a careless shrug, two of the caps tumbled to the floor. 

Only the Valkyries cap stayed put. 

Azzi’s breath hitched at the sight and the realization that came like an avalanche. 

On screen, Paige leaned down and scooped up the fallen caps with a grin but never put them back on. Instead, she adjusted the Valkyries one with both hands, fingers tightening the fit. Then she looked straight into the camera lens, caught it like she always caught the pass—effortless, inevitable. 

And she smiled. 

Raised her hand and flashed a peace sign, like she didn’t have a single care in the world.    It was like water thrown against Azzi's face—sudden, bracing, impossible to ignore.  

She stood still, the room hushed except for the faint sound of post-draft interviews playing on the TV.  

This would be the night everything shifted.  

The night she buried the guilt under polished professionalism.  

The night Paige would become strictly, entirely, pure business. 

The night she officially owned Paige Bueckers. 

- 

A luxurious rooftop bar, Manhattan. April 2025. 

The draft had gone smoothly. Seamless. Every name called on cue, every handshake caught under perfect lighting. 

Now the city glowed from above. 

The after-party stretched across a rooftop bar in Manhattan, glass and steel wrapping around the night sky. Velvet ropes, warm lighting, cold drinks—every detail intentional. Music pulsed in a steady rhythm beneath the hum of conversation. 

Paige arrived just past ten, camera flashes greeting her before the elevator doors had fully opened. Someone handed her a drink. Someone else pulled her in for a photo. Her name echoed between conversations, her smile landing on every lens with practiced ease. 

She moved through the crowd with the ease of someone used to being watched. 

Not far from the bar, she found Kiki Iriafen and Aziaha James deep in conversation. The three of them linked up quickly, laughter slipping through the buzz as they swapped reactions to the draft and what the next few months might look like. 

“Okay, this party?” Kiki said, eyes wide as she scanned the rooftop. “It’s giving rich rich.” 

“Not even subtle about it,” Aziaha added. “Look at the centerpiece on that dessert table. That's a sculpture made out of chocolate. Who does that?” 

Paige glanced down at her drink. Crystal glass, heavy in her hand. “This cocktail has, like, smoke in it. Why is it fogging up like a science project?” 

“Because it cost more than my rent,” Kiki deadpanned. 

They laughed, and then paused when a familiar face walked by—an actor, someone who had just starred in a Netflix thriller. A few feet away, a retired Olympian talked to a former WNBA MVP. A well-known singer stood near the DJ booth, nodding along to the beat like she owned the place. 

“The owner really went all out,” Kate Martin said as she joined them, her voice pitched with half disbelief. “Vegas was great, but this is another level.” 

"A beautiful arrangement of flowers was already in my suite when I arrived,” Kiki muttered. “And the gift bags? Bro. I thought it was fake.” 

“It’s not fake,” Aziaha said, sipping. “It’s just ridiculous.” 

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Kate added, looking around the rooftop. “Feels like a setup. Like—are we getting hazed?” 

“Still haven’t seen the mysterious owner,” Kiki said. “Think we’re just going to play for a ghost?” 

Paige raised a brow. “They’ve kept everything locked down. Even the coaching staff won’t say a name.” 

Kate leaned against the railing. “I heard they’re giving a speech later tonight. Just a short one. Inaugural something.” 

Before any of them could respond, Coach Nakase appeared beside them. Sharp blazer, calm voice. 

“Good evening, ladies! Congratulations and Welcome to the team,” she said, eyes scanning the group. “Owner will be giving a short welcome speech later. Better not miss it.” 

Then she nodded and moved on, already pulled toward another conversation. 

They watched her go, the space between them charged with something unspoken. 

Paige glanced around the rooftop again, suddenly more curious than she wanted to admit. 

Paige’s gaze drifted across the rooftop, skimming past conversations and camera flashes, until it caught on someone standing alone by the balcony. 

Azzi Fudd. 

Framed by the skyline, she looked like she belonged to it—effortless, distant, composed. The black gown draped over her figure in clean, sculpted folds, dipping low at the front and falling soft around her legs.  

Under the lights, the fabric caught just enough sheen to trace the shape of her body, the edges clinging in ways Paige couldn’t look away from. Her hair fell smooth over her shoulders, her face unreadable as she watched the city. 

She didn’t look like someone attending a party. She looked like someone who owned it. 

There was something about her—regal but untouched, powerful without trying. The kind of presence that demanded attention without asking for it.  

And still, even in all of that, Azzi looked a little out of place. Not uncomfortable, but apart. Like she didn’t need to be there, yet everything in the room revolved around her anyway. 

Paige couldn’t tell what she was thinking, only that she wanted to get close enough to find out. 

She stood for a moment, just watching.    Then, she adjusted her vest, ran a hand through her hair, and made her way over. 

“You always lurk at the edge of parties like a Bond villain, or is tonight just special?” Paige asked, stopping beside her. 

Azzi didn’t look over. 

Paige grinned. “If you’re trying to brood, you should know you’re doing it really well. Like, ten out of ten. Very mysterious. Very don’t-touch-me energy.” 

That got her a glance. Nothing more. Azzi’s face was unreadable, sharp as glass under moonlight. Controlled. 

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Paige added, dropping her tone just slightly. “Last time I saw you, you were stealing fries. Now look at you. Black dress, city view, probably breaking hearts without even trying.” 

Azzi’s reply came cool and clipped. “You talk like this to everyone?” 

“Only the ones who ghost me after midnight takeout.” 

A flicker. Azzi blinked once, slow. 

“I DM’d you,” Paige said, shrugging. “You left me on read. That hurt, by the way. Took me a whole hour to recover.” 

Azzi turned back toward the skyline, silent. 

Paige leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I was gonna send a follow-up chicken emoji. Felt too vulnerable.” 

Azzi exhaled—but whether it was a sigh or a stifled laugh, Paige couldn’t tell. She studied her again, closer now. 

“You look good,” Paige said, honestly this time. “Like… dangerous.” 

Azzi didn’t answer. But she hadn’t walked away either. 

“You’re hard to read,” Paige murmured. 

“That’s intentional.” 

Paige smirked. “Then you should know I read between lines.” 

Azzi’s fingers tightened around her glass. A slow burn crept up her chest.  

Paige was wearing trouble like it came tailored—crisp white vest, that chain at her collarbone, eyes too clear for their own good. She was temptation in slow motion. 

“You know, for someone who plays the ice queen so well, you sure didn't mind sharing the fries that night.” 

Azzi didn’t look at her, but Paige saw it—the subtle shift in her jaw, the way her grip on the glass changed. That flicker of memory hit. Harder than she probably meant it to. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Paige said, stepping a little closer, just enough for her voice to brush against Azzi’s neck. “If I brought takeout again, would you let me stay past the last bite?” 

Azzi’s gaze flicked to her. Calm. Sharp. 

“Are you always this persistent?” 

“Only when the reward’s worth it.” 

Paige let her eyes sweep down the line of Azzi’s dress, the slit that showed off a long leg and the kind of control that didn’t ask for attention but took it anyway. 

“You dress like that to test me? Coz that looks really sinful tonight and  I—” 

“There you are,” Lisa Leslie said as she stepped in, her timing sharp enough to slice through whatever tension had been building between them.  

Her eyes flicked between them, a knowing glint in her smile. 

“I see introductions have been made. Our number one pick, and our lovely owner.” 

Paige froze, lips parting. But Lisa had already turned to go. 

“They’re calling you in fifteen,” she said to Azzi over her shoulder. “Try not to disappear again.” 

Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd and the music. 

Silence. 

A heartbeat. 

And then, “YOU OWN THE TEAM?!” 

[swagyalastorwife]

Jax x Cop!reader💜💛

A/N:hiiiiiiii guyssss (^-^)/💛 ot's the second time that i do a fanfic for tadc!!!!

⚠️warning⚠️: noooone!!!

♤Background♤

Before being trapped in the Digital Circus, you were a police officer: you protected and served the community, investigated crimes, and maintained order, always ready to intervene in an emergency. After putting on this virtual reality headset, everything changed: you became a new version of yourself, trapped in an absurd and unpredictable world, surrounded by colorful characters, including Jax, the famously sarcastic and unpredictable rabbit

♤Headcanon♤

♤ From the moment you arrived at the circus, your police instincts never left you: you observe everything, analyze situations, and remain on your guard, even if this world seems to defy all logic.

♤ Jax, intrigued by your upright posture and piercing gaze, begins to mock you.

He nicknames you

"The Inspector"

or

"Law Lady,"

trying to push you to the limit with his jokes and provocations.

♤ But he quickly notices that you're not easily thrown off balance.

♤ On the contrary, you're used to handling crisis situations and know how to keep your cool, even in the face of his worst pranks.

♤ During the quests imposed by Caine, you naturally take on the role of leader, organizing the searches, protecting the most vulnerable, and trying to keep the group together.

♤ Jax, initially annoyed by your authority, soon comes to appreciate your determination and your ability to see through his game.

♤ One day, when a particularly dangerous puzzle threatens the group, you don't hesitate to put yourself in danger to save Jax from an absurd (and potentially fatal, even in this digital world) situation.

♤ For the first time, he looks at you without irony and thanks you, in his own slightly clumsy way

♤ Little by little, a bond develops: Jax always tries to make you laugh or trick you, but he also seeks your company.

♤ He asks you questions about the "other world" and your former job, fascinated by your sense of duty and inner strength.

♤ For your part, you discover behind his mask of cynicism a deep loneliness and a fear of rejection.

♤ You learn to read between the lines of his provocations, to see the human behind the character.

♤ In this circus where everyone is struggling not to descend into madness, you become Jax's anchor.

♤ He helps you, in his own way, let go and find moments of lightness, while you show him that you can be strong without hiding everything behind humor.

"You know, Detective, you're not so bad... for a cop."

Jax, winking at you, just before setting a trap for you... which, for once, doesn't work.

I hope you like it!!!💛💛

[applepiiex]

ZOOM CLASS ! ! ! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚✎

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

Professor Nanami Kento’s online lectures are as stoic and precise as ever—until a tiny, babbling surprise makes a very unexpected guest appearance. Between impromptu baby cameos and quiet moments with his ever-patient husband, Nanami learns that even the most serious professor can’t resist the chaos of family life… especially when love is just a few feet away. A/N: Prequel here

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The camera was angled precisely. The bookshelves behind him were meticulously arranged—each volume alphabetized, spines straight, color palette unintentionally neutral. Nanami sat in his office chair like a statue, back straight, jaw tight, glasses glinting slightly with the light from the window.

“That concludes our breakdown of the pre-war economic model,” he said, his voice smooth and direct. “We will now move into open discussion. Please raise your virtual hand if you wish to participate.”

To his students, Professor Nanami was composed, curt, brilliant—and just intimidating enough to stop them from ever submitting an assignment late.

They watched him each lecture in near-silence, equal parts admiration and fear. Though they’d never admit it aloud, the real fascination wasn’t just with the lecture content. It was with the backdrop: the very real peek into their professor’s life.

The room behind him was always the same. A single bonsai near the window. Neatly stacked papers. A ceramic mug no one had ever seen him sip from. And once—a mystery object that looked suspiciously like a plush dinosaur that disappeared the next day.

It gave just enough of a glimpse to keep them intrigued. Speculative. Curious.

Then it happened.

It was subtle at first—movement on the floor, just out of frame. Nanami’s gaze flicked down once, almost imperceptibly. But he continued speaking.

“The misapplication of Keynesian theory in this instance was less a flaw in logic, and more a—”

“Ba!”

A tiny voice, high-pitched and muffled, broke through the air.

The chat exploded instantly.

omg. did someone just say “ba” ??? IS THAT A BABY PROFESSOR NANAMI HAS A BABY????

Nanami didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. But his eyes narrowed for the briefest second.

And then—there he was.

A little toddler, pajama-clad and crawling like he had a mission, entered the frame on all fours. Soft hair messy from a nap, pacifier hanging from a lanyard clipped to his shirt. He made a delighted gurgle and sat up right in front of the camera, blinking like he just discovered an audience.

And then—“No, no—baby, no. Papa is at work,” came the soft, hurried whisper from behind the camera.

A blur of sweatpants and gentle hands scooped the toddler up. There was a quick moment of chaos—a bottle clattering in the background, a sheepish chuckle from Y/N as he tried to hush the giggling child.

“Sorry, sorry,” came the low whisper again. “Your Papa’s very important right now.”

Nanami didn’t look back. Didn’t turn around. But his mouth twitched.

The smallest, most subtle smile ghosted across his lips.

He adjusted his glasses.

“Apologies for the interruption. Let’s proceed with the discussion.”

But no one was listening anymore. After several futile minutes of attempting to get the class back on track, he gave up.

Y/N padded into the office once the baby was asleep, rubbing his neck. “Sorry about earlier. He figured out how to open the baby gate.”

Nanami didn’t look up from his laptop. “I see.”

“Your students might have seen his entire stomach. And mine.”

A pause. “That’s unfortunate.”

Y/N snorted and walked over, looping his arms lazily around Nanami’s shoulders.

“Did you die of shame?”

Nanami closed his laptop. Turned to face him. That same quiet smile from earlier—more visible now, softer.

“On the contrary,” he murmured. “They should know I’m human.”

Y/N grinned, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Next time, I’ll at least give him a tie.”

Y/N stayed curled around Nanami’s shoulders, chin resting lightly on his head. The quiet hum of the dishwasher filled the apartment, their son finally knocked out in the nursery after three picture books and one full loop of a lullaby playlist.

Nanami didn’t move, just let his husband lean against him, steady and warm.

“You really didn’t react,” Y/N murmured into his hair. “Like… not even a flicker of shame when your students saw your half-naked baby crawl into frame.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly. “He wasn’t half-naked. He had a shirt on.”

“It was inside out.”

“But on.” He paused, and then added, “You, however, were very much shirtless.”

Y/N groaned and dragged his hand down his face. “God. They definitely saw my shoulder.”

Nanami reached up, gently sliding a finger across said shoulder. “It’s a good shoulder.”

“Mm. I bet they’re already tweeting about it.”

“Let them.” Nanami leaned back in his chair, finally looking up at Y/N. “I’d rather them know I have a family than think I sleep in my office like a haunted statue.”

Y/N smirked. “You kind of are a haunted statue. Just one who makes dinner and folds laundry like a domestic Greek god.”

Nanami narrowed his eyes, but the upward twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“You’re being insufferable.”

“You married this.”

“I did. Unfortunately.”

They stayed like that, quiet, wrapped in the soft weight of exhaustion and fondness, breathing in the stillness that only comes when the world outside has paused.

The Next Morning — 9:02 a.m. Zoom Lecture

Nanami adjusted his glasses.

“Let’s begin today’s discussion with a review of last class’s readings on—”

A student’s hand shot up immediately.

Nanami blinked. “…Yes. Miss Sato?”

She looked way too eager. “Um. I just wanted to say your baby is super cute, sir.”

A beat.

Nanami’s jaw twitched. “…Thank you.”

Another hand. “Does he have a name?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Y/N, from the hallway just out of frame, laughed quietly into his coffee.

“Will you be telling us what it is?” another brave soul asked.

Nanami leveled the screen with a stare.

“No.”

The chat exploded anyway.

BABY NANAMI SUPREMACY THE LITTLE ‘BA!’ I CAN’T so we all agree he’s a #GirlDad even if it’s a boy right someone make a fan cam Nanami with a baby changed me as a person

Another hand went up.

“Is he teething?”

Nanami took a deep breath. “If we can stay on topic, I’d like to discuss the role of labor elasticity in post-crisis recovery.”

“What’s his favorite fruit?”

“Does he have little glasses too??”

“Can he say ‘Papa’ yet??”

Y/N walked past the door again, coffee in hand, mouthing sorry before ducking out of view.

Nanami stared at the grid of eager little faces on his screen. Then, slowly, he removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

“He likes bananas,” he muttered under his breath.

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

Closing the laptop shut, Y/N greeted him with a smile and a teasing lilt to his voice.

“So… how’s your stoic reputation holding up?”

Nanami sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m assigning a pop quiz.”

[natsaffection]

Ohh an idea 💡 in my head and I know you are perfect to write this, basically reader is working at a company that is run by bad guys but doesn't know it, so natasha is sent on a mission to get close to her and gather Intel, so couple weeks pass and reader finds out in the most distraught way which causes her to end everything with Natasha but still have a good heart decides to give everything natasha needs to take down the company, (happy ending or sad ending either works) 💝

Showing everything. | N.R

Warnings: Just Angst?

Word count: 8,4k

A/n: I'm so grateful every time I finish a Ask that's been on my list for weeks. So thank you for your patience each time. 🫶🏼

You had always dreamed of finding a job where you could make a difference in the world, but you never thought it would come in the form of an elegant office in the heart of New York City. The building, a towering glass structure shimmering in the sunlight, housed one of the city's most prestigious companies. Kinetica Industries. They were known for their groundbreaking technology and humanitarian efforts, advancing medical equipment and energy supply that had revolutionized the industry. It was a dream job, almost impossible to turn down.

You stumbled upon the opportunity by chance. A late night scrolling through endless job listings led you to Kinetica's website. The company was looking for someone with your exact skills: data analysis and project management. The job description was vague but intriguing. Analyzing trends, managing large datasets, coordinating with various departments. It sounded challenging yet rewarding, the kind of opportunity you needed to prove yourself. The application process was quick, almost too quick. A few online assessments, a virtual interview with a charming man who headed your department, and within a week, you were offered the job. They said they were impressed by your resume, your background in bioinformatics, and your impeccable reputation. The salary was more than generous, with benefits that seemed almost too good to be true. But eager to start fresh and leave the stagnation of your previous job behind, you didn't question it further. You accepted immediately.

Your first day was a whirlwind of activity. The office itself was as impressive as the building's exterior. Elegant, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The air buzzed with innovation, with teams of people tirelessly working on the next big thing. You were given a tour, introduced to your colleagues. Bright, motivated people who all seemed to share your enthusiasm for the work. Your role was exactly as described, but with a small twist. You were part of a special project they called "The Initiative." It involved collecting and analyzing data from various sources to create predictive models that could be used for everything from disease prevention to energy distribution. It sounded noble, and you were thrilled to be part of something that could change the world.

But as you settled into your new role, you couldn't help but notice the layers of secrecy surrounding certain aspects of your work. Some files were restricted, accessible only with special clearance. Occasionally, your requests for specific datasets were met with vague answers or outright refusal. But whenever doubts arose, you reminded yourself that every company had its secrets, especially one as influential as Kinetica.

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit office in the underground levels of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha Fury sat across from you, the tension in the air almost palpable. "Romanoff," Fury began, his single eye piercing through the twilight, "we have a problem. Kinetica Industries." Natasha leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "The tech company? They've been on our radar for a while, haven't they?"

"They have." Fury confirmed. "But new intel suggests they're more than just a tech company. We believe they're a front for something far more dangerous. We suspect they're involved in illegal arms trading, possibly even human experimentation. But we need proof." Natasha nodded, understanding where this was going. "And that's where I come in."

"Exactly. We've identified someone on the inside, Y/N Y/L/N. She's new, only started about a week ago. As far as we can tell, she's clean. No criminal record, no ties to any organizations. She's the perfect target to infiltrate." Natasha leaned forward, studying the file Fury slid across the table. Your face stared back at her from the photo clipped to the top of the file, a bright smile, eyes full of hope. Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, but she pushed it aside. This was a mission, and she had a job to do.

"What's the plan?" she asked, flipping through the file. "You'll go undercover as someone with a similar background, a data analyst, someone they might hire if the current employee doesn't work out. Your task is to gain her trust, find out what Y/n knows. If she's innocent, she might unknowingly be sitting on crucial information. If not.."

"I'll find out," Natasha finished, her voice cold and determined. Fury nodded, satisfied. "We need to act fast. Every day we wait is another day Kinetica could move their operations. I'm counting on you, Romanoff." Natasha stood up, tucking the file under her arm. "I won't let you down."

As she left Fury's office, her thoughts were already spinning with possibilities, strategies, and the cool detachment that came with every undercover mission. She knew this wouldn't be easy. You were innocent, or at least you seemed to be. But Natasha had learned the hard way that appearances could be deceiving. Her mission was clear: get close to you, gather the information, and expose Kinetica for what they really were. But as she prepared to step into your world, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that this mission would become more complicated than she anticipated.

Your first weeks at Kinetica Industries were a whirlwind of new faces, complex datasets, and an overwhelming amount of information. You were slowly getting used to the office routine when you heard about the new hire. Natalie Rushman, as she was introduced, joined the team on a bright Monday morning. You first heard about her during the daily briefing. Your department head mentioned that Natalie was hired to assist with data analysis, given the increasing workload from "The Initiative."

"I want you to show her the ropes." Your boss said, his tone implying it was not a request. "She has a similar background to you, and I think you two will work well together." You nodded, trying to hide the concern you felt about being responsible for training someone so soon after starting yourself. You hadn't fully mastered your own tasks yet, and now you were supposed to mentor someone else? But you forced a smile and agreed, hoping that Natalie would be as easygoing as she seemed in her brief introduction.

It wasn't until later in the morning that you finally met her. You were in the office kitchen, struggling with the intricate espresso machine that seemed designed to torment anyone who wasn't a seasoned barista. You had managed to spill coffee grounds everywhere when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You turned around and saw Natalie standing there, a slight smile on her lips. Her red hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and she wore a white blouse and tailored black pants that made her look effortlessly professional. "Need some help?" Natalie asked, her voice warm and slightly amused. You laughed, embarrassed to be caught in the middle of your coffee disaster. "I think this machine was designed by someone who hates caffeine addicts."

Natalie stepped forward, gently nudging you aside. "Mind if I give it a try? I've had my fair share of battles with these things."

"Be my guest." you replied gratefully, stepping back. Natalie moved with practiced ease, quickly coaxing the machine into cooperation and brewing two perfect cups of espresso. She handed you one, which you accepted with a wide grin. "You're a lifesaver." you said, taking a sip. The coffee was perfectm. Rich, smooth, and exactly what you needed to get through the rest of the day. "I'm Y/n, by the way. I'm supposed to show you around today."

"Natalie." she replied, her smile deepening. "And I appreciate the help. The first days are always a bit overwhelming."

"Don't I know it.." you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "I'm still trying to figure out where half the supplies are kept around here." Natalie laughed, a genuine but slightly guarded sound, as if she was still feeling out her new environment. "I'm sure we'll figure it out together. So, what exactly are we working on?" You began explaining the project to her, giving her an overview of "The Initiative" and what your roles would be. As you spoke, you noticed that Natalie was a good listener, nodding at the right moments and asking insightful questions. It was clear she knew what she was talking about, and you felt a little more at ease, knowing you weren't dealing with a complete novice.

"So," Natalie said as you walked back to the office with your coffees in hand, "what made you decide to work here?" You shrugged, trying to put your thoughts into words. "I guess I wanted to be part of something bigger, you know? Kinetica is doing some amazing things..or at least that's what they tell us. It's nice to think that the work we're doing here might actually make a difference."

Natalie nodded thoughtfully, as if considering her own reasons for being here. "I can understand that. It's nice to feel like what you're doing matters." You arrived at your desk, which was temporarily doubling as Natalie's workspace until hers was ready. You showed her how to log into the system, where to find the files she needed, and how to navigate the company's complex database. As you worked together, you noticed how quickly Natalie picked everything up. She seemed almost too proficient, as if she knew the system better than someone on their first day should. But you brushed the thought aside, some people were just quick learners, you thought.

The day passed smoothly, with the two of you working side by side and getting to know each other in small increments between tasks. Natalie was friendly but reserved, sharing just enough about herself to seem open without giving too much away. You found that you liked your new colleague, appreciating her calm demeanor and quick mind.

By the end of the day, you had made significant progress on your tasks, and you were starting to feel a sense of camaraderie with Natalie. As you prepared to leave, you turned to her with a smile. “Thanks for today, Natalie. You made my job a lot easier.” Natalie returned the smile, her green eyes sparkling in the fading daylight. “The feeling is mutual. I think we’re going to make a great team.” You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t expected. Maybe this new job wouldn’t be so overwhelming after all..

In the weeks that followed, the bond between you and Natalie deepened, evolving from a close friendship into something more intense, something charged. There was a tension between you that neither of you could ignore, a pull that grew stronger with every shared glance, every lingering touch. You had danced around your feelings for each other for a while, but the unspoken words were becoming harder to bear.

One evening, after another long day at the office, you found yourselves alone in the break room once again. The city lights cast a soft glow through the windows, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. You sat closer than usual, your shoulders touching as you picked at the remnants of a shared dinner. Your heart raced, the proximity making it difficult to focus on anything other than the warmth of Natalie’s body next to yours.

“Natalie..” you began hesitantly, “I need to tell you something.” Natalie looked up from her food, her green eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I..I’ve been trying to understand these feelings I have for you.. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone I work with, but I can’t keep pretending it’s not there. I care about you, Natalie. More than just as a friend.” The words hung heavy in the air between you, filled with the weight of their honesty. You watched Natalie closely, searching her face for any sign of rejection or discomfort. But what you saw instead was a softening in her expression, a warmth that she hadn’t fully shown before.

“Y/n,” Natalie said softly, reaching out to take your hand, “I feel the same way. I’ve tried to keep my distance, to stay professional, but..I can’t help it. I love you.” Your heart leaped at her confession, your pulse quickening as the truth settled between you. “You.. you love me?”

Natalie nodded, her thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “Yes, I do. And I’ve been so scared of what that means, but I can’t deny it any longer. I love you, Y/n.” The relief that washed over you was almost overwhelming, and without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to Natalie’s in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and filled with all the emotions you had both been holding back.

Natalie responded immediately, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she deepened the kiss, letting all her unspoken feelings flow into it. It was a moment of pure connection, where nothing else existed but the two of you and the love you shared. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to process what had just happened.

“I can’t believe this is real..” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “It is,” Natalie murmured, her eyes shining with affection. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, everything felt perfect. But as the warmth of the moment began to fade, a sharp pang of guilt pierced Natasha’s heart. She had just confessed her love to you, but the truth was far more complicated than she could admit. She wasn’t just Natalie Rushman, a data analyst who had fallen for her colleague..she was Natasha Romanoff, a spy sent to gather information from the woman she had just professed her love to.

As you sat there, your hand still in hers, Natasha knew she was at a crossroads. She had sworn to get the information she needed, to complete the mission no matter what. But now, with the thought of betraying you, her stomach twisted with guilt. “Y/n,” Natasha began, her voice heavy with what she was about to say, “I want us to be completely honest with each other. Totally honest. I need to know..is there anything about our project, about Kinetica, that seems strange to you? Anything that doesn’t add up?”

You frowned slightly, confused by the sudden change in topic. “What do you mean?” Natasha hesitated, hating herself for what she had to do, but knowing she had no choice. “I’ve just..noticed a few things that don’t quite fit. Some files that are restricted, some data that doesn’t quite match up. I thought maybe you’d noticed it too.” Your brow furrowed as you thought back over the past few months. “Well, there have been a few things that seemed odd, but I just figured it was part of working at such a high-level company. Why do you ask?”

Natasha swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep up the pretense. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I want to make sure we’re not missing anything important.” You nodded slowly, still puzzled but trusting Natalie’s concern. “I’ll keep an eye out, and if I notice anything, I’ll let you know. But..can we not talk about work right now? I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

Natasha’s heart clenched at your words, the guilt threatening to overwhelm her. She had just used your moment of vulnerability to fish for information, and the realization made her feel sick. But she forced herself to push the guilt aside, to focus on the mission, even as it tore her apart inside. “Of course.” Natasha said softly, pulling you closer and kissing you again, trying to lose herself in the warmth and love she felt for you.

Weeks passed, and the bond between you and Natalie grew even deeper. Your relationship had blossomed into something beautiful, a refuge in the midst of the high-pressure jobs at Kinetica Industries. You spent as much time together as possible..dinners, quiet nights with movies, and long walks through the city. For you, it felt like you had finally found someone who understood you, someone you could trust completely. But for Natasha, the lines between her mission and her feelings for you were becoming increasingly blurred.

The guilt Natasha felt was a constant companion, gnawing at her whenever she saw your trusting smile or felt the warmth of your hand in hers. Natasha knew she was deceiving you, but every time she considered telling you the truth, the weight of her duty as an agent held her back. She had a job to do, and despite her feelings, she couldn’t abandon it.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the office, you invited Natasha to your place. You were behind on some work and needed to finish a report for the next day, but you didn’t want to miss out on spending time with Natalie. Natasha agreed, glad for any excuse to spend more time with you.

Your apartment was cozy and inviting, filled with the little details Natasha had come to love. Bookshelves overflowing with novels, a small collection of plants by the window, and a few framed photos of you with your family. You settled together on the couch, you with your laptop and Natasha with a book she had picked from your shelf. “I’m sorry I have to work tonight..” you said, giving Natasha an apologetic smile. “I just need to finish this report, and then I’m all yours.”

“Don’t worry.” Natasha replied with a smile of her own. “I’m just happy to be here with you. Take your time.” As you focused on your work, Natasha found herself watching you more than reading the book in her hands. The way your brow furrowed slightly when you were deep in thought, the absent-minded way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. All of it made Natasha’s heart ache with affection and guilt. But as much as she wanted to lose herself in these feelings, Natasha couldn’t forget why she was there. This was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Your work might hold the key to the information S.H.I.E.L.D. needed, and Natasha had to take advantage of it, no matter how much it tore her up inside.

After about an hour, you stood up and stretched, yawning. “I need to make some tea. Want anything?”

Natasha nodded her head, giving you a reassuring smile. “This would be grate.” As you disappeared into the kitchen, Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest. This was her chance. She had to act quickly. She set the book aside and moved quietly to your laptop. The screen was still on, showing the report you were working on, but Natasha’s focus was on the folders and files scattered across the desktop. She opened one labeled “Project Data” her hands trembling slightly as she navigated through the documents.

Natasha scanned the files, her sharp eyes searching for anything that stood out or seemed significant. Most of the documents were routine. Xatasets, project reports, emails. But then she found something: a file titled “Confidential Research Notes.”

Her heart raced as she opened it and found a series of notes detailing experiments and datasets that she hadn’t seen before. It was more detailed than anything you had shown her at work, and as Natasha read through it, she realized it contained the kind of information S.H.I.E.L.D. had been looking for..details about Kinetica’s involvement in potentially illegal research, experiments that crossed ethical boundaries.

She heard the clink of a teacup in the kitchen, and panic surged through her. Quickly, Natasha copied the file onto a USB stick she had hidden in her bag. She had just closed the file when you returned, carrying twocups of tea. “Here you go.” you said with a smile, handing one of the cups to Natasha. “Thanks.” Natasha replied, taking the cup with slightly trembling hands and praying that you hadn’t noticed anything unusual.

You settled back down on the couch, taking a sip of your tea and letting out a contented sigh. “The report is almost done. After that, we can watch the movie you mentioned.” Natasha forced a smile, trying to push down the gnawing guilt and the tight knot in her stomach. “That sounds great.”

As you returned to your work, Natasha tried to relax, but the weight of what she had just done loomed over her. She had gathered the information she needed, but at the cost of betraying your trust. For the rest of the evening, Natasha was distant, her mind racing with thoughts of what would happen next.

You noticed the change in her demeanor and reached out to touch her arm, concern evident in your eyes. “Hey, is everything okay?” Natasha looked into your eyes, feeling her heart ache. “Yeah, I’m just..tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

You smiled gently and squeezed her arm. “I get it. We’ve both been working so hard lately. Let’s just relax tonight, okay? No more work, just us.” Natasha nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Just us.” she repeated, her voice hollow. As you both snuggled up on the couch to watch the movie, Natasha tried to focus on the moment, to lose herself in the warmth of your presence. But no matter how hard she tried, the guilt and the knowledge of what she had done weighed heavily on her.

The following days were filled with an unbearable tension for Natasha. She knew she had to pass the information to S.H.I.E.L.D., but she dreaded what would happen when the truth came out. The time she spent with you, the smiles, the laughter, all felt tainted by the lie she was living. Finally, the day came when Natasha couldn’t put it off any longer. She knew she had to deliver the USB drive to S.H.I.E.L.D. The mission needed to be completed, but the thought of what that would mean for your relationship was almost too much to bear.

That evening, as you sat together at your kitchen table, your laptop open in front of you as you worked on another report, Natasha made her decision. She had to do this, even though it meant risking everything with you. But before she could leave, something happened that changed everything.

You called Natasha over, a confused look on your face. “Nat, can you look at something for me? This report doesn’t make sense.” Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral. “Sure, what’s going on?” she asked, walking over to the table.

You pointed at the screen, your brow furrowed in confusion. “I just got this email from my boss, and he attached this report. It’s about a security breach at Kinetica. They’re trying to figure out who accessed some confidential files..” Natasha’s blood ran cold, but she kept her voice steady. “A security breach? What files are they talking about?”

You scrolled through the report, your frown deepening. “It doesn’t say exactly, but it has something to do with our project. They’ve narrowed down the list of suspects, but I don’t recognize most of the names..except for one.”

You paused, your eyes widening as you focused on a name in the list: Natasha Romanoff.

“Natasha Romanoff?” you whispered, confusion and disbelief clear in your voice. You looked up at Natasha, searching her face for answers. “Wait, is that you? Is this some kind of mistake?”

Natasha felt the walls closing in on her. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. The truth was out, and there was no going back. “Y/n,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need you to listen to me.” You took a step back, fear and suspicion creeping into your eyes. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice shaking.

Natasha’s heart broke at the sight of the fear in your eyes. “I’m still the same person, Y/n. I’m still me. But..I haven’t been honest with you.” Your hands shook as you hugged yourself, desperately trying to understand what was happening. “Who are you? Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes as she took a hesitant step toward you, but you flinched and stepped back. “Please, let me explain..” Natasha pleaded, her voice breaking. “My real name is Natasha Romanoff. I’m an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. I was sent here to gather information on Kinetica. But everything else..everything between us..it was real. My feelings for you, Y/n, are real.”

Your eyes darted around the room as if searching for something familiar, something to hold onto. But everything felt wrong. The woman you loved, the woman you trusted, was a stranger. “You used me?” you asked, your voice trembling with anger and fear. “You used me the whole time?”

“No!” Natasha said quickly, desperation creeping into her voice. “It started as a mission, yes, but I never meant to fall in love with you. I never wanted to hurt you. Please, Y/n, you have to believe me.” You shook your head, backing away until you hit the wall. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t even know who you are. Natasha Romanoff, S.H.I.E.L.D.… it sounds like something out of a Movie..”

Natasha’s heart shattered as she watched you crumble before her. She took a tentative step closer, her hands shaking. “I’m still the person you fell in love with, Y/n. I’m still the person who loves you more than anything. Please, let me explain everything.” You stared at Natasha, your heart breaking all over again. “You should have told me the truth from the beginning! But you didn’t. You lied to me, and now..now I don’t even know who you are..”

Natasha took another step forward, reaching out tentatively. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I’m begging you, please give me a chance to make it right.” You looked down at Natasha’s outstretched hand, but the fear and betrayal in your heart were too overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to take it. “I can’t..” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this. I need you to leave.”

Natasha’s heart broke at your words, but she knew she had no right to ask for forgiveness, not now. “Y/n, I-”

“Just go!” you cried, your voice filled with agony. “Please, just go. I can’t look at you right now.” Natasha’s hands fell to her sides, her shoulders slumping as the weight of what she had done crashed down on her. She had lost you, and there was nothing she could do to fix it. But as much as it hurt, she knew she had to respect your wishes.

“I’m so sorry..” Natasha whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I love you, Y/n. I’ll always love you.” Without another word, Natasha turned and left your apartment, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the empty space. You stood there, frozen, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as the truth of Natasha’s betrayal washed over you. The apartment that once felt like a safe haven now felt cold and empty, the warmth of Natasha’s presence gone, replaced by a suffocating sense of loss. You slid down the wall, pulling your knees to your chest as your body shook with sobs. The woman you loved, the woman you trusted, was a lie, and you didn’t know if you could ever trust anyone again.

Hours passed, and eventually, your tears dried up, leaving you with a hollow feeling inside. But despite the pain, you couldn’t ignore the truth that Natasha had revealed. Kinetica was involved in something dangerous, something that needed to be stopped. And despite everything, you knew you couldn’t just walk away.

Slowly, you got to your feet, your resolve hardening. You would do what needed to be done, not for Natasha, but because it was the right thing to do. You walked over to your laptop and opened the files you had been working on. With a heavy heart, you gathered everything you knew about Kinetica’s activities, your hands shaking as you worked. The information you collected could help bring the company down, but it came at the cost of everything you believed in, everything you felt.

When you finished, you copied the files onto a USB stick and set it on the table. You stared at it for a long time, your thoughts filled with memories of the woman you thought you knew, the woman you loved. Finally, you took a deep breath and reached for your phone. You hesitated for a moment before dialing the number Natasha had given you, the one you were supposed to use only in an emergency.

Natasha answered on the first ring, her voice thick with emotion. “Y/n?”

“I have the information you need.” you said, your voice firm despite the storm of emotions raging inside you. “It’s on a USB stick. I’ll leave it at the café near my apartment tomorrow morning. You can pick it up there.”

“Y/n, please, can we talk-” Natasha began, but you cut her off.

“There’s nothing more to say.” you said quietly. "That's it, Natasha. After this, we're done. Don't contact me again."

A long silence followed on the other end of the line, and you could hear the pain in Natasha's voice when she finally spoke. "Thank you. I'm so sorry. For everything."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to keep your emotions under control. "Goodbye, Natasha."

The mission was over. Kinetica Industries had been exposed, its leaders arrested, and the illegal activities shut down. Natasha had completed her assignment, but the victory felt hollow. As the dust settled, she could only think about you, how she had lost you and how desperate she was to make things right.

Days turned into weeks, and the absence of you in Natasha's life became unbearable. The empty silence in her apartment echoed the emptiness in her heart. She replayed the last conversation she had with you over and over in her mind, haunted by the pain in your voice, the cold finality of your words. Natasha knew she had no right to ask for forgiveness, but she couldn't live with the thought that you hated her, that the love you had shared was now just a memory tainted by lies. After much deliberation, Natasha decided she had to try one last time to explain herself and apologize in person. She knew it was a long shot..you had made it clear you didn't want to see her again but Natasha couldn't leave things the way they were. She had to try.

One evening, just as the sun was setting, Natasha made her way to your apartment. The familiar building loomed before her, but this time it felt different..colder, more intimidating. She hesitated at the entrance, her heart pounding in her chest. What if you refused to listen? What if you called the police before she even had a chance to say anything? But she knew she couldn't turn back now. She took a deep breath, entered the building, and walked to your door. She stood there for a long moment, gathering her thoughts before she finally raised her hand and knocked softly.

There was a long pause, and Natasha's heart sank as she imagined you ignoring her, refusing to even open the door. But then she heard footsteps approaching, and the door opened a crack, revealing your wary eyes. Your expression shifted from surprise to anger as soon as you saw Natasha. Your hand tightened around the doorknob, and you narrowed your eyes. "What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice cold and hard.

"Y/n, please, I just want to talk." Natasha said quickly, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I know I don't deserve it, but I need to explain-" You cut her off, your voice sharp with anger. "Explain? There's nothing left to explain, Natasha. You lied to me, used me, and now you have the nerve to show up at my door?"

"Please.." Natasha pleaded, her voice breaking. "Give me five minutes." Your eyes flashed with a mix of anger, pain, and something else that Natasha couldn't quite place. You hesitated, your hand still gripping the doorknob as if you were weighing whether to slam the door in her face. "If you don't leave right now." you said, your voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion, "I'll call the police."

Natasha felt her heart sink, but she didn't move. She knew you were serious, but she also knew that if she walked away now, she would never have another chance to make things right. "Do it." Natasha said quietly, "Call them if you want. But please, hear me out first. I need to show you how sorry I am. I know I can't undo what I've done, but I can't live with myself if I don't at least try to apologize."

You stared at Natasha, your hand shaking as you gripped the doorknob. The pain in your eyes was unmistakable, and it broke Natasha's heart to see how much she had hurt you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you thick and suffocating. Finally, you let out a shaky breath and loosened your grip on the doorknob. "You have five minutes," you said, "But if you lie to me again, I swear I'll call the police."

Natasha nodded, relief washing over her even though she knew this was only a small victory. "Thank you." she whispered, stepping back as you opened the door just enough to let her in. You led Natasha into the living room, a space that had once felt warm and inviting but now felt cold and distant. You gestured for Natasha to sit on the sofa, but you remained standing, arms crossed over your chest as you waited for her to speak.

"Okay," Natasha began, her voice trembling, "I know I've hurt you in a way I can never fully apologize for. I deceived you and betrayed your trust. But I need you to know that every moment I spent with you, every touch, every word I said to you, was real. My feelings for you are real." Your eyes flashed with anger, and you shook your head. "How am I supposed to believe that? You're a trained spy. Lying is part of your job."

"I know.." Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. "And that's why I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I know I don't deserve it. But I couldn't leave things the way they were. I couldn't let you believe that everything between us was just part of the mission. It wasn't. You became the most important person in my life, and I was so scared of losing you."

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth?" you asked, your voice trembling with pent-up emotion. "Why did you wait until I had to find out this way?" Natasha swallowed hard, tears welling up in her eyes. "Because I was a coward. I didn't want to lose you, and I thought that if I could just finish the mission, maybe..just maybe we could have a life together afterward. But I was wrong. I should have been honest with you from the start."

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes as well. "You should have. But you didn't. And now I don't know if I can ever trust you again." A tear rolled down Natasha's cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. "I understand." she said softly. "I know I've broken your trust, and I have to live with that. I just wanted you to know that I love you, Y/n. I will always love you. And if you never want to see me again, I'll respect that. But please don't think that I didn't care about you, because I do."

You looked away, blinking back tears. "You should go, Natasha. There's nothing more to say." Natasha nodded, her heart breaking all over again. "I'm sorry." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For everything."

Without another word, Natasha turned and walked to the door, her steps heavy with the weight of the finality of the situation. She paused in the doorway, casting one last look at you, hoping to find something..anything that might suggest there was still a chance for you both. But your expression remained cold and distant, your eyes avoiding hers. With a heavy heart, Natasha opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft thud that echoed in the silence that followed. Natasha stood there for a moment, letting the reality of what had just happened sink in. She had tried, but it was over. You were right. There was nothing more to say.

Unknown to you, the case of Kinetica’s downfall was far from over. The company’s leaders were desperately trying to cover their tracks, attempting to salvage what they could. But amid the chaos, they discovered something alarming: You, one of their employees, had been the one to pass on the damning information that had led to their downfall. And now they wanted revenge.

You were alone in your apartment one evening, your thoughts drifting as you tried to focus on the book you were reading. The quiet was soothing, a respite from the whirlwind of emotions you had been grappling with. But that peace was abruptly shattered by a sudden, insistent knocking at your door. Frowning, you set the book aside and walked to the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw two men standing outside, men you didn’t recognize, but something about their presence immediately set off alarm bells in your head.

“Who is it?” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unease rising within you. “Delivery.” one of the men said, but there was no package in sight, and his tone was too cold, too rehearsed.

Your instincts kicked in, and you stepped away from the door, your heart racing. These weren’t delivery men..they were here for something else, something far more sinister. Panic gripped you as you realized that Kinetica must have found out what you had done. Just as you were about to reach for your phone, the door burst open with a loud crash, the two men forcing their way in. You screamed and stumbled back, your thoughts racing with fear and desperation. But before they could reach you, another figure appeared in the doorway, moving with deadly precision. Natasha.

She had been keeping an eye on your apartment since your last conversation, knowing that Kinetica might try something. When she saw the men approaching your building, she knew immediately what their target was and she wasn’t going to let them harm you. “Get away from her.” Natasha snarled, her voice cold and dangerous.

The men turned to face Natasha, but they barely had time to react before she was on them. In a blur of motion, she disarmed the first man, sending his weapon skittering across the floor. The second man lunged at her, but she easily dodged and delivered a powerful kick to his stomach, sending him crashing into the wall. You watched in stunned silence as Natasha took down the men with brutal efficiency, her movements fluid and controlled. The fight was over in seconds, the two men lying unconscious on the floor as Natasha stood over them, breathing heavily.

For a moment, the apartment was eerily silent, the only sound the ragged breaths of the two women. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind struggling to process what had just happened. Natasha turned to you, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, laced with the fear she had tried to suppress.

You nodded slowly, your eyes wide as you stared at Natasha. “I..I think so..” you stammered, still trying to grasp everything. “What..what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t leave you unprotected.” Natasha said, stepping closer, her eyes full of guilt and love. “I knew Kinetica might come after you. I couldn’t let that happen.” Your gaze flickered to the unconscious men on the floor, then back to Natasha. “You..you saved me.”

Natasha nodded, her heart aching at the vulnerability in your voice. “I will always protect you. No matter what’s happened between us, I’ll always be here for you.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Natasha, the woman who had lied to you, who had betrayed you, but who had also just saved your life. The fear and anger you had been holding onto began to waver, replaced by a deep, conflicting emotion you couldn’t fully understand. “Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.” Natasha said, her voice heavy with emotion. “I know I’ve hurt you, and I know you may never forgive me, but I had to make sure you were safe. You mean everything to me, Y/n.”

Your heart broke at the sincerity in Natasha’s voice. Despite everything, despite the lies and betrayal, Natasha’s love for you was real. And in that moment, you realized that your own feelings were just as complicated. You were angry, you were hurt, but you still loved her..more than you wanted to admit.

The two of you stood in silence, the weight of your emotions heavy in the air. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, torn between the betrayal you felt and the undeniable connection that still existed between you. Finally, you took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Natasha..” you said quietly. “But I can’t ignore what you just did for me. You saved my life. And..and I still care about you. I don’t know what that means, but I need time to figure it out.”

Natasha nodded, tears glistening in her eyes as she looked at you. “Take all the time you need.” she whispered. “I’ll be here, no matter what you decide.” You nodded hesitantly, the storm of emotions inside you beginning to calm. “Thank you.” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Natasha stepped back, giving you the space you needed. “I’ll take care of this.” she said, gesturing to the unconscious men on the floor. “And then I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” You looked at Natasha, your heart heavy with everything that had happened between you. “I don’t know what I want..” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I think..I think I need to be alone right now.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes reflecting the understanding she felt, even though the pain was clear. “I understand.” she said quietly. “Just know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, I’m here.”

You didn’t respond, but the look in your eyes said enough. You stood there, watching as Natasha efficiently secured the two men, ensuring they wouldn’t pose any further threat. She worked in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of you. When Natasha was finished, she stood by the door, hesitating for a moment as if searching for the right words, but then deciding against saying anything more. With one last, sorrowful glance in your direction, she turned and left your apartment, the door closing softly behind her.

You stood frozen in place, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened. The apartment, which had been filled with tension and violence just moments ago, now felt eerily quiet. Slowly, you sank onto the couch, your body trembling as the reality of the situation settled over you.

You were filled with so many conflicting emotions that it was hard to sort through them all. Anger, fear, relief, affection..they all swirled within you, and you didn’t know how to make sense of them. You had asked Natasha to leave because you weren’t sure of anything anymore. And though it felt like the right thing to do, now that she was gone, you felt a cold emptiness spreading through your chest. A part of you wanted to call her back, wanted her to stay so you could work through these chaotic feelings together. But another part of you knew that you needed time to be alone, to sort through everything that had happened between the two of you.

The night passed in a blur of thoughts and emotions, with sleep coming only in brief, restless intervals. When morning finally came, you felt just as exhausted as you had the night before. But with the new day came a certain clarity. You knew you couldn’t stay in this limbo forever. Natasha had told you that she would always be there for you, and you believed her. But the question was whether you could let her back into your life, whether you could ever trust her again.

As the day dragged on, you tried to focus on mundane tasks, but thoughts of Natasha kept intruding. Finally, after hours of agonizing, you decided you needed more information to figure out a path forward. If there was any chance of peace or understanding between you, you needed to know the whole truth. The next day, you called Natasha. She answered immediately, and you could hear the mix of hope and concern in her voice. “Y/n?”

“I want to know everything.” you said, your voice firm even as your heart raced. “I can’t move on without understanding everything. No more secrets, no more lies. If there’s any chance for us to find peace, you need to show me everything.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before Natasha spoke, her voice filled with relief and caution. “I understand. I’ll take you to S.H.I.E.L.D. You’ll have access to everything, my reports, the mission files. Whatever you need to know.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay. When can we go?”

“Right now.” Natasha said without hesitation. “I’ll come pick you up.”

True to her word, Natasha arrived at your apartment shortly after. The drive to the S.H.I.E.L.D. building was silent, the tension between you both palpable. Natasha stole worried glances at you from time to time, but you kept your gaze fixed out the window, lost in your thoughts. When you arrived at the unassuming building that housed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s operations, Natasha guided you through a series of security checks, her presence and clearance making the process smooth. You followed her, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and curiosity. This was a world you never imagined you would be a part of.

Finally, you arrived in a large conference room. Natasha gestured for you to take a seat at the table while she went to a console on the wall and entered a series of commands. The large screen in the room flickered to life, displaying a series of files and documents. “This is everything.” Natasha said quietly, turning to face you. “My mission files, the reports I sent, the details of Kinetica’s operations. You have full access.”

You stared at the screen, your heart racing. “Why are you doing this? Why are you showing me all of this?”

“Because I owe you the truth.” Natasha replied, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “And because I want you to know that I’m not hiding anything from you anymore. I know I broke your trust, but I want to do whatever it takes to rebuild it. Even if that means showing you everything.”

The next few hours were spent going through everything, the initial mission briefing, how Natasha was assigned to get close to you to gather information on Kinetica, and how she struggled with her growing feelings for you. She explained how she tried to keep you out of harm's way even as she fulfilled her mission, and how every moment you shared, despite the circumstances, had been genuine.

You listened intently, absorbing every word, every detail. There were moments when your anger flared up again, moments when you wanted to shout at Natasha for the betrayal, for the pain she had caused. But there were also moments of understanding, moments when you saw the inner conflict Natasha had gone through, torn between her duty and her growing love for you.

When Natasha finished, she looked at you, her heart pounding in her chest. “I know this doesn’t undo the lies, but I wanted you to see that I truly cared about you. I never wanted to hurt you, Y/n.” You remained silent for a long time, processing everything you had learned. You felt raw, exposed, but also strangely relieved. This was what you had needed. the full truth, with nothing held back.

Finally, you looked at Natasha, your expression unreadable. “You were honest with me today, Natasha, and I can feel that. For the first time, I feel like I’m really seeing you..with all your strengths and flaws, with all your mistakes.” Natasha nodded, her voice soft as she responded, “That’s all I wanted. To be honest with you, even if it costs me everything.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you tried to organize your thoughts. “I don’t know where we go from here, Natasha. I don’t know if I can ever fully trust you again. But..I see that you’re trying. And that means something.” Natasha felt a small spark of hope ignite in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it grow too large. “Thank you, Y/n. That’s more than I deserve.”

You looked at Natasha, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and something that resembled hope. "Maybe it’s a start. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but at least now I know the truth. And that’s more than I had before.”

Natasha nodded, her heart heavy, but she was grateful. “Whatever happens, I’m here. If you need space, I’ll give you that. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. I won’t go away.” You managed a small, tired smile. “I guess we’ll just have to see where this takes us.”

You both left the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters together, the tension between you eased but the future still uncertain. As you stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, Natasha glanced at you, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a cautious spark of hope. You caught her glance and sighed. “It’s going to take time, Natasha. I don’t know if things can ever be the way they were, but.. we can find something new. Something honest.”

Natasha nodded, her heart swelling with emotion. “That’s what I’d like.” As you walked side by side, the past still loomed over you, but for the first time, there was a path forward..a path that might lead to healing, to forgiveness, and maybe even to a future where you could rebuild what had been broken. The road ahead would be difficult, full of challenges and doubts, but you had taken the first step together. And for now, that was enough.

[singingrottenbones]

I was talking to a friend about the colours in Hannibal (shoutout @classicpalladium ) and they pointed out how the colour red is present in virtually any scene of the show. Whether that be the red curtains in Hannibal's office, the blood at a crime scene or a red shirt a character is wearing - it is omnipresent.

Naturally, during my rewatch, I paid close attention to see if I could find a scene that didn't contain red, and I discovered another interesting parallel.

In 1x03 Potage, Hannibal and Will visit Abigail in the hospital and take her for a short walk to the greenhouse.

Try and see how much red you can find in these two shots. At first glance, there isn't any. Not in the characters clothing (Will's sweater is brown), not in the background. As a matter of fact, we are surrounded by green - the colour opposite red on the colour wheel, the colour that is used to neutralize red.

At second glance, though, we notice that there is some red.

A few flowers on the left and one plant on the right. There's also orange leaves on the glass roof - the seasons are changing.

This is also when Abigail asks Will "So killing somebody, even if you have to do it, it feels that bad?", and his reply is "It's the ugliest thing in the world."

I think that the lack, or maybe very targeted use of the colour red perfectly encapsulates Will's and Hannibal's relationship at this stage of the show. Will has barely stepped into Hannibal's world. He doesn't know him yet, he's still closed off. The green is still fighting the red. Killing is ugly. It's horrible. It haunts him. And yet, there's little bits of red, of Hannibal, that are starting to push through, to bloom.

The complete opposite of this scene is, of course, the end of 3x13 The Wrath of the Lamb.

There is red everywhere, literally. It is inescapable. The blood is running and dripping. It almost feels like we as viewers are also tainted by it.

And yet, in a full circle moment, we get Will Graham's final line of the show:

"It's beautiful."

Drenched in blood, in red, in Hannibal. Two becomes one. There is nothing else left. He can finally see it. His becoming is complete.

[aethercoreheart]

earl grey (ii)

virtual radio host!rafayel x producer!reader | (i)

“Rafayel will do just fine without you. Please just think about it,” Thomas pleads for the third time in the same meeting. “You don’t have to give an answer straight away. But promise me you’ll think about it.”

You fold your arms over your chest and sigh. “Okay, I will. But my answer is still going to be the same.” With that, you stand from your seat and straighten your clothes out. “Can I go? I still have a show to prep for.”

Thomas regards you silently for a few seconds before he waves his hand. “Fine, go, go. But I’m serious about this promotion. The breakfast show could really use a producer like you.”

You nod, but don’t say anything else in reply. You exit out of his office, your head swimming with conflicting thoughts. They wrestle with each other as you make your way down the maze of halls and flights of stairs to your studio.

It’s your dream to be able work on a high-traffic, prime-time radio show. But you love Rafayel’s Cove with every part of your being – you had helped make it what it is today. And it may not have the allure of working on a breakfast or drive show, but you loved spending the quiet nights with Rafayel, just watching him paint and listening to him talk. And Rafayel… well, Rafayel… he’s…

Your mind fills with static as thoughts of Rafayel start to filter in. You still remember his whole spiel about Earl Grey tea, and how he had looked at you while he was talking. Your stomach does several flips and you feel your heart start to race. You shake your head to try and clear your thoughts, but your mouth suddenly feels dry. He hasn’t said or done anything out of the ordinary since then, but for some reason, the air in the studio has felt… a little different. Each night, you want to tell him something, but you don’t know what to say. So you leave it unsaid, hoping that one of these nights, you’ll have the courage and the right words to tell him how you feel.

Your feet have been moving completely on autopilot, and you only realize you’re at the studio when your hand pushes the door open. You see that the lights are already on, and you hear the station music playing softly in the background. 

As he promised, Rafayel has not been late ever since that night. He has consistently shown up to the studio at least twenty minutes before the show starts to do his prep, leaving you with almost half an hour in your shift with you just hanging around, swinging your feet.

“Hey,” you greet him, heading for your space on the desk. “You’re really serious about this, huh? There’s nothing left for me to do.”

He looks up from his setup and flashes you a grin. “Of course. Just relax, I’ve got this.” His smile extends to his eyes, making them crease at the corners. You swear your heart skips a beat. “I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

You return his smile, hoping he doesn’t notice that your hands are trembling slightly. “Okay, I’ll go make us some tea.”

—

You study Rafayel carefully as he paints, your hand gripping your cup of coffee. He has been acting strangely the past few days and you have no idea why. You take a sip of your coffee and watch him over the rim of the cup. His jaw is clenched as he moves his brush. He looks over at his tablet and reads a comment from the chat. He gives a brief smile to the camera before he looks at his work again.

“I look good tonight? Thank you,” he says flatly as he continues to paint.

You frown, shaking your head slightly. Usually he’d be flirting back with the audience, throwing clever quips here and there, and then going off on a random tangent, talking about anything and everything. The last few shows have been kind of… boring, if you were going to be honest. He reads a comment now and again, responds, and maybe says a joke that doesn’t really land. And you’ve noticed that his work doesn’t have the same feel that it usually does. His pieces have started to look a little lifeless, and he has spent less time after the stream putting finishing touches on them. Plus, he’s been leaving the tea you’ve been making for him completely untouched for the entire show. You’ve had to toss out three cups of them so far.

You read through the comments, none of them mentioning the shift in his behavior. Maybe Rafayel really is just eye candy to them. As long as he shows up and paints, they’re happy.

The show concludes and Rafayel continues to paint without looking at you. No witty banter, no nicknames, no random ramblings. Just grunts and nods when you try to talk to him. 

You’ve had enough. You let out a long sigh, and you grip at the desk with both of your hands. 

He finally takes notice of you, but you notice that his eyes don’t have the same amused glint to them that they usually do.

“Okay, Rafayel. What’s wrong?”

He shrugs, returning to his work. “What do you mean?”

You throw up your hands, exasperated. “Are you serious? I’ve been working with you for more than a year now. You don’t think I can’t tell when you’re not yourself?” You place your hands back on the desk. “What is it? Someone’s pissed you off? Is Thomas bugging you again? I told him to come to me if he has any problems with the show–”

“If you don’t want to be here, you can leave,” Rafayel interjects, cutting you off. He turns to you again, his expression cold.

You’re stunned into silence. You take a few moments before stammering out a reply. “I– leave? What?”

“You want to be on the breakfast show? Just go. Don’t let me hold you back.” Rafayel’s tone is sharp, his words stabbing daggers into you. “But the least you could have done is actually tell me. That way, I can actually brace myself before I get another producer who doesn’t give a fuck.”

You feel as if the air has been sucked out of your lungs. What the hell is he talking about?

“Rafayel, what are you talking about? I’m not switching to another show,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. “Where did you hear that?”

Rafayel slams his tools down onto the desk. He turns away from you again. “You don’t think I hear the other hosts talking around the office? Talking shit about stealing my producer. Saying how I don’t deserve you.” His voice drops down to a whisper. “Maybe I don’t.”

Anger and hurt swell in your chest. Not just for the other hosts, but for Rafayel. You’re pissed and you don’t try to hide it.

“And you believe what they’re saying?” you snap. “Yeah, sure, Thomas offered it. Several times. But I turned him down, every single time.” 

Rafayel stares at you, his mouth dropping open. You continue your tirade. “Because I care about this show. I care about you. I worked hard on Rafayel’s Cove and I’m not going to let it go. But you know what? If you straight up believed those assholes before you even considered discussing things with me, then maybe I should switch shows.” 

You can’t hide the hurt you’re feeling, and your voice wavers. “I told you that I wanted to be a producer that you could trust with anything. I guess I failed at that.”

You don’t give Rafayel a chance to reply. He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. You gather your belongings quickly and breeze out the door of the studio. You swipe at the tears running down your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater as you start to run out of the building.

—

It’s past two in the morning by the time you’re back home. You had heard the distant rumbling of thunder on your commute home, and you were praying that you’d make it back before the storm started. You start to hear the pattering of rainfall against your windows as you take your shoes off at your apartment entrance. Thank God.

You’d usually be fixing yourself dinner and watching a show straight after you get home, but you have no appetite tonight. All you want to do is get in the shower, wash the day off and hop straight into bed. 

By the time you’re drying off your hair and changing into your pajamas, the rain has been falling heavily and steadily. You can’t wait to curl up in bed and leave the world behind for the night.

As you get under the covers, you can’t help but replay the moments of the night in your mind. Are you really going to part ways with Rafayel and the show, just like that? You’re considering setting up a meeting with Thomas in the morning, just to discuss things. Maybe you’ll take a few days of leave. Thomas can get another producer to cover for you with no problem. There are a whole bunch of them dying to work with Rafayel, anyway. And Rafayel.. well… he can.. he can go…

You try to silence your thoughts by listening to the rain and the thunder outside. They start to become hazy as they mix in with the sounds of the storm, and you let yourself sink deeper and deeper into sleep.

—

The blaring noise of your apartment intercom jerks you awake. Annoyed and groggy, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and squint at the time. You had been asleep for only an hour before that grating tone had snatched you from the golden clutches of slumber. You fold your pillow over your head as the intercom lets out another long tone, indicating that someone is waiting for you to let them into the building. You attempt to ignore it, hoping that it’s one of your neighbors, just drunk and probably pressing the button for the wrong apartment.

Your intercom keeps going for the next minute, unrelenting. You begrudgingly push your bed covers back and stomp out of your room and across your apartment to the intercom panel. Lightning flashes outside your windows, illuminating your dark living room for a split second. You reach for the panel, and hold down the button, speaking into it.

“Fuck. Off,” you growl into the speaker. “Before I call building security. Or the cops.”

There’s silence on the other end as you wait for the person to reply. You have your phone in your hand, ready to dial security but you stop when you hear the person say your name in a familiar voice. Your breath stops in your throat.

“H–hey,” Rafayel says, his voice sounding muffled through the speaker. “Don’t go yet. You don’t have to let me in, but at least hear me out. Please?”

You don’t reply, but you release the button for the speaker. You press the one next to it to let him into the building. You switch buttons again and speak into the intercom. “Apartment 306. And hurry up.”

—

Rafayel stands at the entrance to your apartment, completely soaked from the rain. His hair is plastered to his head, and the white button down he was wearing for the show that night is translucent, clinging to his skin. You gape at him for a few moments wordlessly before ushering him in.

“Are you crazy?” you hiss at him as you close the door behind him. You notice that his teeth are chattering and he’s trembling from the cold. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I–I–I,” he stammers as he follows you inside. “Please, just listen–”

“Talk later,” you tell him, directing him to the bathroom. He’s dripping rainwater all over your carpet. “Take a shower first. You’re going to get sick if you don’t.”

—

“So… you ran all the way here?”

You stare at Rafayel, unable to hide your shock. You watch as he lifts his cup of tea to his lips and takes a sip. The moment the tea touches his lips, you see his shoulders relax and his face softens.

He sighs contentedly before answering you. “Well, I tried to take a cab here, but couldn’t remember your exact building. And the driver didn’t want to drive me around looking for a random apartment building in this storm, so he just… dropped me off.”

You gape at him. “Seriously?”

He nods, gripping his cup with both hands. Tendrils of steam rise from it. “I hopped from building to building trying to see which one looked the most familiar from when I had to pick up my tools from you that one time. Then, once I found it, I remembered your apartment number. And that was that.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You did all that… in a raging storm?”

Rafayel shrugs, his gaze lowered. “I couldn’t leave things between us unresolved. I was a jerk. A dumbass. You didn’t deserve how I acted towards you.”

You study Rafayel closely. His hair, still slightly damp and curly from his shower, hangs over his eyes. Not once tonight has he made eye contact with you. 

He’s wearing a novelty workout set you had won from your gym for a charity raffle. It didn’t quite fit you, and you would never actually consider wearing it in public. It consists of a gray muscle tank with a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses in the center with words “Sun's out, guns out” printed in bright, blocky letters underneath, and a matching pair of running shorts with small cartoonish sunglasses printed all over it. You take note of his toned, muscular shoulders, visible to you for the first time. Your mouth suddenly feels dry again.

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight,” you tell him. “Just… stay here for the night. We’ll sort it out in the morning.”

Rafayel finally looks up from his tea and meets your eyes.  You want to reach over with your hand to hold his, but you keep your hands wrapped around your own cup. “Finish your tea. I’ll set up the couch for you to sleep on.”

—

It’s almost five in the morning, and you’re still awake. You listen to the storm outside rage on, your eyes fixated on the ceiling. You sigh, and fold back the covers again, deciding that a warm glass of water might help you relax. 

You slowly open your bedroom door, and try to tiptoe past the living room to the kitchen. You want to be careful not to wake Rafayel, but you notice that he’s sitting up on the couch, watching the storm through your living room window. You pause in your tracks, and observe him. He has his blanket pulled up to his waist, and he pulls his knees closer to his chest, his chin resting on top of them. He sighs as he rests his head against the back of the couch. 

You hesitate for a moment before calling out to him softly. “Can’t sleep?”

He turns quickly to look at you, his eyes wide. Then, he relaxes and he sighs again. “Yeah, looks like I’m having trouble.”

“You want a glass of water?”

He shakes his head, going back to watching the storm. “Nah, no thank you.”

You walk past him and into the kitchen. You can’t be bothered starting the kettle again, so you opt for cold water instead. You finish your drink and head back to your room. Rafayel's gaze is still fixated on the window, and you watch him from your doorway. He seems tired, restless. You walk over to the couch and he looks up at you again.

“I’ll be okay, promise,” he tells you with a weak grin. “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep either,” you whisper in reply, extending your hand to him. “Come on, I bet my bed is more comfortable than the couch.”

His eyes flick to your hand, then to you, then back to your hand. He takes it wordlessly, and lets you guide him back to your room. His hand is warm, his skin surprisingly soft despite all the work he does with his hands. You lead him to the bed and peel the covers back, motioning at him to get in. He obliges, and you head to the other side of the bed to do the same.

You curl up under the covers, facing Rafayel. You’re so close to each other, you can feel the warmth of his breath washing over your face. Only then do you realize – you had just invited this man to sleep in your bed without a second thought.

You start to panic slightly but you watch as Rafayel closes his eyes and he releases a slow, deliberate breath. He’s actually falling asleep.

You relax as you keep an eye on him, his breaths becoming slower, and his eyelids fluttering gently. You could watch him sleep the entire night. Soft breaths escape from his slightly parted lips. He smells slightly of saltwater and your vanilla shower gel. You breathe in his scent. It’s almost intoxicating.

As if on reflex, your hand moves out towards his face, but you stop yourself from actually touching it. You start to pull back, but Rafayel opens his eyes slightly, looking at you through his lashes. He grabs at your extended hand with his own and grips it gently. He pulls your hand back towards his face and places it against his cheek. He holds it there for a prolonged moment before smooching the inside of your palm. He then slides his lips up your hand towards your fingers, which he also peppers with small kisses.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this for,” he murmurs against your hand. Your other one is now pushing his hair away from his face so that you can see his eyes. Even in the dim light, you can see that his pupils are dilated. “These fingers… these hands that make me tea every day,” he continues between kisses. You’re tempted to shut him up with a kiss of your own, but you let him finish. “I really don’t know what I’d do without them.”

[apotheosisgames]

In Godsfall, you can choose one of five backgrounds for your character. Each comes with a number of unique interactions, as well as a special subplot.

THE DESERTER ↳ You were once a loyal and decorated member of the renowned Consortium security forces. Rising quickly in the ranks, you soon found yourself in command of your own ship, with your own men. But the more you learned about the Consortium and the powers-that-be, the less comfortable you were serving them. Finally, you chose to leave. But no one abandons the Consortium without consequences.

THE ARISTOCRAT ↳ You were once a spoiled heir of one of the many Consortium nobles. Raised to follow in your parents footsteps as a ruler of the galaxies, you never questioned your place in the universe — until you did. Until one day, your eyes were opened to the truth of your family's power. You left, and you haven't looked back. But you know your family is just waiting for you to return, tail between your legs.

THE REVOLUTIONARY ↳ You were once a child of the rebellion. An orphan, you were raised on the streets of a megatropolis, belonging to no one. You found a home among the revolution, a loose collection of groups fighting for the people against the Consortium's power and influence. Willing to do almost anything for the cause — until you're framed for a deadly attack, abandoned by your siblings in the fight, and left to escape by the skin of your teeth.

THE OPPORTUNIST ↳ You were once a corporate officer, a comfortable member of the upper-middle class with you're focus on yourself and your financial bottom line. You're secure in your position, and confident that a promotion is in your immediate future — until you're accused of stealing from the Consortium itself, a crime tantamount to treason. Your ruthless nature has left you few defenders, and it's only bribery that allows you to escape.

THE AMNESIAC ↳ You don't remember who you once were. You woke up on an empty ship over a year ago. With only a virtual interface and crumbs of clues to guide you, you've been trying to piece your life together with little success. You remember some things, enough to continue your life as a scavenger, but you don't know anything else about your past. And the question remains — do you want to know?

[oftenwantedafton]

personal space | steve raglan x f!reader

The new hire is delivered right to the door of Steve Raglan’s office one rainy Monday morning. He can feel the nervous energy wafting from you. But he’s good at this. Used to dealing with anxious job applicants from less than ideal backgrounds.

He can handle some new college grad.

Explicit, 2.8k words, ongoing revision started 3/27/25

ao3 link

The problem with being good at one’s job is that everyone relies on that person. Got a question? Just ask Steve Raglan. He’ll tell you what form to use or find the phone number needed. A long term resident of the Hurricane area, he’s virtually a walking guidebook for directions. He knows all the roads. The best shortcuts. What stores to shop at. What establishments to avoid. Hell, he even has some great recipes. A throwback to when he’d been employed in some capacity in the food industry or something. It’s never been explicitly stated just what that former career had entailed, only vaguely rumored and politely deflected whenever he’s questioned about it a little too directly. Nevertheless, he is the go-to man. Everyone in the career guidance office at the Department of Social Services knows it.

So of course the new hire is delivered right to the door of his office one rare rainy Monday morning, looking like a drowned rat, carrying what has obviously been your school backpack for many years, a worn looking specimen with a chipped zipper and a blotchy ink stain marring the nylon material. You’re clad in cheap polyester office attire, a gray skirt and blazer that are off the rack, not quite fitting you properly. The hem of the skirt hits your legs at an awkward level. The sleeves of the jacket are too short. Your pinned hair is already falling out of place. He can feel the nervous energy wafting from you. But he’s good at these types of situations, accustomed to dealing with anxious job applicants from less than ideal backgrounds. He can handle some new college grad.

He’d rather not, of course; he prefers working alone. It’s more efficient. Faster. You’re going to make the day difficult, he can already tell. Still he plasters on a fake smile and drags one of the chairs intended for clients around his desk, still leaving room between his own leather specimen and the mustard yellow vinyl padded hardback that’s a relic from the 1970’s.

“Welcome. I’m Steve Raglan.” His hand shake is firm, confident. Your own is tentative, weak. You’re going to have to work on that. “You can put your things down over there.” He gestures towards a small table in the corner next to a spare ream of copy paper. Down goes the backpack and out comes a spiral bound notebook and a pink pen that looks to be decorated in rainbows and is that glitter? You sit stiffly in the chair and fold back the cover of the notebook, then lay the writing utensil on top of it. After an awkward pause you clear your throat, swiping at one of the stray damp hairs trailing across your cheek. The silence lengthens. Steve’s chair creaks as he leans forward. “Where did you study?”

“University of Utah.”

“You from that area?” You nod. “First time away from home?” Another nod. He suppresses the urge to sigh. Great. He was going to have to deal with you being homesick at some point, too. Salt Lake City was at the opposite end of Utah. A good four hour drive north, minimum. “What made you end up here?”

“I went online to see other social workers in the state. You have a great reputation. A lot of awards.” You nod in the direction of the framed papers on the walls. “So I thought: why not learn from the best?”

Raglan grunts. The praise means nothing to him. The job doesn’t either, if he’s being perfectly honest. It’s his former profession that’s his true passion. This is just…well, it’s just something to do for the time being, a reliable source of income with the added bonus of sometimes providing ideal recruits for work relating to said former profession. So yes, he’s good at it. But it doesn’t mean he likes it. “You might as well put that away. It’s not a lecture hall. You’re not going to be taking notes. You’re just here to observe. Pay attention to verbal cues. Learn the vernacular. Become accustomed to interacting with people.”

Your cheeks flush. You close the notebook and tuck it inside your backpack but leave the pen out, your fingers fussing anxiously with the rainbow and yes, that is indeed glitter encrusting the clip on the cap. He notices you staring at the things on his desk: the white rabbit’s foot keychain on the ring of keys set next to his eyeglass case; the powder coated rabbit shaped wire frame for sorting mail; the coffee stained coaster with the logo for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza sitting on the desk blotter, a yellow bear and yellow rabbit standing side by side waving jovially, mouths stretched in toothy grins. “You like rabbits, huh?”

Another dismissive sound escapes the experienced career counselor. He’s not about to explain his fondness, that stubborn nostalgia, to someone like you. Silence descends on the pair once more, heavy and uncomfortable. The burden of conversation seems to have fallen upon his shoulders. “Do you drink coffee?”

You shake your head. “I try to avoid caffeine.”

The bearded man pushes back from the desk, walking over to the small coffee bar lining the wall beneath the solitary window in his office. He leaves the room long enough to fill the pot from the sink in the break room across the hall. Once he returns he fills the reservoir and presses the filter into place, then spoons out coffee grounds, the measurement imprecise, eyeballed from years and years of practice. Finally he flips the orange switch at the base of the machine and his gaze wanders to the window. His office faces the rear of the building. There’s a small pond out back. Trees. Benches. Even a little bit of grass, kind of a rarity in this traditionally arid, desert-like climate. Overall a nice place to have lunch when the weather is good. Not today, obviously. The surface of the pond ripples as each drop of rain strikes it. Everything looks very green. The coffee machine begins to chortle, coughing up angry sounding hisses and spits. Dark liquid emerges in a steady hot trickle. He fills a mug and settles back behind the desk, then takes a sip. Your attention seems to be focused on the awards covering the walls, or perhaps the framed district map nearby. The older man sighs and glances at the clock. It’s five past eight. Another twenty five minutes to go before his first appointment.

It’s going to be a long day.

***

The morning passes relatively uneventfully.

None of the first few clients are particularly problematic. It becomes an automatic reflex to introduce you, the same spiel given each time. You are a new employee, there to observe. Then Steve simply ignores you, pretending you aren’t there and conducting the discussion as he normally would. Mid morning he announces it’s time for a break. You remain sitting. He stands and stretches. He’s six foot four and being seated doesn’t do his body any favors. The crack of the synovial fluid being pushed between the spaces of his joints is loud. The joys of aging, he thinks bitterly. His eyes flick to your seated form. “Get up. Go somewhere.” The sharp tone clearly indicates this is not a suggestion. You jerk to your feet, stepping out into the hallway, and he sighs with relief. Alone at last. He makes his way back to the coffee pot, a little huff of disappointment escaping when he realizes he’s already nearly emptied it. Usually it lasts longer than this. It’s that new employee, setting his nerves on edge a bit, he decides. Perhaps he should wait on brewing another batch.

The voice of the orientee behind him interrupts his thoughts. “I…I don’t really know my way around. I don’t know where to go.”

Steve sets the glass pot back onto the burner and thumbs off the machine. So much for a respite. Now he’s to be a tour guide, too. He knows he’s being a little unfair. Unreasonable. Of course you can’t be expected to know the layout. The routine. It’s only your first day. But it doesn’t rankle any less. So inconvenient. Bothersome. Another sigh rushes from his lips. He doesn’t think he’s ever heaved so many regretful sounds in one day before. “Follow me.” He brushes past you without waiting to see if you’re trailing behind, beginning to point things out. “Restroom, copy room, break room. Emergency exit. The rest of the offices are down this hallway. Another restroom.” He turns and almost stumbles into you. You’re like a shadow, close and clingy. He really doesn’t care for it. “Personal space is something that people tend to respect in this profession.” Another flush. You take a step back. “Further.” Another. “A little more.” Still another. “Better.” You pass the break room again and he gestures towards it. “Why don’t you go spend some time there. Introduce yourself. Think of it as practicing your social skills. Come back in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t have a watch,” you murmur.

He clucks his tongue. “You need to get one, then. Time is important. Yours. The clients’. You can hardly expect to keep appointments without it. There’s a clock on the wall in there.” The career counselor escapes back to his office. Honestly. They are really testing his patience with this one. He jerks the coffee pot free, his earlier resolve to wait shattering beneath his exasperation. He’s definitely going to need more caffeine to get through the rest of his shift.

***

The real trouble begins in the afternoon.

Steve can smell the alcohol long before the man ever finds his way into the seat across from his desk. His body automatically leans back, away from the applicant, the folder containing the man’s resume and background information clutched in his hands. He does his best to remain professional, keeping his expression neutral while focusing right on the heart of the matter: four terminated positions in as many weeks.

“‘S’not my fault. If my bitch wife hadn’t left—”

“—I’d prefer you not use that language, sir.” Steve interrupts firmly. “And your ex’s affairs are her own. We’re here to discuss you. Your employers state that you’ve been coming into work late, if at all. Poor attendance. Multiple complaints of being rude to customers. The most recent one says that you actually assaulted someone.”

“That’s a fu— a lie,” he corrects.

“Be that as it may. You’re going to need to complete a drug test and enter a rehabilitation program before you’ll even be considered for another position.”

“I don’t have a drinking problem,” he mutters. “You don’t even know me. Just because a few people lied…”

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m simply stating the facts. Our goals are the same. We want to see you employed successfully.”

The drunken man’s eyes shift to you, lingering a little too long on places that clearly aren’t your face. Steve wheels forward again, positioning himself a little in front of his companion as if to shield you from the client’s unsavory gaze.

“I can recommend an excellent local program.” Raglan pulls a drawer open and sets a pamphlet on the desk. “Give them a call. That’s the first step towards getting you back to work and getting your life back in order.”

The applicant makes no move to pick up the offering. “I’m not going.”

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“You’re supposed to be getting me a job.”

“You are supposed to be getting yourself a job. I can’t assist you in this current condition.”

“What about her? Maybe she can help me.” Another leer in your direction. You begin to stammer a response.

Steve rises to his feet and the words die in your throat. His fingers are curled tightly against his palms as he glares over the edge of his glasses. “I think you had better leave.”

“Or what?” The job hopeful lurches to his feet and you gasp. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Security will escort you out. Or I will. I really don’t think you want me to be the one to do it.” His voice is cold as he lifts the phone, waiting to see what choice will be made. The client hesitates, the bravado swiftly evaporating. Something terrifying lights the career counselor’s eyes. It’s not an idle threat.

His shoulders slump in defeat. “I’ll leave.”

Steve dials an extension. “Yes. Can you make sure the gentleman leaving my office makes it outside? And he’s not to return. Yes. Thank you.” He drops the phone back down and glances at you. Your eyes are wide, and he can see you shaking. “You alright?” You swallow and nod. “Not every aspect of this job is going to be pleasant. It’s just as well you get a lesson in that now. The key is to maintain control and de-escalate the situation.”

He settles back into his seat, smoothing his tie before shutting the folder and placing the pamphlet back in the drawer.

“What would you have done? If you went outside with him, I mean.”

Raglan flashes a grin that looks anything but friendly. “Don’t worry about it.”

You remain quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

***

The shift finally, mercifully draws to a close.

Steve unhooks the umbrella from the coat rack tucked in the corner, shaking it to dislodge any dust that might have accumulated. It’s unusual for Hurricane to have wet weather, especially prolonged dampness like this. The accessory doesn’t typically see much use, left there for rare occasions such as this one.

You, of course, haven’t brought one. You haven’t even brought a proper jacket, unless you count that ill fitting blazer as protection from the elements. He’s going to have to be a gentleman and walk beside you, shielding you from the inclement weeping of the heavens. Forced to be positioned closer to you than he’d like. The physical contact makes him uncomfortable. He’s used to keeping himself distant. It’s been years since he’s experienced any intimacy. And yet here you are, the imposing dictates of social politeness demanding his body brush against yours, walking you to your car which is quite far from his own. “You need to get here before seven if you want a decent parking spot.” The rain patters on the purple fabric tented above. You nod absently, digging in your backpack for your car keys. “Don’t you have a purse or something?”

“I do, I just didn’t bring it, I thought…”

“Bring it. You don’t need that bag. You’re not in school anymore. It’s not some clunky thing, is it?”

“I mean, it’s a mini backpack.” He glowers disapprovingly. “They’re in fashion right now,” you protest.

“You should have a wallet and car keys. That’s all you need.”

“What if it’s that time of the month?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Fine. Just…bring whatever you have tomorrow.”

“Found them!” You withdraw your key ring, giving it a little shake. The disapproving stare hasn’t wavered. “Thanks for putting up with me today.” Your voice is quiet, barely audible in the downpour.

“It’s my job.” He shrugs, swapping the hand holding the umbrella.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waits until you’ve unlocked the car before stepping aside, keeping you covered for as long as possible. He doesn’t know why he’s making such an effort. Just the polite thing to do, he supposes. The interior of your car is alarmingly pink and bedazzled. Pink material lines the cup holders and covers the steering wheel and the seats. Little jeweled cat faces are clipped to the air vents and one larger specimen dangles from the rearview mirror. You notice him staring. “It’s Hello Kitty.”

”I’m aware.” His daughter had gone through that phase, though at a much younger age. He scowls but says nothing.

”Some people like bunnies. I like cats,” you offer a bit smugly.

You did kind of have a point. “It’s fine,” he says grudgingly. As if you needed his permission to like something. Of course you don’t. And he hardly needs to defend his own attachments. “To each their own. Until tomorrow.” He begins making the trek back across the parking lot to his own vehicle, a dark vintage sedan. He struggles to close the umbrella before settling behind the wheel of the Ford Fairmont. His Aviators are foggy and smeared with moisture. He lets the engine run for a few minutes, waiting for the windshield to clear while trying to find a dry surface to clear his lenses with.

A car horn startles him. He glances in the rearview mirror and recognizes your automobile behind his. You emerge hurriedly from the car and dive back into the deluge, that ridiculous book bag clutched above your head as an insufficient impromptu umbrella to shield you from the torrent. He groans, rapidly cranking his window down. No power controls here; everything was manual. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I forgot which way I’m going when I get out of here. My mind is totally drawing a blank. My apartment’s downtown, off of Main Street…”

Steve sighs. You really are testing the limits of his patience.

[j0kb0x]

Since guts and blackpowder gives us free range for the characters here’s some personal headcanons for their personalities and lives given you can only psychoanalyze them so much. This is as realistic as I can make it based off surface level psychoanalysis + untrue garbage I made up.

Barry:

Despite his short temper (Typical brit) Williams is socially inept and shy. Like super timid. That dumb little softboy persona he has going on there shouldn’t be an indicator that he isn’t dangerous. Dude literally got trained as an infantry solider. He doesn’t want to hurt people, in fact, he avoids it when he can. The war is needless to him and he doesn’t understand why they’d draft someone like him — a lowly stableboy who’s quite known in his village for treating his horses and farm animals like his babies. His overly affectionate and polite personality (which came directly from his overbearing mother) has landed him a lot of bullying by his peers. Aforementioned hesitation to the enemy, but to zombies? He’s under the belief they’re from satan himself like the rest of the world. Afraid of them, but feels a spiritual duty to slay God’s enemies.

Jean:

He’s overly paranoid of Napoleon failing, and holds those french revolutionary beliefs. He wants Napoleon to win, so badly. He really doesn’t want his children living in a world with a stupid monarchy eating better than they do. Jean has no comprehension that maybe Napoleon isn’t the best fit for a country’s leader, in fact he’ll yell at you if you suggest otherwise. His wife died during childbirth and this, coupled with war has hardened him. He has never laid a single hand on his children because his father was deeply abusive, and of course this resulted in a pretty pessimistic, sad, depressed mess of a man. Constantly wanting better and yet fearing the worst. He’s a tough love kind of fatherly friend. Eat your damn rations or you will die. Speaking of which he literally wants to die :D

Jacob:

If this were modern day he’d be legally blind. His clumsiness isn’t the result of stupidity. The direct opposite in fact. He overthinks his job way too much and couple that with his dogshit eyesight, it’s no wonder he has a track record of being the napoleonic war’s personal south park Kenny. If ever a cartoon were made, I could l definitely see him in the background nailing in stakes incorrectly and getting confused as to why it wasn’t as affective as the other sapper’s. He has two sisters back at home and they hate him. They’re pro-monarchy, he isn’t. He raised and took care of these awful pieces of shit. Who were independent thinking teenagers by the time their parents died of sickness. So he couldn’t really influence them even if he tried. He has largely remained non(?) un(?) courted and unmarried his entire life. Hes a huge wine mom induced by stress and if you ever asked him why he never took a wife, he’d start spontaneously crying probably. Sad drunk. Cannot show emotions unless he’s drunk.

Karl / Unnamed Officer:

Selective mutism, ambition.. Way too much ambition. He wants to take down Napoleon himself and even fully believes he’s capable of doing so. Wants to cheat his way above the ranks somehow. He hides this and refuses to reveal his intentions to virtually anyone. Trying to get as close to the general as possible. Not because he agrees with the monarchy thing, but he just wants the fame and glory that comes along with executing him. The other men have horrible tempers but him? Holy. shit. He does not usually act upon his anger but as a wise man once said, “Silence speaks louder than words.” He silently judges those he’s angry at. Could imagine him getting teased, gripping a damn teacup so hard that it shatters in his hand and causes the entire room to go quiet. His whole regiment is batshit TERRIFIED of him. He refuses to betray his life story, let alone if he has any family. Nobody knows crap about him and that furthers the fear. Karl literally popped out of nowhere and his adorable babyface and gentle voice has won him the hearts of women wishing to be his wives… Whom he rudely pushed away in disgust. Has anyone seen that one scene in pootie tang where a woman is simping after him, and so he slips her a bowl of milk like a fucking clingy cat? Yeah I feel Karl would pull something like that.

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[archangeldyke-all]

that amab ceo!Vika ask got me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

can i request a fic about reader jokingly requesting a nut video with sound & Sevika actually ends up sending it, whining & dirty talking in the background? 😣

hehehehehehehehhehehehehehehehehehe

men and minors dni

sevika's at home today. you were supposed to have the day off with her, but you got a call this morning from seamus begging you to come in and fix the copier. it's acting up. again.

she spent the morning trying to get you to stay in bed with her, but you went in anyways, knowing that if you didn't handle the problem now, by the time you get back on monday the copier would be on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

you're sitting on the floor of the printing/copying room, surrounded by parts of the machine and the giant manual that came with it, trying to find the source of the error. you've been here for hours. you've got a half eaten sandwich beside you for lunch. you're cursing yourself for not taking sevika up on her offer to stay in bed all day.

your phone pings with her ringtone and you smile. speak of the devil...

'hows it going' sevika's text reads. you sigh and tap out a quick response.

'horrible.' you reply.

'poor baby' sevika rapidly responds. you smile.

'wish i was home with u.'

'anything i can do to make it better?' sevika asks. you grin and bite your lip.

'nut video with sound?' you text, adding on a few prayer hands emojis. sevika doesn't reply, which only makes you laugh more. sevika's shit at sexting, and she knows you know this. each time you tease her with a sexy text, she replies with a middle finger emoji or a phone call, knowing that her virtual dirty talk would only make you laugh more than it would make you horny.

you return to your project, scouring the guidebook for an answer, halfheartedly picking at your sandwich. you get up to stretch and do a loop around the floor, take a quick bathroom break, and chat with riley. when you return, you're surprised to see a response from sevika.

when you unlock your phone, you nearly pass out.

sevika did it. she actually did it. granted, you haven't pressed play on the video yet, but from the thumbnail (sevika's hand wrapped around her rock hard cock, a little drip of pre escaping the tip) you can pretty safely assume that sevika's actually taken your prompt to heart.

you gulp.

then you scramble to your feet, running out of the copier room to sevika's office, slamming and locking the door behind you before pulling down the curtains. for a second, you just stand there, staring at the tantalizing video on your phone, and then you jump into action, sprawling out on her couch and shoving your hand down your pants as you click play.

'you're lucky you're cute, y'know. this shit is ridiculous.' sevika narrates to the camera as she gently jerks her cock. eight inches long and not even fully hard yet-- not because she's not aroused, but because it takes a cock that big so fucking long to fill up with blood-- her cock's standing proud in her hand as she steadily, slowly jerks it.

you bite your lip.

sevika's foreskin is bunching up tantalizingly around her head, before being pulled back down around her shaft as her hand moves. she knows how obsessed you are with the flap of skin, obsessed with how sensitive it is. 'you're such a pervert.' sevika's breathy voice scolds, like she's reading your mind.

you gulp as your fingers start tracing circles around your clit, matching the slow pace of sevika's hand.

the small drip of precum on her head starts growing, before it slowly, slowly drips down her shaft until it's swiped up by sevika's grip. her pace is increasing, her breaths coming out shaky from behind the camera. 'shoulda just stayed home, this coulda been your hand. fuck, or your mouth. or your cunt, shit.' sevika curses as she imagines you. 'fuck, i wish you were here, baby.' she whispers. 'fuckin' miss you.'

your cunt clenches around nothing, and you bite your lip to muffle a moan as you dip your fingers down to tease your hole.

sevika's pace is quick now, her cock is throbbing in her grip. for a moment, she lets go, gives you a full, unobstructed view of her girthy, twitching dick. then, you can hear her spit in her hand, and when her fingers wrap around her cock again, it grows wet and shiny.

she's close. you are too.

sevika's breaths are quick and shaky, she lets out little grunts and curses each time she swipes her thumb over the head of her cock. 'look how fuckin' messy 'y make me, honey.' sevika grunts. 'look how wet i am for you.' she moans. 'you drive me insane. can't believe you left me all alone this morning. i had plans y'know-- fuck-- plans to fuck you all day long.'

your cunt flutters around your fingers, and muffled wet sounds start filling sevika's office with each thrust of your fingers.

''m gonna split you in half when you get home. gonna fuck you so hard you can't walk-- then you won't be able to leave me. just keep you on the fuckin' bed, all fucked out, all your holes drippin' in cum and gaping-- beggin' for me-- shit!' sevika groans. her balls are tightening beneath her hand, her cock leaking more and more pre. 'fuck, you're not even here and you're drivin' me crazy. 'm so fuckin' close.'

"fuck, please." you whisper to your phone as you watch your girlfriend approach her orgasm.

'miss you so much baby. wish you were here, wish y' could lick up my cum.' she moans as she finally cums, coating her knuckles in rope after rope of her thick white cum.

you cum at the sight of it, your back arching off the couch and a high pitched whine escaping your lips. you don't take your eyes off of your phone, watching as sevika drains her balls and makes a mess of herself.

for a few moments, you can hear sevika's huffing breaths as she recovers from her orgasm. her thigh twitches, and her cock begins to grow flaccid, and she sighs, satisfied and sleepy. she pulls her hand away from her cock, giving you a good show of the cum coating her fingers, before flipping the camera around and winking at you. then, the camera cuts to black.

you flop on you back, panting as you stare at the ceiling. fuck. you think. i'm going home, fuck this. sevika can buy a new copier on monday.

before you get up to leave, you pull your fingers out of your pants and open your camera app to selfie mode. you take a quick video, showing off the strings of cum that glisten and cling to your fingers, before sinking them into your mouth and licking them clean. you moan at the camera, popping your fingers out of your mouth then smirking. "be home soon, honey." you say with a wink.

you send the video off then rise to your shaky legs, grabbing your bag and heading to the exit. when you get to your car, your phone pings again.

'cant wait ;)' sevika says.

you grin.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

[mariacallous]

On Tuesday, June 10, Alina Habba, the interim US attorney for New Jersey, indicted sitting Democratic Rep. LaMonica McIver. The Newark Democrat is charged with two felony counts and one misdemeanor for assaulting, resisting, and impeding a federal officer in the performance of his official duties.

Habba has zero prosecutorial background and came to the job after her spectacular performance as Donald Trump’s personal lawyer, where she got him half a billion dollars in civil fraud penalties in New York, $83 million in damages in the E. Jean Carroll assault and defamation cases, and a million dollars in sanctions for filing a RICO trollsuit against Hillary Clinton, James Comey, the Perkins Coie law farm, and half the Democrats in DC. (Spoiler alert: It’s never RICO.)

...

But Habba wasn’t hired for her legal chops — she was hired to advance political agendas. So even as she’s facing a civil suit for malicious prosecution and defamation by Baraka, she filed a criminal complaint against Rep. McIver, and then followed it up with an actual indictment.

The charges are thin, to say the least. Footage shows McIver, in the red jacket, attempting to shield the mayor with her body. She is jostled in the crowd and swipes at an agent who grabs her. No body slam was recorded.

It’s often said that a grand jury will indict a ham sandwich. The joke here is that the standard for an indictment is so low and the scales so tilted toward the prosecution at the grand jury stage, that an indictment is virtually guaranteed. The target is not entitled to be present or to introduce competing evidence. A grand jury need only find that there is probable cause to believe that the crime occurred, and need not be unanimous. And an indictment can be secured if a mere 12 jurors out of 16-23 assembled vote in favor of it.

Convincing a jury of 12 Garden State citizens, most likely the congresswoman’s own constituents, that she assaulted an ICE officer and made him fear for his safety beyond a reasonable doubt, is another matter. Rep. McIver will also have a powerful defense in the Speech or Debate Clause, which protects members of Congress from prosecution when they are carrying out official business.

And of course none of this can be separated from the intensifying chaos around us, as ICE thugs rampage in the streets, the Trump administration dispatches soldiers to arrest civilians, and Republicans target Democratic politicians.

Just yesterday, California US Sen. Alex Padilla was tackled to the ground after interrupting DHS Secretary Kristi Noem as she promised to “liberate the city” of Los Angeles from its elected leaders.

[chaoticace2005]

Random short of Alastor’s shadow being done with his shit and becoming friends with our favorite losers. ( @xxqueenofdragonsxx @downthegenderriver )

Shadowstor was tired.

So tired.

Contrary to popular belief shadows COULD get tired. And Shadowstor was aware of that early on.

Okay… to be fair most shadows probably can’t get tired. Because most shadows can’t feel.

But Shadowstor was an exception. Because the very reason for it’s exhaustion is the same reason it can think to begin with.

Alastor.

Not the Radio Demon. Because Alastor himself isn’t the Radio Demon, no. Shadowstor helped with that. Helped more than it gets credit for (which is virtually none because of how Alastor likes to posture himself.)

And that’s fine, really. Shadowstor is a shadow for fucks sake. It isn’t made for being directly in the spotlight. Alastor is and Shadowstor fades into the background, being obscured with the focus on it’s counterpart.

The thing that does get Shadowstor exhausted though is the fact that Alastor has the tendency of being an impulsive idiot.

Now, don’t get Shadowstor wrong, Alastor is definitely a large part of why the Radio Demon has a reputation as an unhinged, powerful, scary individual. Shadowstor helped with the powers though, but really it thinks its greatest contribution was the fact that this means the Radio Demon now has some semblance of impulse control.

Alastor may not listen to anyone. But it’s usually kind of hard not to hear out a literal manifestation and source of your powers.

Usually. Because Alastor will still start a fight with pretty much anyone. He’ll go on the air and mock Vox for his crush. He’ll say ducks are an overrated animal right in front of Lucifer. He’ll 1v1 the literally first man. He’ll call Susan’s blouse tacky.

And all Shadowstor can usually do is sit back and watch. Because it’s bound to help Alastor. Bound to be part of the Radio Demon. But that doesn’t stop it from being exhausted every single time Al does start something.

One thing though about being tied to Alastor is you get to know others who are tied to Alastor. Others who are equally exhausted by Alastor.

Husk.

The Bar Cat was one being Shadowstor could relate to on a deep level. Because Shadowstor has to put up with the ineptness of Alastor. But Husk has to put up with the ineptness of Alastor and everyone else.

It’s because of this when Alastor is sleeping (which, despite Angel Dust’s verbal doubts on the matter does happen, Alastor isn’t an all powerful being, despite how much he pretends to be,) Shadowstor sometimes will go out, going downstairs to the bar that is usually only occupied by the Cat-Demon waiting from his not-boyfriend to come home.

(Sexual and romantic feelings are so weird. Relationships are so weird and Shadowstor is glad it doesn’t have to deal with that.)

After a particularly tiring day of Alastor trying to break into the Vees tower and destroy Vox’s body pillow of him, Shadowstor was exhausted. It had pretty much given up on trying where Vox was involved, because Alastor seemed to get particular joy out of taunting the TV, but it still felt like it had to try. At this point it was a matter of principle. It had fought with Alastor on this for years and it was not stopping to just let him win.

“Oh, my dear, you worry too much.” He said to Shadowstor before merging with it into the shadows and traveling across the city.

Fifteen minutes later Shadowstor had to rush them out if there because Vox had installed a shark filled moat around his office. Which Shadowstor had seen but Alastor walked right into. Because apparently “radio demon” powers extend to wresting sharks in the water (it does NOT.)

So now Alastor was asleep after pretending he had totally-not-been chewed up by some demon-sharks. And Shadowstor went downstairs to the bar.

“You too, huh?” Husk said to it, seeming to notice right when the shadow crossed with threshold. Working with the Radio Demon for years would get a person skilled at picking up changes in shadows quickly.

Shadowstor just nodded and slumped against the wall, putting its hands to its head.

The winged cat nodded in agreement, “I’ll drink to that.” He said as he took a half-full whiskey bottle and chugged it.

Shadowstor wished it could drink.

“What was it this time? Lucifer’s ducks again?”

The shadow shook its head and flat, vertically-aligned hand on top of it, making the sign for “shark.”

“Oh. Vox. Do I even want to know?”

Shadowstor shook its head again because no, Husk really didn’t. It doesn’t even want to start to think about the Alastor-Body-Pillow. Or the Alastor shrine. Or the Alastor fanfiction it found (which Vox should be lucky that Alastor didn’t find that because otherwise there’d be another broken TV screen in this hotel.)

Right then a beaten up pink spider burst through the hotel doors, going right to a stool in the bar and crashing onto it.

“Tough night?” Husk asked, already handing his not-boyfriend a drink that had been prepared even before Shadowstor arrived.

“You know it. Fuckin’ Val.”

Husk made a sound to show he was listening.

“Apparently Vox was pissed today. So that meant Val was pissed today.”

Oh… oops?

Okay, to be fair, if Vox is pissed at Alastor that isn’t really Shadowstor’s fault. It tried to stop him.

The shadow made a face palm again at its counterpart’s need to harass every single person he came into contact with.

“Wha- Smiles?”

Alastor’s here?! Wait… no he isn’t. Cause Shadowstor is here. And Shadowstor would know if Al woke up.

Oh… the spider demon is staring right at it.

Shadowstor shook its head, a bit annoyed at the idea of being confused with that impulsive buffoon.

“Huh? Husk, what—“

“That’s Alastor’s shadow.”

Shadowstor waved.

“Alastor’s what?”

“Shadow? You know? The thing that goes around with him. Helps with his powers. I’m sure he’s manifested it in front of you before.”

“Oh… yeah. So it’s just… here? Where’s Al?”

Shadowstor made the sign for sleeping.

“Sleeping.” Husk translated.

“What? How?!”

“His shadow can leave when Alastor isn’t conscious or controlling it.”

“No. I mean how did you get that from that?!” Angel says as he motions back over to Shadowstor which… rude.

“I know sign language.”

“You know WHAT?!”

“Sign language.”

“Jesus Whiskers, how many languages do you know?”

“Well there’s Russian, Spanish—“

“Wait. No. Back to the point. Alastor’s shadow just comes down here sometimes and talk to you?”

“…yeah?”

“About what?”

Shadowstor just makes one sign with as much as exhaustion as it can.

“Alastor.”

“Al— wait,” Angel laughs, “even Smiles’ shadow has a problem with him?!”

Shadowstor starts signing to explain the exact issue it faces with Alastor, Husk working to translate while Angel just nods in response.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe a fucking shadow has some oftha same shitty boss troubles as me.”

Shadowstor gives a shake and growl at that. Because Alastor isn’t it’s boss. It can see Husk about to translate before Angel cuts in.

“Oh… not your boss.”

Shadowstor nods.

“…so you’re like… you’re own person?”

Shadowstor shrugs because who knows. It wasn’t sentient before Alastor but it sure as hell is now.

“… you got a name?”

And Shadowstor pauses because no. It’s just Alastor’s shadow. For as long as it’s been around it’s never had a name. Alastor never deemed that necessary.

“Husk? Does it?” Angel asks when Shadowstor won’t answer which- hey it’s still right here. It can talk for itself. Or respond anyways.

“I don’t… think so?”

Angel turns back to Shadowstor.

“Do ya want one? Like… if you’re separate from Alastor shouldn’t you have a name that isn’t just ‘his shadow.’”

The shadow thinks for a second before slowly nodding, intrigued by this novel idea.

“What about… Tom?”

Tom?

“Tom?” Husk asks.

“Fuck. Fine, what about… Dusk? Cause y’a know shadows and darkness and stuff…”

Dusk… Dusk… it likes that.

Dusk nods and it can see the spider demon smile.

“Sweet. Nice ta meetya Duskie- oh wait. Duskie… Husky! Aw ya rhyme!”

Dusk can see Husk roll his eyes, and that just makes it even more comfortable in its decision.

—Later—

“So, you’re only able to really move around at night? When Al is asleep?”

Dusk nods.

“…Husk, what do you think Lucifer and Vox would say about moving our ‘Fuck Alastor’ meetings to nighttime?”

Oh. Oh Dusk likes this one.

[chilling-seavey]

I feel like something that goes for TWIG is you and George dating and have not told anyone besides your families and someone from the grid unexpectedly comes over, like Alex or Charles, and they see feminine products around the apartment. Like your shoes, handbag, and/or maybe your bra (for some spice) and gets really curious.

(Anon, the way you concept here relates to the way I portrayed their early days relationship in the Winter Warmers blurb I wrote last night is a little scary...are we the same person?? But I love this SO MUCH (I actually wrote this as soon as it came in while actively in the office) thank you for submitting!)

Basically, yes, the overarching concept of wanting to be 100% private with the relationship to keep it out of the limelight and unwelcome social pressures of the Formula 1 world is so TWIG. George is a little nervous to have your relationship be so publicized and scrutinized because he doesn't want that to come between you...he's seen his friends' relationships crumble because of that and it terrifies him, honestly. But it feels normal without anyone knowing except yourselves and your close families...like he's a normal person in a normal relationship.

You'd come to some races that first year but with a regular paddock pass/'sponsored' by Mercedes, coming in on your own and away from him so as to not be associated together by the press, feeling like a whole secret spy and honestly it's kind of thrilling. Even most if not all of the team doesn't know: hardly even seeing you and George in the same room in Mercedes hospitality...you're never in the garage...you're honestly impressively good at flying under the radar.

Yeah, out of everyone it drives George a little crazy that he hasn't told Alex yet but he selfishly just wants to stay in this safe bubble of normal for a little longer. Even if that means virtually lying to his best friend.

You and George didn't live in the same city so for the first while of your relationship you were bouncing back and forth between each other's apartments (and halfway around the world on some race weekends...). It was not long at all really before there was a steady stock of your things at George's just to make traveling easier for you; face wash and shampoo and conditioner and some standard makeup and maybe an outfit or two. Honestly it came to a point where your things just felt so natural to him that they just blend into the background of his apartment like they were just meant to be there.

So when Alex showed up one random weekday, George almost didn't bat an eye. Almost. Until Alex was kicking off his shoes in the foyer and eyeing the second pair of sneakers by the door.

"Your feet shrink or something, George?"

The fib was out of George's mouth before he could think, "They're my sister's. She left them here."

With Alex pacified, George kept him in the living room, busying him with snacks and conversation like he wasn't silently freaking out that his lie would come out.

When Alex excused himself to the bathroom, George panic texted you from the couch. His knee bounced annoyingly with him stuck staring at your laughing emojis you replied with to his lengthy nervous ramble. Not helpful.

"Since when do you stock up on feminine hygiene products?" Alex asked the moment he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hands together like he was still washing them.

"I, uh...carry them in case anyone that needs them comes over. Like Lily." George stumbled out a mention of Alex's long-term girlfriend who, in reality, did come over sometimes. He then immediately deflected with a quick, "Since when do you go snooping under my sink?"

"I needed hand lotion and I know you have the good, expensive stuff that smells like a forest." Alex flexed his fingers out as he flopped back down on the couch, his skin shimmering just a bit in the sunlight through the living room window. But Alex was a little too trusting of his best friend and so he didn't feel too bothered by George's response. He was a nice enough guy, maybe he did keep stock for Lily or his sister or someone.

Third time was the charm when they had decided to watch a movie and George got up to make some popcorn. Alex got himself comfortable on the couch, rearranging the cushions and finding that sweet spot in the upholstery. But the sudden laugh that came from the living room had George stopping in the kitchen.

"George!" Alex called in that pitchy voice he got when he was far too excited and teasing him.

George appeared in the doorway to the living room to find Alex waving one of your bras around in the air. The look on his face must have been priceless because Alex nearly cackled, "You keeping a bra around for Lily when she stays over too or is this also your sister's?"

George took three quick strides over and snatched it from him, "It's not my fucking sister's."

"If you have a girlfriend, you can just tell me." Alex said, slightly calmer now but still housing that shit-eating grin on his face. "I don't know why you'd not tell me."

George sighed, feeling a little ridiculous standing there with your bra in his hand in front of his best friend who was set on getting the truth out of him. He shrugged, relenting, "We just...wanted to keep it out of the spotlight for a bit."

"I'm not the spotlight." Alex reminded him.

"Yeah, but you have a big mouth, Alex." George laughed lightly, teasingly, before fading out with a shake of his head, trying to explain, "It was nice just feeling normal. I know once the whole grid knows or the team it'll, like, start to blend...these two halves of my life...and I know how that can end up."

"You can't be scared of that, George." Alex said gently, "Not everyone crashes and burns. Lily and I are fine."

"Lily also is in a public career of her own so she knows how it goes." George replied softly, tentatively.

"This girl of yours isn't?"

George shook his head.

"Not a model? Social media? Athlete?"

George shook his head after each one.

Alex's eyebrows raised, "Don't tell me she's normal."

"Remember the girl who checked you into that hotel back in May?"

"That really narrows it down, George, thank you."

George huffed, "The one you were on me for staring at for far too long."

"Her? Oh my God, you actually got her to agree to go out with you?! But you're so boring!"

"Alex—"

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[hoakaikapo]

HAUNTED - Clarisse La Rue x Unclaimed! Fem! Reader

Part 2 of ATTRACTION.

summary: it’s halloween night, and your infamous rival with Clarisse is suddenly about to change…

warnings: mention of alcohol, implied meanings (?), use of pet name (in a joking way), swearing, HEAVY MAKEOUT SESSION. MEN & MINORS DNI PLEASE.

a/n: i can feel the heat radiating off of my laptop because of this one. like, I AM MELTINGGGGG. sorry if this is rushed, i’ll most likely edit this in the morning once i’ve had a chai 🤍

———————

LOUD MUSIC blares from the speakers as you try to make your way to the dance floor, weaving in and out between the numerous dancing bodies as you try to keep your friend in sight, bumping into some of them and muttering inaudible apologies as you sneak by. It was no use. After apologizing to what seemed to be the millionth person, you noticed your friend already dancing up against some tall Hephaestus kid. You couldn’t blame her, however, he was tall and handsome and very muscular from what you could see in the dim lighting. You curse yourself for agreeing to ever going to this party in the first place, knowing that you would most likely be alone for the rest of the night now.

Despite the heat on the dance floor, you couldn’t help but feel cold and naked. Well, you were sort-of naked, wearing a slutty bunny costume which your friend had convinced you to after saying that going as a police officer was too boring and common. You figured she was right, there were about fifty other girls wearing police officer costumes, and they looked far better in it in your opinion. Now alone in a party where you knew virtually no one, you decided to slip back out and head back to your cabin.

Someone spills a drink all over your front, causing you to mutter obscenities that not even the gods could ever think of. Your black bodysuit now reeked of sweat and alcohol. You groan, glaring sourly at the Scooby Doo costume in front of you. How perfect, you thought, being all alone and now someone spills their drink on you. You were about to give them a piece of your mind before you figured that blowing up on someone who’s probably too drunk to even think right now in the middle of a party wasn’t such a good idea. Frustratingly, you quickly look for an exit, only to find yourself face-to-face with yet another person.

Ghostface, you thought, now that’s something original.

“Out of my way,” you shouted, trying to push past the tall figure. Your attempt failed when you felt their muscular arm pull you back in front of them, their hooded eyes gazing into yours before pulling off their mask.

“Going somewhere, bunny?” Clarisse says as she reveals herself. Her usual stupid yet brilliant grin plastered on her face as she eyed you up and down, as if tearing you apart in your choice of costume. You couldn’t tell if she was judging you or if it was something else. But, that didn’t matter. This was still Clarisse La Rue, your natural nemesis, and the one thing standing between you from going back to the cabins and sleeping for the rest of the night. Clarisse read the look on your face and jokingly pouted her lips. “Aw, leaving so soon, bunny?”

You roll your eyes at your new nickname. “Move along, La Rue. I don’t want to have to deal with you.”

“But, bunny, the party just started,” Clarisse’s voice was low and raspy. You hate to admit it, but it was attractive to you, really attractive, and your nickname didn’t sound too bad when she said it this time.

However, your pride and ego took over your lustful thoughts, causing you to react negatively to that name. “Don’t call me that.”

Despite the music blaring in the background, the silence between the two of you was tense. You were taken aback to the time in the locker room a few weeks ago, feeling as if you two were recreating the scene: the intense stares, the hot tension waiting to be broken, obviously the costumes you both were wearing. There’s another thing you’d hate to admit: it’s that Clarisse looked surprisingly fit and attractive in a serial killer’s costume, adding a knife to it only created more of an affect towards you. However, the party scene wasn’t your style, Clarisse simply wasn’t your type (what a liar), and you weren’t the kind of girl who got with someone because of the tension between the two of you. No matter what, you would stand your ground against your temptations. Anything else with Clarisse besides mutual hatred would be like dancing with the devil – a tango that you weren’t too keen on taking even if it is Halloween night.

The prolonged staring soon became boring for Clarisse to continue after some time. She pulled the mask over her face in one motion, which surprised you slightly considering her curls. Patting you slightly on your shoulder, she gestured towards the doorway, as if she was allowing you to finally leave. Underneath the mask, you caught the slightest hint of her grin again, causing you to scowl at her. To Clarisse, this was a game, a game in which you were going to lose if you walked through that door. The thought of leaving was soon replaced with the urge to stay, not wanting to back down in front of Clarisse. Again, she caught the look on your face and dropped her hand back to her side. She stood to her full height, leaning in close enough to where you could feel her breath on your face.

“I knew you wouldn’t back down from this so easily, bunny,” she whispers into your ear. The seductiveness of her tone was enough to send chills throughout your spine. If there weren’t a hundred other kids in the cabin and you were a few more shots in, then you would’ve pounced on the girl.

Time went on, the music got slower and a few campers had already left. You were ready to leave with your friend until that Hephaestus boy came back and insisted that he walk her back to her cabin. You were hesitant at first, wondering if the boy had something else in mind before your friend pleaded to you to let her go. You gave in, and now you were walking back along the dark and wooded pathway alone. The only light came from the full moon peeking in through the treetops. You took a shortcut behind the armory when you noticed a familiar Ghostface slip into it. Your curiosity got the best of you and you went to investigate.

You were met with disappointment when you noticed that it was only Clarisse putting the knife back into its original place, as if she had never stolen it in the first place. Quietly, you began to retreat before you were once again met face-to-face with the Ares girl, mask clutched in hand.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you quickly defend yourself.

Clarisse tuts, smiling in an almost devilish sort of way. “Really? Because it looks like you were spying on me.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas in that little twisted head of yours, La Rue,” you retorted and folded your arms across your chest. Clarisse leaned in the doorway, her hand hanging loosely enough above your head to play with the fake bunny ears you borrowed from your friend. The light in the armory was dim enough to make out all the small features on Clarisse’s face, the ones that you had never really cared to notice about until now. The sudden change in energy between the two of you felt less intense than before, almost peaceful in a way. You considered that downright near impossible because Clarisse was far beyond ‘peaceful’ in any sort of way.

“You know, I think you look really great tonight,” she whispers as if she was telling you some forbidden secret. You were glad that it was dark outside so that she couldn’t see the sudden rush of red rise to your cheeks. You bit your lip anxiously before removing Clarisse’s fingers off of your bunny ears.

The feeling inside you was different this time. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest as Clarisse eyed you up and down again, licking her lips slowly as if she was enticing you. You could feel yourself almost melt into her touch as she began interlocking your fingers with hers. You could feel your brain trying to fight against your heart, reminding you that Clarisse was the exact opposite of what you could possibly want. But, your heart figured you could turn her into something you need.

Why did you dislike the Ares girl so much in the first place? You began picking at your memories with Clarisse to figure out how the dispute between you two even started. But, the harder you tried to remember, the more you began to forget. Your visions of your first days at camp were quickly replaced with the dark, tall, muscular Ares girl in front of you. You both said nothing, yet the way your eyes hungrily danced between her eyes and her lips said everything to her.

Anything with Clarisse beyond mutual hatred was like dancing with the devil – you could confirm that now that your lips were on hers. You muted the curses in your head as you wrapped your arms around her neck, bringing the Ares girl closer to you. Her arms found her way down to your hips, placing a firm grip on them. The thought of kissing Clarisse had never crossed your mind, ever, yet it surprised you. You had always taken Clarisse as the type where she would like to get things done fast, but right now, Clarisse was slow with it. She was slow with moving her lips against yours, she was slow with guiding her tongue against your bottom lip as if she was slightly begging for entrance, she was slow with pulling you in tighter, even though the space between you two was already minimal enough.

You wanted to complain when Clarisse pulled away first. You noticed the worried look in her eyes after realizing what she had done. You shook your head, glancing around quickly before pushing her into the shed, swiftly closing the door behind you.

“Don’t get that fucking look with me, Clarisse,” you muttered before crashing your lips onto hers again. She grunted at first, taken aback by your sudden boldness, but soon, your passion was met with hers. It was like fire on fire, and you both were now too far gone to even argue what was happening between the two of you.

Now this was what you were expecting from Clarisse. Her arms found her way back around your waist, picking you up and placing you on the wooden table in the shed. You smiled against her teeth as you wrapped her arms around her neck once again, pulling her in closer. She straddled between your legs, silently cursing at the table for being in the way. She wanted to get closer to you, wanted to feel you, wanted to devour this moment up and relive it every time she thought of you, which would now be more often because of this. Against yours, her tongue licked the bottom of your mouth and you finally let her in. You moaned slightly at the hot contact, trying your best to keep your composure. Clarisse’s hands moved from your waist and down to your thighs, repeatedly grazing it in an up and downwards motion. It sent shivers down your spine, earning Clarisse yet another groan from you.

“I told you I’d get you back next time,” she murmured breathlessly against your lips. You wanted to roll your eyes at her for the snarky comment, but the amount of pleasure and satisfaction rushing through your body was too much for you to even think properly.

However, you thought this was a pretty sweet way for her to get back at you: making out in a shed on Halloween night.

Clarisse pulled her lips off yours. You were about to protest before suddenly feeling her lips against your neck, accidentally allowing yourself to let out an almost unholy moan. You covered your mouth suddenly, surprised that you could ever let out such an explicit expression. Clarisse smirked against your hot skin as you did so.

“Shut up, Clarisse,” you snapped at her.

“I think the one who needs shutting up here is you, sweetheart,” she said before concentrating back on leaving dark hickeys along your neckline. In a costume like yours, it would be near impossible to cover up. You could care less right now. You would figure out the logistics later between you and Clarisse’s sudden change in relationship.

You wanted more. Clarisse knew it. But, before anything else could happen, the voices of the other campers were close by. You jumped slightly, pushing Clarisse off of you. She glared at you unhappily before too realizing that the campers were returning, and that if anyone else entered the shed, they would soon be met with the sight of Camp Half-Blood’s infamous rival making out in the middle of the night. So, silently, you slipped out first, followed by Clarisse. She half masked her face and gazed in satisfaction at the artwork on your neck. Created by her, of course. Suddenly, the expression on her face changed. In fact, her entire demeanor changed in a single instant. Clarisse’s hands were hot against your face as she grazed your cheek softly, smiling at you in an almost loving sort of way. As if you both just didn’t have the hottest makeout session of your entire lives. You gave into it, reciprocating that smile as she leaned in to kiss your forehead. No words were said between you two as she ran off back towards her cabin before anyone else could see what happened.

You danced with the devil tonight. You were well aware of that. But, you’ve settled with being a sinner if making out with Clarisse is your absolution.