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dawnwriterimagines · 6 months ago

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Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

---

Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.

Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.

With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.

"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."

Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.

"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.

Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"

---

"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."

"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."

"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED

ENDING ONE

#call of duty x reader #cod angst #traitors among us series #simon riley angst x reader #ghost angst #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley angst #traitors among us #call of duty angst #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #rewrite

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brunchable · 8 months ago

Text

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆.

《 Chapter 5: Your Crying Shoulder. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: When everything falling apart, you found yourself in the arms of the person you least expected. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). I can't help but place a TikTok meme in here somewhere lmao. Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Family Dynamics

Key Findings

1. Family Structure

Y/N Y/LN: CEO of The Emporium NYC, handling New York operations, public relations, and key corporate responsibilities.

Jonathan [Half-Brother]: Oversees Miami branch expansions and operational strategies. Professional but distant relationship with Y/N, characterized by mutual respect and a clear division of responsibilities.

2. Operational Observations

Financial Irregularities: Offshore accounts linked to Emporium subsidiaries display significant fund transfers with unclear purposes. Investigating their potential connection to Hydra-related activities is a priority.

Board Affiliations: Certain board members are linked to political figures and tech firms specializing in advanced security technologies. Their involvement requires further investigation for possible ties to Hydra.

Employee Turnover: Leadership restructuring followed Y/N’s promotion. Several former executives now hold external consulting roles, potentially redirecting focus from Emporium’s internal operations.

3. Personal Relationships

Rhys: Y/N’s boyfriend and the son of a global luxury hotel mogul. While not directly involved in Emporium operations, his influential family ties and potential connections to Y/N's network merit attention.

4. Behavioral Insights

Y/N demonstrates dedication to her role but shows signs of frustration with corporate pressures. She appears unaware of financial irregularities within the organization, suggesting compartmentalization of information.

No evidence connects Y/N directly to suspicious activities. Monitoring her relationship with Rhys could provide additional context, as his background and resources may intersect with Emporium’s broader dealings.

Recommendations

1. Background Checks: Investigate board members, financial consultants, and Rhys’s family business for any links to Emporium's offshore holdings and potential Hydra connections.

2. Monitor Relationships: Subtly observe Y/N’s interactions with Rhys and board members for indirect insights.

3. Enhanced Financial Scrutiny: Deepen analysis of offshore accounts to establish potential links between Emporium funds and Hydra-backed projects.

End of Report

× × × ×

Figaro pranced confidently into Bucky’s apartment, his tail held high, a familiar item clamped between his teeth. Alpine looked up from her spot on the windowsill, tilting her head as she watched him strut across the room.

“Alpine,” Figaro greeted, setting down the item—a soft, worn scarf that unmistakably carried your scent.

Alpine sniffed at the scarf, then looked at Figaro, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Your human let you out with… that?”

Figaro settled down next to her, casually licking a paw.

“Oh, she doesn’t know I took it,” he replied with a lazy flick of his tail. “But I thought you might appreciate a little reminder of her.” He gave her a knowing look, lowering his voice. “She was patching up your human’s busted lip the other night, by the way.”

Alpine’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Did she now? And did you happen to notice the way he was looking at her?” she asked, her whiskers twitching.

“Oh, I noticed. He was all ‘I’m tough, but not too tough for you,’” Figaro said, imitating a dramatic swoon, then rolled his eyes with exaggerated flair. “Honestly, he’s got it bad. She was fussing over him, and he was eating it up like a kitten with a saucer of cream.”

Alpine purred thoughtfully. “Well, it’s about time. But he won’t admit that to himself.”

“Yeah, well, the issue,” Figaro continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “is that there’s another guy in her life. Rhys.” He spat out the name with as much disdain as a cat could muster. “Total bore. Calls her ‘baby’ like it’s some kind of magic spell. And he smells like cheap cologne. Honestly, his existence is an insult to felines everywhere.”

Alpine’s ears perked up. “So he’s competition?”

Figaro scoffed.

“Please. He’s like the knockoff toy they keep at the bottom of the discount bin. My human doesn’t even smile around him anymore; she just tolerates him. But every time your guy shows up, she lights up like it’s Christmas morning.” He stretched, his claws extending as if to make his point. “I’m telling you, we’ve got to get rid of him. For the sake of all that is right in the world.”

Alpine let out a thoughtful meow, eyeing the scarf Figaro had brought. “You know, if we could just keep nudging them together, maybe they’ll take the hint. They’re not too bright, but they’ve got chemistry.”

“Exactly!” Figaro said, his eyes gleaming. “Our owners are hopeless without us. This is a mission, Alpine. A noble mission. A mission to save her from that pathetic excuse for a partner.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “And frankly, if I have to listen to him call her ‘baby’ one more time, I might cough up a hairball on his shoes.”

Alpine let out a low chuckle, nudging Figaro with her paw. “Well then, Mr. Matchmaker. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” Figaro said, eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. “Plenty of ideas. After all, I’m doing the world a favor.”

× × × ×

There was cold silence since that tense encounter with Rhys, and though you’d pushed it to the back of your mind, his apology text had come through late tonight, begging you to talk. You decided, almost against your better judgment, to go. Maybe it was a habit, maybe just closure. But as you reached the hotel and made your way up to his office, a cold, uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

The hall was dimly lit as you approached, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Then, as you neared the frosted glass door of Rhys’ office, you stopped in your tracks. Two silhouettes were visible through the blurred glass, close, intimate. You watched as Rhys pressed a woman—with a golden hair clip—against the glass, their forms locked together in a kiss that left little to the imagination.

Your throat tightened, a dull ache building in your chest as the weight of the betrayal hit you. To be honest, I felt like I already knew it, you thought, the silent admission somehow worse than the scene unfolding in front of you. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. You tried to swallow down the emotions swirling within you—anger, sadness, and that unmistakable pang of disappointment. Being cheated on hurt, even when you’d mentally checked out of the relationship. It chipped away at something deeper, a quiet part of your self-worth you hadn’t realized still cared.

Water rimmed your eyes, but you blinked it back, refusing to let him take that from you too. You inhaled deeply, straightened your shoulders, and turned away from the office door, leaving as quietly as you’d arrived.

× × × × Fews days after

Bucky squinted, utterly baffled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he muttered. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling absurdly judged by a cat.

Alpine huffed, letting out a short, dismissive meow, clearly unimpressed with whatever answer she’d decided on. She trotted off toward her food bowl, pausing just once to throw him a final, critical look before bending to eat.

“Alright, sure, just go back to ignoring me,” Bucky grumbled, watching her. But as he leaned against the counter, glancing down at the faint trace of your scent still on his sleeve, he couldn’t help feeling like Alpine had silently decided something about him that she wasn’t going to share anytime soon.

Bucky watched Alpine chowing down on her food, her tail flicking in satisfaction as she devoured each bite with gusto. He allowed himself a moment of peace, but then came the unmistakable sound of someone struggling with his lock.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, his mind flashing back to the night you’d drunkenly tried breaking into his apartment, mistaking it for yours. Swinging the door open, he was prepared for a repeat performance, only to be met with Sam, frozen in mid-action, his hand clutching a spare key. Behind him stood Steve, holding two large bags of takeout, and Nat, arms crossed with a smirk.

“Uh… hey, Buck,” Sam greeted, attempting a casual tone while quickly tucking the key behind his back like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Why are you trying to break into my place?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Steve and Nat for backup.

“We’re, uh… your backup! Sent by Fury.” He flashed a grin that looked anything but innocent.

“Backup?” Bucky repeated, deadpan, as the three of them filed in with the casualness of seasoned intruders. “Fury said it was a simple assignment. Barely a mission.”

Steve rolled his eyes, giving Bucky a pitying look as he passed by to set down the bags on the table. “You really believed that? Seriously?”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get a word in, Nat had already made her way over to Alpine, who blinked up at her with the smug satisfaction of a cat who’d been expecting her. Nat scratched Alpine’s ears as Alpine purred, looking even more at ease than Bucky had ever seen her.

Just as Nat leaned down to pet Alpine, her gaze flicked up, catching sight of Bucky’s busted lip. She raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Nice lip, Buck. Trouble on the way to the door?”

Bucky’s hand instinctively went up to his mouth. “Oh, that? I… tripped over Alpine.”

Steve’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as he tried to keep a straight face.

“You tripped… over Alpine?” He looked down at the serene, not-at-all-menacing cat sitting contentedly by Nat’s side, then back up at Bucky, clearly struggling to hold back a laugh.

Bucky crossed his arms, his expression turning defensive. “It’s possible, alright? She’s tiny but lethal.”

Sam let out a snort. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure the Winter Soldier can handle a battalion of Hydra agents but gets taken out by a house cat.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” Bucky just rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as Sam already raiding the fridge like he owned it.

“Oh no, please, make yourselves at home. I’ll just find somewhere else to live, shall I?” Bucky’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he watched the scene unfold.

“Buck, you have got to keep better beer in here. This stuff is practically water.” He settled on a bottle anyway, taking a long swig before glancing back at Bucky. “We’re just here to help, man. Think of us as… extended housemates.”

Bucky crossed his arms tighter, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Extended housemates?” He gestured at the room. “You act like you already live here!”

Steve, entirely unbothered, started setting out the food, carefully placing burgers on plates and arranging napkins. “We thought you might need a little company. I mean, it’s a Friday night, after all.”

“I’m perfectly fine alone, thanks,” Bucky replied, his gaze narrowing as he watched Sam polish off half a beer in one go. “How about you go keep each other company?”

Steve chuckled, handing a plate to Nat. “You said the same thing last time we showed up. Yet, here we are. Again.”

Nat, now comfortably settled on the couch with Alpine, flashed him a wicked grin. “Let’s not be dramatic, Bucky. Just think of us as… spontaneous visitors.”

“Visitors don’t usually come with their own keys,” Bucky grumbled, his gaze settling on Sam, who was busy rifling through his cabinets for snacks. “And they certainly don’t bring takeout to make themselves at home.”

Sam shrugged, unfazed. “You think of it as invading your privacy; I think of it as improving the vibe around here.”

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear, one of these days, I’m changing the locks.”

“Good luck with that. We’ll just get new keys.” Nat smirked, scratching Alpine’s head as if she were orchestrating a coup.

Bucky glared, but Steve was already setting a plate piled with ribs and a burger in front of him. “Eat up, Buck. Before Sam devours everything like the human garbage disposal he is.”

Sam waved his beer bottle, looking completely unbothered. “Hey, I resent that. This is strategic eating. Besides, with your ‘barely-a-mission,’ we need all the fuel we can get.”

“I’m starting to think Fury set me up.” Bucky rubbed his forehead, exasperated but clearly losing the battle.

Steve just grinned, popping open his own beer. “I’m sure Fury thought you’d appreciate the backup.”

“Or at least tolerate it,” Sam added, grabbing a handful of fries and popping them into his mouth.

With a resigned sigh, Bucky sank into a chair, shaking his head. “You guys are impossible.”

“Impossible is our specialty,” Sam shot back, raising his beer in a mock toast. “To back up, and to Buck finally admitting he likes having us around.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Bucky snorted.

Alpine purred louder, clearly pleased with the lively atmosphere, while Nat smirked at Bucky. “See? Even Alpine agrees. You’re just a grump with a soft spot for us, admit it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. But next time, bring your own key.”

“Oh, we will,” Steve assured him with a smirk. “And maybe a couch, a pillow or two.”

Sam, now munching contentedly on fries, raised his beer again. “To crashing Bucky’s place—where every night is a mission, and the food’s free.”

Bucky took a reluctant bite of his burger, trying to ignore how comfortable his “guests” had made themselves. Just as he was starting to think the worst was over, Steve casually leaned over to Sam, as if sharing a quiet plan.

“We’ll grab the rest of our stuff from the car when Buck’s asleep,” Steve said, completely deadpan.

Bucky nearly choked on his burger, staring at Steve like he’d lost his mind. “The rest of your stuff? What are you talking about?”

Sam, without missing a beat, grinned. “Perfect. Nat can take the bedroom, and the three of us can crash in the living room. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Nat raised her eyebrows, feigning delight. “I called dibs on the bed, anyway. I always knew Buck had the fluffiest pillows.”

“Hold on, hold on! This isn’t some youth hostel! You all have your own places!” Bucky’s face twisted in horror as he looked around the room.

“Yeah, but none of our places have a view of you panicking about your personal space.” Steve looked unbothered, casually unwrapping another burger.

Bucky glared.

“I’m not panicking! I just—” He waved a hand in utter frustration. “This is my place! You can’t just... commandeer my bed!”

“Don’t worry, Buck. We’ll all be snug as bugs on the floor, reliving those good ol’ days in the barracks.” Sam leaned back, looking way too comfortable for someone who’d apparently just broken in.

“Except Nat,” Steve corrected, “who will be enjoying Buck’s luxurious mattress.”

Bucky looked to Alpine, almost pleading. “You see what I deal with? Even the cat respects my space more than you three!”

Alpine simply blinked, looking rather indifferent to her owner’s plight as she happily settled on Nat’s lap.

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Sam said, reaching over to ruffle Bucky’s hair. “We’ll make it fun! Popcorn, ghost stories, some embarrassing truths about Fury… just like old times.”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve added, grinning. “Think of it as team bonding.”

Bucky threw his hands up. “This isn’t bonding! This is trespassing! And I don’t want to hear any ghost stories or truths about Fury. I want my bed, my couch, and my fridge not raided!”

Nat sighed, patting Alpine who purred louder. “Look, Buck. Clearly, Alpine’s on board. You’re outvoted.”

“Traitor.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking at Alpine in betrayal.

Steve chuckled, leaning back with a smug grin. “Face it, Buck. Tonight’s already decided.”

Bucky let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath. “Next time, I’m leaving the country.”

× × × ×

You strode into the dimly lit restaurant, greeted by a chorus of cheers and mock applause as Serena, Mei, and Jane raised their glasses, voices rising in unison. "Woooo, here comes the CEO!"

You shook your head, laughing as you took your seat, subtly glancing around the table. Your gaze caught on one unfamiliar face, though it took a split second longer for the memory to click into place. Carly. She was Rhys' new assistant, a realization that caused your brow to lift just slightly. You’d thought she looked familiar from somewhere else, but with her new polished appearance and newfound confidence, it was hard to tell right away.

Chloe, ever the instigator, nudged Carly forward with a smile that held a hint of challenge.

“Ladies, meet Carly. You might remember her, Y/N. She used to work at The Emporium,” she said, her words smooth but her gaze pointed.

You kept your expression cool, a practiced smile settling on your lips. “Ah, that explains why she looks familiar.” You gave Carly a nod, and she responded with a forced smile, her eyes holding something less friendly beneath the surface.

The evening moved along, filled with laughter and a few rounds of drinks. Serena, Mei, and Jane offered congratulations, and Sarah, as always, played the role of your unwavering cheerleader, throwing a few enthusiastic compliments your way. But as the night flowed, it was Mei who leaned in, her voice dipping into a sympathetic tone.

“So, I heard Rhys de Armande cheated on you.”

You blinked, not expecting the topic to surface so bluntly. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, though a subtle flicker crossed your face.

“You forced a light laugh, though your jaw tightened beneath it. “Oh, it was probably because I told him to take his bare minimum and keep it out of my sight. Pretty sure he wanted to vanish into thin air after that, especially since his entire office got to witness it.”

Jane, Mei, and Serena burst into laughter, clearly picturing the scene as you animatedly relayed the story.

“Oh my gosh, that’s incredible,” Serena giggled, shaking her head. “He absolutely deserved every bit of that.”

You let out a faint laugh, flipping your hair back and letting it settle over your shoulder as you raised an eyebrow. “Ugh, I’m too busy with work to be hurt by this kind of stuff,” you replied, feigning a casual air as you took a sip of your drink, though the words had a hard edge underneath.

“Do you know who the woman was?” Serena leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

Chloe’s lips curled into a faint smirk.

“I mean, with Rhys’ type, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s someone… eager to climb the ladder, if you know what I mean,” Mei said.

Sarah’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth, ready to retort, but you discreetly squeezed her hand under the table, keeping your expression smooth. You didn’t need her stepping in right now.

“You should’ve grabbed her hair!” Jane piped up, half-laughing, her fist in the air as if she were ready to throw a punch herself, “I respect the way you’re so laid back, because honestly I would’ve gone apeshit.”

“Oh, forget it. He’s the one who cheated. I couldn’t care less about her,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “She’s probably no different from him—anyways! Enough about him!”

As the words left your mouth, Carly’s face visibly tightened, her forced smile slipping as she pushed back her chair, muttering under her breath as she walked off toward the restroom. Her eyes flickered with a glare that lingered on you as she departed, barely concealing the frustration bubbling beneath her cool facade.

Serena raised her eyebrows, catching the shift in mood. “What’s with her? She was glaring at you the whole time.”

“Oh, who knows,” Sarah murmured, watching Carly’s retreating figure with a slight smirk, her hand still entwined in yours beneath the table, a sign of solidarity.

Chloe glanced after Carly, a subtle, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Probably just adjusting to her new… surroundings.”

You glanced down at your phone, barely containing the irritation rising within you as you took in the image on the screen: Rhys and Carly, cozy on a beach, his arms wrapped around her as if he hadn’t been apologizing to you just days earlier. It was from an unknown number, but there was no doubt in your mind who had sent it.

With a measured breath, you slipped the phone back into your bag and stood, offering your friends a polite excuse before following the path Carly had taken. You found her just outside the restrooms, leaning casually against the wall with a smug smile, almost as if she’d been waiting.

“Why did you send me that?” You stopped in front of her, gaze steady.

She didn’t bother hiding her grin, crossing her arms as she looked you over. “Because I wanted you to know.”

“Know what?” You raised an eyebrow. “That Rhys cheated on me?”

“No,” she replied with a sickeningly sweet smile, crossing her arms tighter. “That I seduced your boyfriend. You seemed completely fine with it.”

A scoff escaped you as you let out a dry laugh, crossing your own arms.

“Did you expect me to crumble just because I was cheated on?” You tilted your head, studying her. “Alright, let’s say you two ‘fell in love.’ Then you should be apologizing to me—”

Her smile faltered as she cut you off, her voice raising a fraction. “I felt guilty at first. But then you acted like it wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t curious about me, didn’t even acknowledge what I did. So my self-esteem? It just kept plummeting.”

You looked at her, incredulous, and chuckled coldly. “Wow—seriously? You’re such a loser—You’re blaming me for your self-esteem issues?”

Her lips pursed in irritation. “Why shouldn’t I? Why do you think I can’t do what you do? I can seduce your man and be just as successful—be just like you. But you never gave me the chance. Not only that, you took my opportunity at The Emporium away from me.”

“Ah,” you murmured, amusement in your voice. “So this is about me firing you?”

Her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t deserve to be in that position. You act so high and mighty, like nothing can shake you. You have it all, don’t you? The job, the influence, the respect. But guess what? I can take what’s yours. I already did, didn’t I?”

You laughed, unbothered, shaking your head slowly.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You stepped closer, gaze locked on hers. “If you couldn’t handle the job, that’s on you. Throwing this little tantrum only proves I was right about you. As for Rhys…” You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You can keep him. My ex cheating doesn’t affect my work—but you? You do. So maybe I’ll have a word with his parents and see how your career fairs then.”

You turned to leave, but her voice came out sharp, dripping with venom. “You can’t pretend you’re not bitter about it. That’s why you’re here, right? To confront me?”

Pausing, you glanced over your shoulder, an icy smile on your lips. “Ever step on something nasty on the sidewalk? Hmm I don’t know like shit? It’s a pain, but you don’t let it ruin your day. You wipe it off and move on. That’s what you and Rhys are to me—Shit—something I’ll be glad to scrape off my shoe.”

Without another glance, you strode back to the table, your head held high. Your friends glanced up as you approached, a few eyebrows raised.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked, eyeing you with mild concern.

You forced a polite smile, nodding as you picked up your bag. “Actually, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. I should get going.”

With a few quick goodbyes, you left, satisfaction settling over you as you stepped out, knowing you’d left Carly exactly where she belonged—behind you.

× × × ×

“Sarah! Open the noor! I know you're in there, Sarah! Open the noor!” Your drunken voice slurred through the quiet hallway, louder with every knock.

Inside, Bucky froze, instantly recognizing your voice. His eyes widened, and he shot a panicked look at the mountain of files scattered across his coffee table—the very files on you and The Emporium that he’d been piecing through with Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Everyone! Gather the files, now!” he hissed, immediately jumping to action.

“What? Why? Relax, man, we’re not under attack or anything.” Sam raised an eyebrow, lounging on the couch with a half-eaten sandwich.

Bucky shot him a glare, practically yanking the files out from under Sam’s plate. “One of our ‘subjects’ is outside the door, Sam! Now MOVE!”

“Wait, you mean her?” Steve asked, eyes widening as the banging on the door got louder.

“Yes!” Bucky hissed, shoving an armful of files into Steve’s hands. “Now stop talking and start hiding!”

Nat rolled her eyes, stacking papers hastily. “Isn’t this a little dramatic? She’s probably just lost.”

“She’s not ‘lost,’ she’s drunk!” Bucky snapped. “And I’d rather not explain why I’m reviewing her life story with three nosy intruders!”

“Oh, we’re the intruders now?” Steve muttered as he clutched a bundle of files to his chest. “Could’ve sworn we were here for your mission!”

The banging grew even louder.

“Sarah! Don’t you ignore me, woman!” Your voice was muffled but determined, sounding like you were one step away from kicking the door down.

“Go, go, go! Get in there!” Bucky herded them like sheep, arms waving wildly as he tried to push them toward the bedroom.

“Ow, Bucky, stop shoving!” Sam complained, elbowing Bucky back as he tripped over a rogue sneaker. “Seriously, why are you acting like we’re about to be raided?”

“Because she’ll see this mess and ask questions!” Bucky shot back, pushing him forward again. “Just get in and be quiet!”

Nat stumbled as Bucky prodded her toward the door, muttering, “Why are you so panicked? Did you do something wrong, Buck?”

“Would you all just move?!” Bucky whispered furiously, practically bulldozing them all through his bedroom door. “I’ll explain later. Just don’t make a sound!”

Steve stumbled, catching himself with a loud “Ow!” as Bucky finally got all three of them behind the door. He shut it firmly and leaned against it with a sigh, only to hear a loud “Shh!” from Nat, Sam, and Steve bickering in hushed whispers.

“Move your elbow!”

“Steve, that’s my foot—ow!”

“Could you three not sound like an entire stampede?”

Outside, your voice grew louder, slurring but stubborn as ever. “Saarah! Come on, I brought sushiiii!”

Bucky took a breath and opened the door, his expression calm yet barely holding it together. There you stood, wobbling slightly, hair slightly mussed, and an unmistakable grin on your face when you saw him.

“Oh! Sarah, you changed! You look so much taller… and more... Bucky-like.”

“Uh, hi,” he said as he steadied you. “I think you might have the wrong door, trash panda.”

You blinked, frowning, and swayed a little closer. “Wrong door? But I brought sushi! And, wait—” You squinted at him, leaning in. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” he confirmed, holding back a chuckle as you gave him a suspiciously scrutinizing look.

“Ohhh…” you drawled, clearly trying to process it all. “Well, if you see Sarah, tell her the sushi is... sushi-ing.”

He nodded, keeping his tone light, even though his friends were probably eavesdropping as best they could.

“Will do. And, uh… maybe we should get you home?”

“Good idea. But you keep this. Looks like you could use some fish.” You nodded, albeit unsteadily, handing him a stray piece of sushi.

You gave Bucky a wobbly smile, one that looked a little too determined for someone in your state. Before Bucky could stop you, you swayed forward, making a beeline past him and into his apartment.

“Wait, Y/N—this isn’t… Sarah’s place!” he said, barely catching up as you staggered into his kitchen.

“Close enough,” you slurred with a grin, swaying dramatically from side to side as you reached for the fridge handle. Alpine, sensing a new friend in distress, trotted over, rubbing against your legs with enthusiastic little chirps.

“Oh! Hey, kitty!” you cooed, reaching down to pet her, then looking up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes. “Sarah’s cat never welcomes me like this. See? She gets me.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, half-amused, half-panicked. “Right. Because Alpine just loves guests raiding the kitchen.”

You opened the fridge door, inspecting the shelves as if on a mission.

“Where’s the… the ice cream?” you muttered, voice muffled by the refrigerator door. “Sarah always has chocolate fudge swirl, and I need it.”

“Seriously, you’re in the wrong apartment,” Bucky tried, sounding both exasperated and entertained as he reached out, but you sidestepped, one hand still on the fridge door, the other now waving vaguely in the air.

“Shhh, Bucky,” you chided, squinting as you leaned in further, peering deeper into the fridge with a sense of deep concentration. Alpine padded around you, her tail curling around your ankle, clearly thrilled to have you there.

“Listen, Bucky,” you slurred, not even glancing up, “all I want… is chocolate ice cream and maybe… maybe a good laugh. Do you have tissues? I feel like I’ll need them, like, a lot of them.”

Bucky couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He tried his best to guide you away from the fridge gently, but you shot him a mildly annoyed look, shoving a stray pack of carrots aside as if they were personally offensive.

“Don’t you dare hide the good stuff behind the veggies,” you said, mock-scolding him as Alpine hopped onto the counter, watching the scene with wide, curious eyes, tail twitching.

“Really, Alpine?” Bucky muttered at his cat, who was clearly rooting for you and even pawed at Bucky’s hand as if to say, Let her have the ice cream!

“I knew you’d understand me, Alpine,” you cooed at the cat, as if she were your personal support group. “See, Bucky? Even she gets it. She knows.”

Bucky sighed, half-heartedly resigned. “You know what, fine. If Alpine says so, who am I to argue?”

Finally, you pulled out a random tub—yogurt, not ice cream—and peered at it in disappointment.

“Greek yogurt? Bucky, are you… are you okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, perfectly fine, thanks.”

You blinked at him, still clutching the tub. “Well, clearly, you’re living a sad existence if this is all you’ve got.”

“Or I’m just not prepared for unexpected trash pandas who raid my fridge,” he replied, crossing his arms, trying not to burst out laughing as you clung to Alpine for support, who purred loudly, delighted with the chaos.

“Fine, then!” you declared dramatically, patting Alpine’s head. “Alpine and I will fend for ourselves.” You turned on your heel (or tried to, at least), your balance giving out just slightly as you wobbled with an exaggerated sway. Alpine gave an encouraging “mrrp!” as if saying, Yes! Go forth!

Bucky finally took pity on you, grabbing a pint of actual ice cream from the freezer, waving it like a peace offering. “This? Will this make you happy, your highness?”

You lit up, the joy on your face as radiant as if he’d handed you a crown. “Now that’s more like it!” you cheered, taking the tub, your steps still swaying as you made your way to his couch.

Bucky followed you over, shaking his head as you sat down, giving Alpine a spot next to you. He sat down nearby, stifling a chuckle as you dug into the ice cream.

“So… just gonna crash here tonight, then?” he asked, leaning back with a smirk.

You waved the spoon dismissively, barely even looking up. “Obviously. And you, Bucky Barnes, need to get more ice cream. Greek yogurt’s just… depressing.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Noted.”

You tore into the box of tissues, your frustration boiling over as you whipped open the plastic bag for trash with the precision of someone handling a life-or-death task. In one hand, you wielded the spoon like a weapon, in the other, a tissue you’d already shredded halfway. Bucky sat a few feet away, wide-eyed, clearly out of his depth. Alpine perched on the coffee table instead, her tail swishing in judgment, shooting Bucky a look that all but screamed, Fix this.

“You good there?” Bucky asked cautiously, his voice hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he should move closer or start looking for an escape route.

You let out a short, sharp laugh—bitter, too loud for the small space. “Good? Oh yeah, I’m great! I mean, how could I not be? My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with his assistant, who, surprise, also happens to be the same girl I fired for being utterly incompetent.”

Bucky, sitting stiffly on the couch, could only blink as you laughed. Not a gentle laugh, but one that bordered on hysteria, punctuated by short, sharp breaths. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from something funny; it was the kind that cracked through the tension when words couldn’t quite hold the weight of everything you were feeling.

“Oh, my God!” you exclaimed, raising your spoon as if to make a toast. “It’s just perfect, isn’t it? Fired her for being terrible at customer service, and what does she do? Rebounds as my boyfriend’s personal assistant. Like, how poetic is that?” You gestured with the tissue, accidentally flinging it onto the coffee table, but you didn’t stop.

“And then—get this—she blames me for her low self-esteem! Like, excuse me for not sending her a gift basket after she slept with my boyfriend. I mean—” You let out a bark of laughter, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t make this stuff up!”

“And then tonight?” You gestured wildly with your spoon. “Tonight, I had to sit there, all smiles, pretending like everything was fine, because God forbid I let anyone think I’m not. And Carly—oh, Carly—had the audacity to act like she’s the victim. She felt bad about it! Isn’t that just hilarious?” You scooped another bite of ice cream, your laughter spilling out, sharp and brittle, filling the air like broken glass.

Bucky sat frozen, his jaw slightly ajar, his heart twisting as he watched you spiral. You leaned forward, still laughing, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet apartment. You looked absurd, sitting there with a tub of ice cream and tissues in hand, trying to force humor into something that was clearly tearing you apart.

“Y/N,” Bucky said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t seem to hear him, your laugh rising in pitch as you tilted your head back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s hilarious, really. Just the perfect little tragedy. I kind of saw it coming, you know? Rhys was always—”

“Y/N.” Bucky’s voice was firmer this time, cutting through the haze of your spiraling thoughts like a blade.

He moved off the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his steady blue eyes locking onto yours. The laughter caught in your throat as you met his gaze. There was no judgment in his expression, no pity—just an unwavering presence that felt like a lifeline. His gaze softened, like he was offering you something you weren’t sure how to accept.

“Just cry,” he said, his voice calm but resolute.

Your lips parted as if to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. The lump in your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought you could hold it together. But the way he was looking at you—like you were the only person in the world—broke down every defense you’d spent the evening building.

“Don’t force yourself to laugh,” he added gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay to cry.”

Your smile wavered, trembling at the edges before fading completely. You looked away, the dam bursting as tears spilled over, hot and relentless. A shaky breath escaped you, and your hands fumbled with the tissue box, but they were trembling too much to hold anything.

Bucky let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the closed bedroom door. He rarely, if ever, allowed anyone to see this side of him. Vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to sharing—especially not with his friends only a room away. But for you? He didn’t hesitate.

“Ah, screw it,” he muttered under his breath.

Alpine let out a soft “mrrp” of approval, watching as Bucky leaned forward, wrapping a careful arm around your smaller frame. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting you bury your face against his chest. His touch was gentle but grounding, the steady rhythm of his breathing anchoring you as you finally let yourself break.

He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back. The weight of your head against his chest grounded him as much as he hoped it comforted you.

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, watched with what could only be described as smug satisfaction, her tail flicking contentedly.

Bucky’s awkwardness melted away bit by bit as he felt your breathing begin to even out against him. He let out a soft sigh, glancing down at you. Alpine’s watchful gaze was fixed on him, as if daring him to get this right. Bucky cleared his throat, searching for the right words, feeling more vulnerable than he’d admit.

“You know… you’re stronger than you think,” he said, his thumb grazing your shoulder without him realizing. “You take on so much, and you do it with so much grace. Even when you don’t have to.”

Your breath caught, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, his blue eyes soft but unwavering.

“I know you don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how incredible you are. But, just… let someone see it, will you? Because you… you deserve that. And I mean every damn word.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you felt a rare sense of peace, your heart light in a way it hadn’t felt in so long. Bucky looked at you, his expression softening further as he took in the sight of your smile, his own heart skipping a beat.

Just as the warmth of Bucky’s words started to sink in, your phone erupted with an insistent buzz, breaking the peaceful moment. You glanced down to see Rhys’ name flashing on the screen. You groaned, but before you could even react, Bucky had snatched the phone from your hand, holding it up as it vibrated relentlessly.

On the fourth ring, Bucky pressed "answer," bringing the phone to his ear with a calm confidence that sent a thrill through you, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm.

“Rhys right? You know, she’s a little busy right now…” he greeted, the single word laced with a tension that could cut glass. “Here’s the deal: you’re gonna stop calling her. Got that?”

You watched, wide-eyed, as Bucky ended the call without waiting for a response and promptly shut off the phone. He set it down with an air of finality, his gaze meeting yours. Before you could form a coherent thought, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, making you both jump slightly.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there.” The voice outside was unmistakable—Rhys.

Your stomach churned as Bucky’s eyes flicked to the door, his jaw tightening.

“What the hell?” he muttered, standing up, his posture instantly tense.

“Bucky…” you started, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a look.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by Rhys’ impatient voice. “Come on, Y/N, open the door! Let’s talk.”

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, let out an annoyed hiss, her tail flicking sharply as if she shared Bucky’s distaste for the situation. Bucky moved toward the door with deliberate steps, glancing briefly at the bedroom where Sam, Steve, and Nat were undoubtedly eavesdropping.

“Stay here,” Bucky instructed, his voice low and commanding. You watched as he reached for the door, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

The door creaked open, revealing Rhys standing in the dim hallway, his expression a mix of desperation and annoyance.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice was dangerously quiet, but the threat beneath it was clear.

Rhys crossed his arms, his gaze darting past Bucky into the apartment. “I’m here to talk to Y/N. This is between me and her, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, I mind,” Bucky shot back, stepping further into the doorway, blocking your view. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t speak for her,” Rhys snapped, his voice rising. “Y/N!” he shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. “You can’t avoid me forever!”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you stood frozen, torn between staying put and stepping in. But before you could decide, Rhys’ voice dropped, and the words that followed sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re hiding.”

Bucky’s entire body stiffened, his hand tightening on the edge of the door. His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the shift in his demeanor. The calm before the storm.

“Excuse me?” Bucky’s voice was low, deadly.

Rhys scoffed, his tone dripping with false confidence, voice low while glancing shortly at you. “Don’t play dumb. I know about the Emporium. And I know about you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your breath catching as Rhys’ words hung in the air like a grenade waiting to explode. Alpine let out a sharp, warning hiss, her tail flicking wildly.

“Y/N,” Bucky called over his shoulder, his voice steady but laced with coldness that made your blood run cold. “Go to my room.”

“What? Why—”

“Now.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument, and with a wobble in your step and the slight haze of alcohol still clouding your mind, you retreated into the hallway.

You staggered slightly, catching yourself on the wall as your eyes darted toward the only other door in sight: Bucky’s bedroom. Your curiosity—or perhaps your drunken instincts—propelled you forward. You weren’t sure why, but something about the tension in Bucky’s voice and the way he’d so urgently told you to leave made your heart pound faster.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as you approached the door, your hand reaching out hesitantly toward the doorknob. You heard a faint shuffle from behind it—too faint for you to process fully in your current state—but enough to make you pause. Your fingers hovered above the cool metal, trembling slightly.

The voices from the other room grew louder for a moment before falling eerily silent, the tension almost palpable even through the walls. Your breath hitched as you gripped the doorknob tighter, the faintest click of the mechanism echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

The door began to give under your push.

Inside, Steve, Sam, and Nat froze mid-whisper, their eyes darting toward the door as it inched open.

tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1 @xunquish-blog

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow @seven0714

@lostinspace33 @clockworkballerina @bonnie-bun

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reality-detective · 5 months ago

Text

New Development in the Helicopter Crash 👇

This gets more interesting 👇

Her social media has been scrubbed 👇

A White House aide for Biden 👇

Graduated with a Biology degree in 2019 from North Carolina Chapel Hill... Where the gain of function that created Covid started.

Let's löök at her parents 👇

REBECCA LOBACH was the DAUGHTER of DAVID LOBACH (Duke University Medicine; Elimu Informatics; HHS) and ELIZABETH LOBACH (New Regency).

DAVID FRANKLIN LOBACH

*DUKE UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF MEDICINE, Chief of Division Clinical Informatics, Associate Consulting Professor

*DUKE FAMILY MEDICINE PROGRAM, Endocrinology Consultant

*ELIMU INFORMATICS, VP of Health Informatics

*CDSiC PROJECT, Elimu Informatics (Co-Investigator)

💥NOTE 1: Duke University is run by Trustees Chairman and Mossad asset, Laurene Sperling, who is also the Chairman of Combined Jewish Philanthropies (CJP) and is married to Thermo Fisher (PCR TESTS) Lead Director, Scott Sperling. Thermo Fisher = Temasek (Singapore).

💥NOTE 2: Duke University School of Medicine is led by Dean, Nancy Andrews, who is the Chairman of Wellcome Burroughs (Wellcome/Farrar), who sits on the Board of Directors at Novartis and is a Senior Advisor to NIH Executive Leadership (Anthony Fauci).

💥NOTE 3: Duke Kunshan is a PARTNERSHIP between Duke University and Wuhan University and it officially opened its doors in 2013, which is the SAME YEAR that DAVID RUBENSTEIN (Duke Capital Partners, Carlyle Group, Booz Allen Hamilton, CFR, Brookings, etc.) became the CHAIRMAN of the DUKE UNIVERSITY BOARD OF TRUSTEES.

*Both David Rubenstein and Laurene Sperling are CURRENTLY on the ADVISORY BOARD of DUKE KUNSHAN UNIVERSITY in WUHAN, CHINA.

Duke University is arguably the MOST IMPLICATED SCHOOL IN AMERICA with regard to the COVID PANDEMIC CONSPIRACY and the CREATION & RELEASE of COVID… and COVERUP of COVID’S ORIGINS.

Her Mother 👇

ELIZABETH LEE LOBACH

NEW REGENCY PRODUCTIONS (Development), Writers’ Assistant, Office Assistant, Analyst & Script Editor

*TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX (Post-Production), Office Assistant, Research & Analysis.

💥NOTE: New Regency Productions was FOUNDED by ISRAELI SPY, ARNON MILCHAN, one of NETANYAHU’S CLOSEST OPERATIVES and ISRAEL’S MOST LEGENDARY SPIES. He was involved in helping ISRAEL STEAL AMERICAN NUCLEAR SECRETS several decades ago.

Moving on 👇

This is the man that founded the company where helicopter pilot, Rebecca Lobach’s mother works…

Nothing to see here 👇

Rebecca Lobach was still in ROTC training in 2018.

How is she flying government continuity missions in a Blackhawk in Washington DC 6 years later as a captain? And how did she afford a $520,000 house two years into the military? 👇

Rebecca Lobach, involved in DCA crash, served as a White House social aide under Biden.

She escorted Ralph Lauren through the White House when he was among those awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by former fake President Joe Biden. 👇

This is a screen grab from the FAA’s Airman registry which is available to the public it shows that Rebecca Marie Lobach did not currently hold an FAA medical which is required to have military certificates converted over to FAA certificates meaning she lost her medical…? 👇

Not sure what she ‘destroyed’.. but she doesn’t look fit to me! 👇

A statement from:

Art Halvorson @ArtHalv....

As a former military instructor, I'll tell you that Rebecca Lobach in NO WAY should have been the pilot in command on that flight.

500 hours in 5 years is Inconceivable! 👇

I think there’s more to this tragic incident than DEI hiring, but it was because of DEI policies that Rebecca was on board that helicopter and there are now 67 people dead. 🤔

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dameronspector · 2 months ago

Text

Trouble in Paradise

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Avenger!Fem!Reader, Joaquin Torres x Platonic!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Platonic!Reader

Summary: MAJOR THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!! PLEASE DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIE!!!

You and Sam react to the news that Bucky has joined the New Avengers. Aka you try to console him and understand both of their feelings about the situation.

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Found Family, Best friend!Bucky, Mentions of Mental Illnesses like Depression, Teasing, the girls are fighting 💔 (only for a bit!), We love Sam Wilson in this house. No hate will be tolerated against him because I don’t think he did anything wrong!, Joaquin being supportive cutie, that’s all I think! Sorry for any mistakes!

AN: i hope u all like this and sorry for the length! please like and reblog, I love to read your thoughts 🥹

“(Name)?”, Joaquin’s nervous voice rang out through the common room of the base as he made his way towards you, a tablet in his hand.

He was still recovering from his injuries, though his burn marks had healed and left behind scars, the broken ribs were troubling him, having to attend physiotherapy every week for that. But that also means that Sam had benched him and strictly warned him to not do any kind of missions, his suit locked away. This lead to you and Joaquin spending more time together since you had opted for handling the ground controls for now, while Sam was rebuilding the new team. A tentative retirement, if you may.

You looked up from the file you were reading, “Yeah?”

“Uhh…did you see the news today?”, Joaquin asked tentatively.

You furrowed your brows, “Not really, why?”

Joaquin shot you a worried look and wordlessly handed you the tablet. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but you surely weren’t expecting the news to say that Bucky had joined a completely new team without consulting Sam before.

“What the hell..”, you murmured in disbelief, scrolling through the article to read that it was a 5 member team, including John Walker, formed by some woman named Valentina and their name was—“New Avengers?!”, you yelled, face twisted with a grimace, startling Joaquin.

“I can’t bel-oh my god. Where’s Sam right now?”, you asked Joaquin with urgency, praying that he’s not in the middle of something important.

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that Bucky actually went behind your backs and joined a whole different team and he didn’t even bother to talk to Sam or you before doing that. Especially when he knew that Sam was making a new team. Especially after that tender moment between them while Joaquin was being operated on. This was ridiculous and you hoped Bucky had an explanation for this because you knew Sam would not take it well.

“I think he’s making his way back, actually”, he informed you promptly. And just as he said that, the doors slid open to Sam entering the room.

You and Joaquin looked at him like deers in headlights. Sam chuckled, “Y’all okay?”

Joaquin glanced at you nervously and Sam noticed it right away.

“What’s going on?”, he straightened up in alarm, fearing the worst.

You got up from your seat and walked over to him, steeling yourself because you knew this was going to break his heart.

“Sam, have you seen the news, at all?”, you asked him nervously, hands fiddling with the tablet.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows and looked at you in concern, extending a hand to hold your elbow gently, “I didn’t get time ‘cause I was in a meeting with Bruce, why, what’s happening?”, he shifted his eyes from you to Joaquin.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. Look at this”, you said to him apologetically and handed him the tablet. Sam quickly took the tablet from you and read the news displayed on it.

You saw the way his jaw muscles twitched in irritation and the way his eyebrows caused a dent in between them from how much he was stressing his face. He gripped the tablet tightly and looked up, sucking in a deep breath and closing his eyes. You glanced over at Joaquin, who was just as worried as you, before turning back to lay a hand on Sam’s bicep.

“Sammy”, you whispered and he slowly opened his eyes to look at you. His pretty brown eyes were shining with tears and it made your heart break into a million pieces.

“Why would he do that?”, he asked in a weak tone, his usually cheerful voice sounding small. You frowned and smoothed a hand across his arm, his eye twitching from the effort to control his emotions.

“He knows how difficult it is to ask people to join. Half of them are dead and the rest are off the grid, what the hell am I s’posed to do? And- in the same team as Walker?”, Sam vented to you, his voice wavering.

You let out a sad sigh, “I know, I know. Why don’t you try talking to him?”, you tried to reason with him. Sam pursed his lips and shook his head.

“I don’t- I don’t wanna fight with him. This is-”, he cut himself off with a disbelieving scoff.

“Sam, you should try calling him. Maybe get some clarity on the situation. I don’t think he’s doing it willingly”, Joaquin suggested.

Sam looked at you for reassurance and you nodded your head. He swallowed thickly before sighing and pulling out his phone to call Bucky.

You gestured Sam to sit down on the couch and he reluctantly followed, Joaquin sitting opposite you two on the single seating sofa.

Sam’s POV

The phone must’ve rang thrice before Bucky received the call.

“Hey.”

Sam clenched his jaw to dampen the anger and frustration and closed his hands into a fist.

“Bucky, what the hell?”, Sam questioned him right away, voice cracking with emotions.

Bucky sighed on the other end, “Look, man, I-I really can’t help it. I-there’s no other option, okay? I’m stuck in a situation here”, he shamefully confessed.

“Dude, you can’t just excuse that with this half-ass explanation. You knew I was assembling a team myself. The government has been on my ass as well. Also, Valentina and Walker? Are you serious?”, Sam accused him.

“Sam- she’s threatening us. Said she’ll expose and frame us if we try to go against her. She’s got the money and shit. And Walker--He's just a part of it, okay, he works with her. It's out of my control, Sam. I swear, I didn’t do it willingly”, Bucky explained calmly, understanding Sam’s predicament.

Sam pinched his nose, “Do you know how much I’ve been struggling here? How much we’ve been struggling? There’s so many people to recruit, and you knew I was gonna assume that you’d want to be a part of my team. You didn’t even fight back, Buck. I need you here”, he confessed sincerely, Bucky’s side of the line turning silent at that.

Sam noticed yours and Joaquin’s faces twisted in worry—worry for him and Bucky both. The four of you were a family, and it’s been so comfortable between you that this argument because of a stupid formality, was hurting the four of you equally.

“I-I don’t know what to say. I really can’t do anything right now-”

“I’ll help you, man! You think I wouldn’t do this for you? C’mon, Buck, it’s us. You told me I stuck out my neck for you even when everyone was against you, right? I’m ready to do that again. What are you so afraid of?”, Sam stressed, his face crumpling in pain, like this conversation was hurting him.

He felt your hand on his knee, your thumb making soothing motions against his leg. Joaquin leaned forward, elbows on his knees and eyes focused on the coffee table, his whole body tensed.

“Because, it’s not that easy. There’s-there’s a bigger problem at hand. She has experimented on civilians. Only one of them reacted to it, became unstable and dangerous. He’s with us for now, but only because we agreed to make this team. She has every intention to use him as a weapon. If we don’t abide to her rules, she’s gonna throw us under the bus and ruin everyone’s lives by using him”, Bucky finally confessed, his voice tired, “I’m sorry, buddy, I really didn’t wanna do this”, he added in a pained voice.

Sam inhaled and leaned back on the couch, his fingers pressed tightly to his eyes. “Then I’m gonna have to follow the protocol”, he murmured lowly.

Bucky paused, “Protocol?”

You looked at Sam in question. What protocol was he talking about?

“Now that the news has broken out, they’re gonna ask me to sue y’all”, Sam let that sit out, the weight of his words finally dawning on Bucky.

“What? Sam, c’mon, you’re not really suing, are you?”, Bucky asked incredulously.

“Even if I don’t wanna, the government will do it anyways. And Buck, you really think I’m gonna let you be her pawn? We fought for the Avengers to be a separate, free, entity. We’re not doing this again. If anything, this case will free y’all from her conditions and y’all can join in with us”, Sam explained.

“Us?”, Bucky deflected, a slight jealous tone taking over his voice.

“Yeah, me, Joaquin and (Name).”

“(Name)? She’s already joined the team?”, Bucky asked hesitantly, shocked that you agreed to end your mini retirement already and jealous that his other best friend had already picked a side.

Although you and Sam have been dating way before you became friends with Bucky, it didn’t take you time to get along with him. Something about his grumpy nature and dry humour clicked with you and you two became fast friends, siblings almost. He always said you reminded him of his sister Rebecca and that was the first time you ever cried on each other’s shoulders, with Sam having to comfort the two of you at the same time.

Sam had basically adopted Bucky into his family, and you two were really protective over him, wanting to give him a peaceful life. But he was still navigating his autonomy and sometimes he made hasty decisions like this, nervous about his carefully arranged life falling apart because of a mistake, wanting to protect his peace at any cost. It wasn’t his fault, you understood why he did what he did—he was exhausted and frustrated from having to jump from fight to fight. What he did today, he didn’t do it to harm you or Sam. He would die for you two. It’s just how things were now. And you had to remind yourself, and Sam by that extension, that he was just trying to secure his life.

Sam sighed heavily into the phone, “Yes, she is. Anyways, I’m going ahead with the protocol. I need you to trust me on this, will you trust me on this?”

Bucky paused, his heart hammering into his chest. He was so torn--here was his family that had changed him for the better and protected him when nobody did and on one side, was his new ragtag family group of friends, who were just as important to him and he wanted to protect them as well. But he trusted Sam more than anything in this world. So he took in a deep breath and let it out before responding, “Okay”, his hands clenched into fists.

Sam let out a relieved sigh, “Alright. Don’t tell anybody about this yet, okay?”

Bucky hummed. “Can I speak to (Name)?”, he requested in a soft voice.

Sam mumbled a ‘yeah’ into the phone and handed it to you, asking Joaquin to join him in the debrief room. Sam squeezed your shoulder before departing, his face displaying the stress he was under.

You put his phone to your ear, “Hello?”

“Hi”, Bucky mumbled grumpily.

“Are you done fighting with your boyfriend?”, you teased him lightly, wanting to lighten his mood.

Bucky groaned, “Shut up. Why didn’t you tell me about you ending your retirement?”

You gaped, “Just like how you didn’t tell me about resigning from your position in the senate and joining a whole new team?”, you threw back at him.

Bucky closed his eyes, he walked right into this one. “Alright, okay, you got me. But, I swear, doll, I didn’t do this willingly. I-”

“Bucky, we know you didn’t do it willingly. The problem is that you didn’t fight against it when you knew how difficult it has been for Sam”, you explained to him calmly.

Bucky ducked his head in shame, “I know, I’m sorry- I don’t know what to do. I just can’t take any risks, doll. She’s a crazy woman with crazy influence, if she hurts any of these people…I feel like I’ll be responsible for it. And she’ll come for you too. I can’t let that happen, I can’t”, he said in a low, pained voice.

Your chest hurt with empathy for him. You realised how unfair it was to blame him either because he just wants to protect everyone as well.

“Buck…I understand. But Sam is hurt, too. It’s been so difficult for him, especially with Joaquin still recovering and with Rhodey off the radar. All of this is on his shoulders and he’s trying his best. He has to research and meet with every single potential hero to join the team. He expected you to be on his side, especially after that conversation you guys had a few months ago. Tell me, how is any of this fair to Sam either?”

Bucky was quiet on the other end, likely contemplating on what to do next. “You’re right. So-So, what now?”

You huffed, “Just follow Sam’s instructions. He’ll get you out of this, I promise. And don’t be upset if he’s a little annoyed with you, it’s been a rough few months.”

Bucky mumbled a sad little ‘Okay’. You knew just how much he hated this separation from the two of you.

“By the way, maybe I should visit you sometime…you know, meet your new family. And being teammates with Walker? You move on so quick, Barnes”, you teased him in a half-serious tone. You still weren't sure how you felt about him teaming up with Walker, but you knew you'd still beat if you met him.

“They’re not my family...Especially that loser”, he grumbled, but deep down he knew he had come to care for these…bolts. (except John)

“We’ll see about that”, you chuckled, “I’m also interested to see what the hell Valentina has done with the tower. I’m not happy about her buying it, at all”, you added, annoyed by the fact that this random woman had bought your house and one of the places that had Tony’s memories in it.

“Yeah, I get that. It’s not that different on the outside but I’m sure you know better”, he consoles you.

You hummed.

“Anyways…I miss you, Buck. And I know Sam does too. There’s wasn't a day in the last few months where he hasn’t talked about you”, you confess somberly. They'd rather die than admit it, but both of them missed each other terribly.

Bucky’s breath hitched, talking to you and Sam made him realise just how much he missed you two.

“Yeah. I know”, he said in a shaky voice, his ‘I know’ was enough to convey just how much he was hurting. “Uh, let me know when you’re visiting. And take care, yeah?”, he added softly.

“Hm, you too Buck. See you soon”, you said your goodbyes and cut the call, making your way back to Sam and Joaquin.

Sam was leaning over Joaquin’s shoulder to look at the screen, they were trying to find some more information on Valentina and the OXE group to strengthen their case.

You approached Sam and placed a hand on his back, bringing his attention to you. Sam turned to you and placed a hand on your waist.

“How’d it go?”, he asked you solemnly.

You smoothed a hand across his back, “He’s scared. Wants to protect everyone from Valentina…Sam, I really want you to be careful. She sounds-”

“Power hungry, I know”, Sam agreed with you, his face etched in a permanent frown.

“Baby…you should talk to him. He’s helpless too, you know?”, you tried to reason with him.

Sam let out a sigh and clenched his jaw, still feeling hurt from the shock of this sudden news. You looked at his face and decided to change the topic for now, letting him come to terms with it on his own pace. Choosing to lean your head against his shoulder, you patted Joaquin’s back and asked him about what he found.

“Well, she’s got the money, alright. She bought this big vault in the middle of the Utah desert and she was hiding all the patients and documents there. Complete with world class security. And she was working on this- Sentry project, where she was experimenting on civilians”, he informed you.

“Yeah, Bucky told me the same thing”, Sam announced.

Joaquin nodded, “And out of all the test subjects, there was only one guy who passed the experiment without dying- his name is Robert Reynolds. Apparently he was battling addiction and uh- he’s got some mental illnesses as well. He enrolled in the project because they had promised that the participants will get better..”, he trailed off.

Your brows furrowed in concern and your mouth suddenly felt dry, “So she’s manipulating a victim? That is so fucking gross. Who knows what she’s gonna do with this new team, Sam, we need to get rid of her”, you said in distress.

“And…he’s really unstable, guys. Like, we-need-to-be-scared-of-him-unstable. The serum that she used on him has given him 'the power of a million exploding suns.' He’s basically a god”, Joaquin murmured in disbelief and moved from the screen to show you and Sam a footage of this Robert turning everyone into…shadows? It was horrifying. And it reminded you of a certain human made disaster and that realisation made you freeze.

“Oh my god”, Sam mumbled next to you in shock, his eyes squinted in contemplation.

“We need to handle this before it goes to shit. This is bad. I can’t imagine how she’s treating them if she willingly did this to a victim like Robert", you turned to look at Sam fully. His face was shifting as quickly as his thoughts, trying to find a solution to this.

"I mean, she's not trademarked the name yet. We can totally sue her for copyright. We're already a team and Bruce is gonna contact his cousin and try talking to Thor. If we file it now, then she can't counter sue because the name will belong to us", Sam announced.

You and Joaquin gave him a hopeful smile, happy that he's back in his element.

"Yeah, we're gonna need a lawyer, because with Valentina being the director of the CIA and Ross being in jail...", Joaquin suggested, conveying that Ross being in the Raft made it difficult because his vote and opinion wouldn't be taken into consideration now.

"Yeah, don't worry about that. Try talking to Happy. He's got some contacts", you informed Sam and he nodded before pressing a kiss to your hairline. You closed your eyes and leaned into it, hands caressing his chest soothingly.

"I'm going to visit Bucky tomorrow."

Sam pulled back and stared you in disagreement, "Babe, c'mon-"

You shushed him, "Don't drag me into your silly fights. I'm going to visit my best friend because he needs some support too. You, relax and do your job, Cap", you poked his chest and he huffed before turning his face away. You softened up and grabbed his chin in your hands to make him look at you, his brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Hey, baby. It's gonna be okay, yeah? Don't you worry your pretty head about it", you cradled his cheek in your palm. Sam leaned his head into your palm and nodded reluctantly, not wanting you to go in the lion's den but also worried about Bucky at the same time.

You went on your tip toes to kiss him softly and Sam reciprocated it before Joaquin cleared his throat, a hand covering his eyes.

"Yo, can you two like.. get a room...like, please", he shivered dramatically. You and Sam separated before you smacked Joaquin's arm lightly.

"Stop procrastinating, bird boy."

Sam burst out in a chuckle and Joaquin rubbed his arm.

The next morning, you and Sam departed with a lingering hug, him not wanting to leave you but you gave him lots of kisses to make up for it. He still sulked but eventually left for a meeting with Bruce, Happy and Leila to discuss about the case. Joaquin offered to accompany you but you told him not to miss his physiotherapy session for this.

You finally reached the tower, which you learnt was now called the Watchtower, and it looked pretty much the same except for some minor aesthetic changes here and there. The receptionist asked you whom did you want to meet when a voice called out behind you, "(Name)?"

You turned around to see Bucky standing there with his new hairstyle, looking a bit more tired than usual. You looked at him for a moment before walking over and bringing him in for a hug.

"Hey, Buck", you mumbled into his shoulder and he squeezed you before breaking the hug.

"I can't believe you got a blowout", you teased him and he let out a bashful chuckle.

"Yeah, alright. Come on", he walked you to the elevator and you almost shuddered with the nostalgia. You used to frequent this tower with your...almost family and now half of them are gone while you were visiting as a stranger. It hurt.

"You okay?", Bucky asked you in concern, snapping you out of your daze.

"Yeah, just...never realised how much I missed this place", you whispered sadly and he sighed, bringing an arm around your shoulders to gave you a side hug.

You kept nervously fiddling with your hands before the elevator doors opened to the common area of the tower. It wasn't any different, just more flashy than Tony’s taste--the bar area almost identical to Tony's and you almost felt like you were going to see him sitting there with a drink in his hand, probably arguing with Steve over something. Or that you'd see Natasha lounging around on the couch after a mission. It was weird and it made your stomach twist in unease before your eyes fell on a blonde woman who was eating a bowl of something on the couch while watching something on a laptop, and a timid-looking guy in oversized clothes was sitting next to her, reading a book.

Bucky walked you over to the step before clearing his throat and their heads snapped up. Their eyes widened as they landed on you.

"Wait- you-"

"You're that Avenger-"

"What are you doing here-"

Both of them kept talking over the other before Bucky spoke up, "Okay! She's (Name), my friend and, yes, an Avenger. And she's here to visit me."

You gave them a close lipped smile and waved, "Hi."

The blonde haired woman raised an eyebrow, "I'm still surprised you have friends other than Sam Wilson", her thick Russian accent teased Bucky before she addressed you, "Hi, I'm Yelena", she introduced herself.

"I-I'm Bob", the guy next to her shyly introduced himself and waved back. And that's when you looked at him properly and realised that he was Robert Reynolds. You stiffened up and Bucky immediately took notice of that, "What happened", he murmured lowly so that only you could hear him.

You forced a smile on your face, "Can we talk somewhere else?"

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded before taking you to his room. You sat down on his bed while he leaned on his work desk.

"What was that?"

"That was Robert Reynolds", you simply stated and his face shifted in understanding. Of course you guys must have done your research.

"Yeah. He was. How are you?”

You sighed, “Alright. How are you?”

Bucky averted his eyes from your intense stare, “I’m okay”, he mumbled lowly.

“No, you’re not. You two are so stubborn, why don’t you guys just accept that this is hurting you?”, you questioned him sternly, fed up of him and Sam acting like toddlers and beating around the bush.

Bucky huffed out a humourless laugh.

“Buck, he’s doing his best. Trust me, this case will help relieve you from Valentina’s stupid conditions. Sam will do anything to keep you safe. I will do anything to keep you safe. Please, help him out”, you requested him, your voice bordering on desperation.

Bucky just looked at you with his ocean blue irises wide like a puppy.

“He didn’t want this, but he has to. And the stakes are higher- Robert is a dangerous individual if he goes back being who he is and Valentina is on a power trip, she will manipulate you guys. We don’t want that to happen”, you conceded.

Bucky swallowed before speaking up, “I get that. Okay.”

You let out a relieved sigh before quipping, “Can’t promise Walker’s safety though.”

Bucky let out a genuine laugh, his eyes closed and crows-feet deepened.

“I am proud of you, you know that right? That Avenger suit looks amazing on you”, you complimented him and gave him a small smile.

He laughed, “Thank you, doll”, before turning somber again, “I- will he talk to me?”, he asked nervously while referencing to Sam.

Your expression softened, “Give him some time, yeah? He’s been overworked and stressed, attending meetings almost everyday. I’m sure he’ll come around”, you reassured him before quipping, “Can’t stay away from his lover for too long.”

Bucky groaned and threw his head back in exasperation, “Oh, shut up. You’re such a pain in the ass.”

You guffawed and he grumbled. After your laughter died down, you asked him about the team.

“Who even are these people? Just the most rough and ragtag looking group I’ve ever seen”, you asked him curiously.

Bucky scoffed, “Yeah. Well, you know Bob- or Robert”, you nodded, “And you know Walker-”

“Unfortunately”, you butted in.

Bucky scoffed before continuing, “-then there’s another girl- her name is Ava Starr, she’s been in some trouble with Scott and Hank Pym”, your eyebrows raised in interest.

“Then there’s Alexei or Red Guardian, he’s like the Russian version of Steve”, Bucky grumbled and you scoffed, “Wow, I need to meet him.”

“Trust me, you don’t”, Bucky replied in boredom.

“And the blonde girl-Yelena?”, you asked him, noticing the way he didn’t mention her yet.

Bucky looked at you with sympathy, “Doll….she’s Natasha’s sister.”

You froze, “What?”

Bucky nodded and gave you a smile, “Yeah. She’s a widow, too. Really nice kid.”

“Oh my god”, you muttered in disbelief. You knew Natasha had a sister. But you didn’t know she was a part of the same team as Bucky? There was an ache in your chest, a hollow space where you felt the absence of your dear friend Natasha. And the fact that you had a part of her here, was overwhelming. You felt protective towards her, wanting to keep her safe as well.

You looked at Bucky with teary eyes and he gave you a close lipped smile.

“They’re not that bad, you know? They’re imperfect and have been in not so tasteful situations but….they will fight for you. They’re loyal. And that’s all that matters. You know, we helped Bob fight the Void with a hug?”, his soft voice rang out in the empty room.

Your mouth fell open and Bucky elaborated further, joining you on the bed, “I’m sure you know he’s got some…issues. The void appears when he has these depressive episodes. Valentina manipulated him into believing that we’re his enemies and that he’s alone, so he took matters in his own hands. Bob didn’t do any of that because he wanted to. He’s a really good guy. Just shy and really awkward. Somewhat of a recluse because of his past. Th-we are very protective over him. Just give him a chance, yeah?”

You looked at him and nodded in understanding, “Of course, Buck. When we say all, we mean all of you. Those guys deserve a chance too”, you conceded. The situation with Bob was a little sensitive, but you’ve spent enough time around people worse than him to be okay with it.

Bucky gave you a satisfied smile. “You can do anythin’ you want with Walker, though”, he quipped and you let out a laugh.

“Alright, I’ll get going before Sam loses his mind”, you said while getting up from the bed.

“Yeah, how’s Torres now?”, he asked in concern. Joaquin annoyed the hell out of him but Bucky had come to be fond of the kid.

“He’s okay now. The burn marks are slowly fading. Still going to physiotherapy for his ribs, so, Sam has benched him completely”, Bucky huffed a laugh at that, well aware of Sam’s helicopter parenting.

“He wanted to come with me today but I told him not to miss his session.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows in a knowing look, “Oh yeah. Cannot miss those sessions at any cost.”

You smirked at him and he walked you out of the building, both of you lingering by the main entrance.

“Keep in touch, okay?”, you chided him with furrowed brows, referring to his habit of isolating himself from others.

A guilty look passed his face, “Yeah, I will, doll. Take care and-and tell Sam I’m sorry”, he confessed in a quiet voice, his 6 feet, super soldier self, suddenly looking small.

You narrowed your eyes at him but felt your chest ache in empathy at his efforts, “You tell that to him yourself”, and wrapped your arms around his back. He hugged you back and sighed before mumbling, “So damn demanding”, into your shoulder.

You pulled back and gasped before pushing his shoulder. He shrugged before laughing freely. You looked at him for a moment and huffed out a laugh before departing with your chest full.

You just hoped your family would be okay and this time, come what may, you’d do anything to protect all of them.

AN: I needed to write this so bad pls I can’t handle seeing my sambucky sad and upset w each other 💔 They will be stronger #trust

Might write a part 2 soon or might write it if Sam is in the f4 post credits or after doomsday releases ao that I get full context 😔☝️

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson #sam wilson fluff #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #bucky barnes x platonic!reader #joaquin torres #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #captain america brave new world #thunderbolts #thunderbolts!bucky #yelena belova #bob reynolds

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housemdork · 19 days ago

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so. i know that fighting on the wilson defense squad is a little taboo around here...but i still want to share the germ of a thought that i've had, which i'll definitely expand on in the future.

does anyone hear me when i say that so much of wilson's work is silent and unseen?

i mean this, first, quite literally regarding his practice. it's a rarity, seeing wilson interact directly with his cancer patients without being called in for a consult. we hear about his patients all the time, just not often by name. but whether because we're in house's POV, or because the show aligns with house's belief that "cancer is boring," we don't see wilson practicing oncology that much in the grand scheme of things, even compared to the snippets of ER and surgery life that cameron and chase move on to, respectively.

house pokes fun at wilson's oncology all the time, and pretty definitively in 2x04 when he makes fun of medical specialists. to house, things are simpler for them; house views them as existing in a box, much smaller than his grand purview over things. wilson's work is relegated away from the main text of the show; he operates in isolation, which hurts in the long run.

wilson's own cancer experience is profoundly impacted by the pain of loss he's endured over the years, watching his patients die. he rattles off their names, their cancers, their ages, and the dates they died to house from memory. we never saw these patients. house probably never did, either, so we can only learn of this pain afterwards. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

finally, the work wilson puts into his friendship with house is often invisible. i won't ever paint wilson as the ideal friend - that would completely ruin any interpretation of his character - but i find it disingenuous to ignore the strain house puts on him, however self-inflicted. what starts out as trickles of jokes and subtle hints (the loans), evolves into the season 3 medical license debacle, which evolves into wilson's repeated responsibility for house's mental health (which isn't even mandated by house, but by those around wilson and house), which finally evolves into house attempting to control wilson's last wishes. repeatedly, wilson is nominated, especially by dr. nolan in season 6 and foreman in season 8, to be house's steward, and who else would do it, but him?

big example: we never see the decision for house to move into wilson's place, but all the energy in the world is put into wilson asking house to leave. it's first presented as a natural assumption, then a mortal sin.

unlike the other characters surrounding house, the origins of wilson and house are usually only hinted at. their history unfolds across the entire show, and that includes the good and the bad parts that are only heard about in passing and in retrospect. at the start of season 5, wilson, at his most honest, breaks the hardest news to house yet - that he's leaving PPTH because of him.

"i've enabled it for years. the games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls...if i've learned anything from amber, it's that i need to take care of myself."

again, we learn of this long-term pain afterwards, once house takes a beat to digest it. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

say what you like about what wilson asked house to do in 4x16 (it kills me, personally). i cannot completely fault wilson for telling house this ^. as much as house needs to change, wilson does, too. amber was right about that. we can gauge the strain that house has in his relationships based on how many work out long-term: one.

and later, funny as it is in the moment, wilson is the one to go to physically check in on house in 7x01 when it was VERY apparent that he should not have gone home alone (not to dismiss foreman's attempt in 6x22 to be there for him, though). house's fake voicemail message attests to this: "if this is wilson, i'm fine, not suicidal, not on drugs, coping very well with the loss of my last patient, so feel free to go about your day without worry."

i understand why he crawled through that window! after six seasons of this, i would have done the same!

i argue the same about house that i do about wilson - these 2, despite how messed up they are when it comes to human goodness and love - could not do what they do if they did not have the capacity to love. they're both rewarded in their own, twisted ways; house is gratified that, if nothing else, his brain sets him apart and preserves his sense of self, while wilson gets to feel loved in the way he can never quite fulfill elsewhere. does that cancel out the lives they save and soothe along the way?

all of this is to say that it's easy to brand wilson with a red "morally corrupt guy who pretends otherwise" stamp across his forehead because i think that's what house md tempts us to do by mandating how, when, and what we see of wilson's life. trust me - i'm trudging through season 2 right now and fast approaching his rendezvous with grace. but over time, i think the show invites us to treat him with sympathy and nuance in the same way it does house. if we penalize wilson too much for returning to house, and for needing his neediness, that may just imply that house doesn't deserve that sort of love. and we know that isn't the case.

isn't there more poetic irony than the oncologist getting cancer at hand? what about cancer as the silent-killer? what about cancer eating at every part of the body, slowly, over time? unseen and unheard?

#am i projecting because i feel bad about relating to him? WHY YES!#but i've also been the crisis friend for a long long time before #and i won't lie and say end of season 5 and into season 6 didn't strike an especially poignant chord to me #and no i'm not gonna put the laundry list of a disclaimer at the top of this post #i love james wilson #he's fucked up and evil but DAMN if he isn't somehow full of paradoxical love #so much that it manifests symbolically as the very illness he sought to Love Out Of Existence #i think i've been reverse reverse psychologied #went from loving wilson to being overly critical and now i'm back where i started #just with some edge lol #AND. ONE MORE THING.#IS TRUE LOVE NOT JUST COMING BACK TO EACH OTHER AGAIN AND AGAIN #FITTING ONE PERSON'S BEST AND WORST QUALITIES THROUGH THICK AND THIN?#it's not my fault he's a repressed homosexual on top of everything else #the end #house md #james wilson #hilson #greg house

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toinkeroo · 22 days ago

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Shiz University Group Chats - MASTERPOST

Keep track of the posts here :) I'll be updating this as I post more in the GC AU so you can use this to keep track/ choose the specific post you're interested in. 💖

This is also updating [albeit a bit slowly] on AO3, but you can go there to subscribe, bookmark and/or comment! :)

Welcome to Shiz University. Please consult the following Group Chat Rules and Codes of Conduct:

Respect all members of the academic community.

Use school-sanctioned communication channels responsibly. Please avoid foul language, innuendo, or utilizing chat rooms for bribery, gambling, unsanctioned spellwork, or public declarations of love.

Please maintain proper use of chat functions. Do not initiate campus-wide romantic competitions using shared documents, voting polls, or emoji reaction battles.

At campus discretion, faculty members may be called upon monitor student group chats if there is any evidence / suspicion of scandalocious actions.

Have fun! Do note that your chats may be recorded in the university server for a period of ninety (90) days for training and maintenance purposes.

At Shiz University, the real drama isn’t in the lecture halls—it’s in the group chats.

Pt. 1: DO NOT FEED THE TOADS

Pt. 2: THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR CACTUS

Pt 3: Fiyero’s Secret Yearning (Must Be Stopped)

Pt 4.: Boq’s Doomed Crush Support Group

Pt. 5.: Emergency Sparkle Triage

Pt 6. Finals Week Survival (Spiritual, Emotional, Academic)

Pt 7. Glinda is NOT Spiraling

Pt 8.: Don’t Leave Your Phone Unattended

Pt 9: OOPS WRONG CHAT

Pt 10: Elphie Does Not Understand Innuendo

Pt 11: Existing Neutrally (Fiyero Takes a Break from Flirting)

Pt 12: This Is Fine (It’s Not)

Pt 13: IS THIS ANYTHING?!?!?!

Pt. 14: You trust me in a crisis?

Pt. 15: Spring Fling Preps

Pt 16: Elphie won’t know what hit her.

Pt 17: Something’s in the air and I don’t trust it.

Pt 18: Boq’s Doomed Crush Support Group Pt 2

Pt 19: Delicate Matters (Thropp & Co)

Pt 20: A Slow-Burn Courtship

Pt 21: Boq’s Courtship Crusade

Pt 22: Elphie is surrounded by chaos and needs one (1) responsible wife.

Pt 23: Operation: Woo the Witch

Pt 24: Spectators of the Spiral

Pt. 25: Do I radiate “please perform stunts near me” energy?

Pt 26: Fiyero and Glinda Try to Apologize

Pt 27: A new challenger appears in the battle for Shiz’s most elusive enigma.

Pt 28: He used to write her when she had no one else.

Pt 29: You found out about the penpal, didn’t you.

Pt 30: Romance is dead and this man is the murderer.

Pt 31: He’s coming for a tour, not to claim the throne.

Pt 32: Love Triangle to Love Rhombus

Pt 33: You’re not giving a tour. You’re hosting a battle royale.

Pt 34: This is truly the worst competitive dating scenario I’ve ever seen.

Pt 35: I’m going to eat this entire box of chocolate out of spite.

Pt 36: “He’s here to propose. This is the final boss of suitors.”

Pt 37: THIS PLOTLINE IS TOO POWERFUL

Pt 38: You were… exactly as I remembered you.

Pt 39: A love quadrangle. Geometry has entered the chat.

Pt 40: He’s got “mysterious romantic subtext” in MLA formatting. Help.

Pt 41: I’M TRYING TO STRATEGIZE NOT CATCH FEELINGS

Pt 42: I’m going to ask you to the Spring Fling. But not in a weird way.

The Paleontology Professor

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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dvbusinessconsulting · 3 days ago

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astrolook · 4 months ago

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Eclipse Babies: The People Who Seem to Have ‘Fated’ Lives ☀️🌑✨

Were you born during an eclipse? Alright, your life is not normal. You’re basically the protagonist of a cosmic soap opera, whether you asked for it or not.

If you’ve ever wondered why your life feels like a series of dramatic plot twists, fate-driven events, and eerie coincidences, astrology might have the answer. Eclipse babies tend to have a life that feels… scripted. And not in a chill, romantic-comedy way—more like a psychological thriller with a sprinkle of divine intervention.

Let’s break it down.

🚨 How to Know If You’re an Eclipse Baby

You’re an eclipse baby if you were born: 🔮 On the day of a solar or lunar eclipse (big yikes) 🌘 A few days before or after an eclipse (still intense, sorry) �� With major placements at 0-5° or 25-29° in fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius) (you attract chaos and don’t know why) 💀 With a tight Sun-Moon conjunction (New Moon) or opposition (Full Moon) (your life operates on extreme highs & lows)

Key Placements That Give ‘Fated Life’ Energy

🪦 Pluto in the 1st or 10th House – You either reinvent yourself every five years or life forces you to. You're never the same person for long. (Your LinkedIn must be a rollercoaster.)

🔮 South Node in the 4th or 12th House – Past life baggage? Oh, you have luggage. Your childhood probably had some eerie, déjà vu moments, or you’ve always felt like an old soul trapped in the wrong timeline.

⚡ Uranus on the Ascendant or Midheaven – You couldn’t have a “normal” life if you tried. Your life is a series of unexpected detours. (Friends describe you as “unpredictable” and it’s not always a compliment.)

🌀 Neptune in the 6th or 10th House – Career? Stability? Who are they? Your life path is blurry as hell, and you either drift into jobs by pure fate or feel like you have no control over your work life. (One day you're a poet, the next you're a tax consultant.)

🌙 Moon in the 8th House – Your emotions go deep. You attract intense, life-changing relationships, and nothing ever feels casual. Also, why do you always have vivid dreams about dead relatives?

🔥 Mars in the 12th House – You might feel like you’re constantly fighting invisible battles. Hidden enemies? Psychic warfare? Shadowboxing in your dreams? (You’re in a life-long battle with the unseen forces.)

💔 Venus in the 8th or 12th House – Love is never simple for you. Either it’s a karmic soulmate situation or a tragic “wrong person, wrong time” dynamic. (You fall in love like you’re in a Greek tragedy.)

🛤 Saturn conjunct the North Node – Your entire existence feels like a long, slow journey toward your destiny. Nothing comes easy, but every struggle feels… pre-written. (You’re basically living a coming-of-age movie in slow motion.)

🔄 Jupiter in the 4th or 12th House – You’re always “guided” toward the right places and people, even if it doesn’t make sense at the time. Divine protection energy, but also? Your life never follows a straight line.

☠️ 8th House Stellium – You live through constant transformations. Sometimes you feel like you’ve died and been reborn multiple times in one lifetime. (Your emotional resilience is off the charts, but damn, at what cost?)

🧿 Chiron in the 1st or 10th House – You are the wounded healer. People come to you for advice because you’ve been through everything (and I mean EVERYTHING). But who heals the healer? (Still waiting for an answer on that one…)

💡 Mercury Retrograde in the Birth Chart – You feel like your whole life is one big miscommunication. Also, why does it feel like every major event in your life happens during a Mercury Retrograde? (Fate is messy like that.)

🌪 Mars-Uranus Aspects – Chaos Magnet. Your life is a series of unpredictable events, and you somehow always end up in “once in a lifetime” situations. (No one ever believes your stories, but they’re all true.)

👁 Pluto on the IC (4th House Cusp) – Your family lineage is haunted, literally or metaphorically. Generational trauma? Paranormal activity? Strange family secrets? (You might as well live in a horror movie.)

🌊 Neptune in the 1st House – Your entire existence feels like an illusion. People project things onto you, and your life path is often blurry. Also, why do strangers always think they know you from somewhere? (Are you a past-life celebrity?)

🎭 Sun in the 12th House – You live behind the scenes, but your life is shaped by unseen forces. You might feel like you’re watching your own life unfold instead of being in control. (It’s giving ‘main character in a psychological thriller.’)

⏳ Saturn in the 8th House – You have a karmic debt to pay in this lifetime. Whether it’s through financial struggles, emotional hardships, or intense soul lessons, you’re here to master resilience. (Your glow-up comes, but damn, it takes time.)

💀 Moon-Pluto Aspects – Your emotions are not normal. You feel things at an intensity most people can’t comprehend. Also, why do strangers trauma-dump on you within minutes of meeting you? (You were born for deep soul connections, but at what cost?)

🔮 Venus-Neptune Aspects – You see people through rose-colored glasses. Either you’re constantly in love with the idea of someone, or you attract relationships that feel fated but end up as illusions. (Your love life is a Lana Del Rey album.)

⚔️ Mars-Saturn Aspects – Delayed success, but once you win, you win big. Life makes you work twice as hard for everything, but once you break through, there’s no stopping you. (It’s giving late bloomer energy.)

Signs You Were Born Under an Eclipse and Your Life is Cursed—Sorry, I Mean ‘Fated’

🔥 You never get a ‘chill’ life phase. Every time you think things are calming down—boom, another plot twist. (Universe said: ‘character development.’)

🔄 You attract people and situations that feel weirdly karmic. Like, why do so many of your relationships feel destined? Ever met someone and instantly knew they'd change your life? That’s your Eclipse Baby membership kicking in.

😵‍💫 You experience ‘tower moment’ energy every few years. Just when you get comfortable, life completely flips. New career, sudden moves, unexpected breakups, spiritual awakenings—you name it. (Eclipse energy does not believe in stagnation.)

TL;DR: If You’re an Eclipse Baby, Your Life is a Movie 🎬

You weren’t born to live a small, ordinary life—you’re here for transformation, destiny, and cosmos-level drama.

💌 Want to decode your fated path? DM me for a complete astrology reading, and let’s see what the universe has planned for you. ✨

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followingthebutterflies7 · 2 months ago

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Sweeter Than Honey | Part Two: Mistakes

Mob Boss!Spencer Agnew x FBI!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Series Summary: You were sent undercover to infiltrate the world of the most dangerous mob boss on the FBI’s list, Spencer Agnew. But the more you find out about him, the more you lose yourself.

Series Warnings: Mature themes that include emotional manipulation, psychological tension, dubious consent, morally grey relationships, violence, organized crime, and mild language.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

--------------------------------------------------------

Part Two: Mistakes

Every step you take toward him should feel like progress. So why does it feel like falling?

You were in.

Officially.

On paper, you were an independent contractor overseeing “transport solutions” for Agnew Holdings LLC, one of Spencer’s polished, legitimate fronts. A boutique logistics consultancy based in Manhattan, the kind of place Fortune 500 executives smiled at in boardrooms, unaware that a criminal empire thrived under the polished glass.

In practice, you were stepping deeper into a world where everything glittered, but nothing was clean.

The office was a minimalist dream: brushed steel, matte glass, and expensive silence. Modern art hung from the walls, but it was the kind you forgot the moment you looked away. Every surface gleamed like a mirror, daring you to find a fingerprint.

You sat at a sleek desk near the operations floor, pretending to focus on mock manifests for overseas shipments. Most employees worked silently, hunched over laptops and quarterly reports, but you could feel the tension that undercut the place, a quiet hum of watchfulness, as if the walls themselves were wired for sound.

You worked hard to look busy. You already knew every file by heart, the FBI had given them to you.

Now, you just had to act like you’d built them yourself. The routes, the customs paperwork, and the legal loopholes. All of it a polished lie.

Every twenty minutes or so, a man in a discreet black suit would walk past your door. They never spoke. They didn’t have to.

Security at Agnew Holdings wasn't there to make anyone feel safe. They were there to remind you that you weren’t.

--------------------------------------------------------

It had been two weeks since your meeting with Spencer. You hadn’t seen him since.

You told yourself that was a good thing. You told yourself that meant you were doing your job.

But every day he stayed silent, some part of you wound tighter.

You weren’t foolish enough to think he’d forgotten you. Spencer Agnew wasn’t the kind of man who forgot.

He was the kind of man who waited.

And Alex Tran made sure you didn’t forget that either.

He didn’t speak to you after that first brutal vetting. Not the second day. Not the third. Or the fourth. Not even after a week.

But you felt him.

Watching.

Every call you answered. Every file you adjusted. Every key you pressed.

It was a ghostly pressure between your shoulder blades, an invisible thread pulled taut and trembling.

You gathered information carefully, methodically. Files you shouldn’t have had access to. Internal codes slipped between meeting minutes. Logistics anomalies disguised as clerical errors.

Every night, you loaded new scraps of intel onto an encrypted flash drive hidden inside the seam of your briefcase. Every night, you debated whether you'd be caught the next morning.

Because Alex Tran wasn't watching you like he suspected something. He was watching you like he was waiting for you to prove it.

By the start of your third week the tension broke.

You were reviewing a set of international cargo routes at your desk when the shadows shifted.

You didn’t hear him approach. You just felt him standing behind you, silent as a blade being drawn.

"Come with me," Alex said, his voice low and unreadable.

You stood smoothly, careful not to show hesitation, and followed him down the gleaming corridor. The deeper into the building he led you, the more polished glass gave way to raw, blackened steel. Security keypads replaced doorknobs. Cameras blinked like patient red eyes.

The door he opened wasn’t marked, there was no window. Inside there was a private conference room, empty except for one chair.

You sat.

Alex stood.

“You’re under review,” he said flatly.

You crossed one leg over the other, casual. “By you?”

A flicker of something, maybe amusement, crossed his face.

"No."

A pause, deliberate.

"By him."

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t let it show.

“Should I be nervous?” you asked, voice light.

Alex stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint scars along his knuckles.

“You should be perfect.”

--------------------------------------------------------

The review wasn’t a conversation.

It was a trap.

That afternoon you received a shipment file routed directly to your terminal.

Urgent. Sensitive. High-value electronics scheduled for midnight pickup at a secondary dock.

At first glance, it looked routine. Until it didn’t.

The truck manifests were incomplete. The shipping codes were off by a single digit. One container had an internal flag you didn’t recognize.

It was too messy to be accidental. It wasn’t an oversight. It was bait.

You didn’t call attention to it. You had a choice to make.

If you flagged it for review, you’d look paranoid, or worse, incompetent. If you ignored it, you risked walking into a fabricated "mistake" that could get people killed.

Either way, you’d lose. Unless you rewrote the game.

You stayed late into the night, creating a new transit schedule.

You rerouted the trucks to avoid compromised areas, sending them to much quieter and safer zones. You created new manifests with a digital footprint that looked weeks old. You spoofed confirmation calls from fake dispatchers.

You covered the holes they had left like a seamstress repairing a perfect counterfeit suit. You wrapped the whole thing in so much plausible deniability, it looked like it had always been right.

By the time dawn broke over Manhattan’s skyline, the shipment was clean, intact, and impossible to trace back to you.

No alarms. No deaths. No failures.

Exactly the outcome you were trained to deliver.

But you didn’t celebrate. You knew better.

Because Alex Tran was already watching from the shadows of the operations floor, arms crossed, face unreadable.

And somewhere, maybe even already reading your file, Spencer Agnew knew too.

You survived the test. But survival wasn't victory. It was just the next move on a board you were only beginning to understand.

And if the last few weeks had been about earning your place, the next would be about keeping it. While pretending not to notice how the walls were already starting to close in.

--------------------------------------------------------

That night, Spencer requested a meeting.

Private. No details. No Excuses.

You were simply told to be there.

You prepared carefully but not obviously by choosing a tailored black dress, sharp heels, and a watch that looked expensive but wasn’t. Professional enough to blend in. Subtle enough not to look like armor.

Still, it felt like armor.

Because walking into Spencer Agnew’s penthouse felt like walking into the lair of something ancient and patient.

His office was nothing like the sterile precision of Agnew Holdings.

It was old-world luxury: dark wood paneling, vintage maps framed in burnished gold, velvet armchairs worn smooth at the arms, heavy leather-bound books filling floor-to-ceiling shelves. A low fire burned in a marble hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the Persian rugs.

Everything smelled faintly of smoke, leather, and something richer underneath; amber, sandalwood, the kind of scent that stayed on your skin long after you left.

You arrived exactly five minutes early. He was already there.

Spencer stood near the massive window, a glass of amber liquor in hand, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loose and forgotten around his neck.

The city stretched out behind him, skyscrapers gleaming like the teeth of some sleeping monster. The lights painted shifting patterns across his profile, jaw shadowed, hair curling rebelliously against his temples, gaze unreadable.

He didn’t turn when you entered.

"You handled the test," he said, voice low, almost thoughtful.

You didn’t pretend not to know what he meant.

"I handle a lot of things," you said smoothly, stepping further into the room.

Now he turned.

Slowly. Deliberately.

His gaze swept over you, not admiring, not possessive, just…thorough. Like he was cataloging you. Assessing not the surface, but the seams beneath it.

Yet somehow, it still felt devastatingly intimate.

"Most people fold under pressure," he said. "Or they posture. Pretend they're smarter than they are."

You lifted your chin slightly. "And I did neither?"

He stepped closer, his glass catching the firelight.

"You adapted," he said simply.

The silence that settled between you wasn’t awkward. It was something heavier. Denser. The kind of silence that asked questions neither of you were ready to answer.

You felt the air stretch taut, charged with something that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with proximity.

Spencer studied you. Not the way a man admires a woman, but the way a hunter respects the prey clever enough to set its own traps.

"You’re not like the others," he said, voice dipping lower.

You gave a soft, practiced smile. "I’ve heard that before."

"But do you believe it?" he asked.

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was dangerous. And you weren’t entirely sure which version of you he was speaking to anymore. The operative? The persona? Or something more raw underneath?

He stepped closer again. Too close. Close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne, layered over skin and expensive whiskey.

Close enough that you felt the subtle, electric pull between you. A thread stretched tight, daring either of you to cut it or tie it tighter.

Your breath caught, just for a second. But you didn’t step back. And he didn’t push forward.

He simply looked at you, really looked at you, and for one suspended moment, it felt like the entire city fell away.

"You’re dangerous," he said quietly.

The words should have been an accusation. But they sounded almost like a compliment.

And for a terrifying second, standing there with your heartbeat too loud in your ears, you weren’t sure which of you he meant.

You didn’t break eye contact.

You didn’t breathe.

You didn’t move.

Finally, Spencer gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d decided something you weren’t privy to.

"Welcome to the real game," he said.

And just like that, the moment broke. He turned back toward the window, lifting his glass again. Dismissed, without ever actually dismissing you.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and stepped back toward the door, your heels silent against the thick carpet.

You told yourself the rush of adrenaline in your veins was just nerves. Just the high of getting closer to the mark.

You told yourself it meant nothing.

But your hands were trembling slightly when you closed the door behind you.

And you didn’t know if you were running away from him-

-or yourself.

--------------------------------------------------------

You made the call to Marlowe from the back stairwell of your apartment building.

It was nearly midnight. The city buzzed faintly below, but up here it was cold, quiet, forgotten.

You leaned against the chipped brick wall, burner phone pressed to your ear, the concrete under your heels still holding the heat of the day.

Marlowe answered on the second ring, voice rough and immediate.

“You’re doing well,” she said, skipping any pleasantries, the connection crackling with static over the burner phone. “We’ve got intel suggesting he’s moving something heavy soon. Guns. Bodies. We’re not sure yet. We need details.”

“I’ll get them.” you said. But something in your gut twisted, slow and delicate. There was a pause, just long enough to feel deliberate, before Marlowe spoke again.

"You're getting close," she said. "Maybe closer than you should."

You didn’t answer.

Marlowe’s voice sharpened, cutting through the cold.

"Keep your head clear," she said. "He’s not your ally. Not your confidant. And sure as hell not your..."

She trailed off, the word left unsaid, heavy between you. She didn’t need to say it. You both heard it anyway.

"He's your mark," she finished.

The reminder landed with a dull, familiar weight.

You swallowed.

"I know," you said.

There was another long silence.

Marlowe’s voice dropped lower. Softer. Almost pitying.

"Do you?" she asked.

Not accusing.

Just... tired. Like she’d seen this before. Too many agents thinking they were the exception. Too many agents who forgot which lies belonged to them.

You closed your eyes. You didn’t answer.

You hung up instead, the line cutting to dead air.

For a long moment, you stayed there, phone cooling in your hand, breathing in the faint smell of rain and asphalt and something metallic beneath it.

The words echoed anyway.

He’s your mark.

You repeated it silently. Over and over.

Until it sounded like the lie it was becoming.

--------------------------------------------------------

Your progress wasn’t loud, it was made in careful, patient inches.

You worked your way into the transport operations the way water wore down stone, silent, persistent, inevitable.

It started with small tasks. Internal schedules. Double-checking manifests. Confirming carrier licenses. Quiet things no one wanted to bother with.

You did them all without complaint.

You smiled at the right people. Listened more than you spoke. Made yourself invaluable without making yourself noticeable.

By the end of your first three months, no one questioned why Elise Hawthorne’s name was on the logistics rosters. No one blinked when you started making small adjustments to transport routes, optimizing loads, sidestepping random inspections.

You became necessary.

And that was when the real opportunities began.

First came the observation runs.

"You’ve been good on paper," the Operations Director said one afternoon, dropping a sealed file onto your desk with a grunt. "Let’s see how you are on the ground."

You nodded crisply, hiding the flicker of satisfaction curling through your chest.

Two days later, you found yourself in a sleek black SUV, bouncing down the battered side streets of the industrial district. Clipboards, cargo checks, and cold-eyed men packed into the schedule ahead of you.

Alex Tran was waiting by the first truck. The first time you had seen him that month, but not the first time you had been aware of his watchful eyes.

Dressed down in tactical black, gun at his hip, gaze cold enough to freeze asphalt.

"You’ll stay close," he said without greeting.

You nodded once, matching his pace as he led you through the inspection.

He didn’t speak much. He didn’t have to.

Every once in a while, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, not with curiosity. With calculation.

As if he were trying to solve an equation where none of the variables added up. You were confusing him, he was starting to trust you. Something that he didn’t do. And it was making him angry.

You played your part during the operations perfectly.

Professional. Precise. Helpful but not pushy.

You caught a forged manifest within ten minutes at the first handoff. Quietly corrected a load discrepancy at the second. Smoothed over a bristling argument between two drivers at the third.

You didn’t flinch when weapons were checked, or when they were pulled on you. You didn’t ask questions when the crates were heavier than declared, just waved them through.

You just did your job.

And Alex saw it. He didn’t say it. But you saw it in the way his mouth tightened. The way he stopped hovering quite so closely.

It was a start.

At the end of your fourth month with Angew Holdings, you found something waiting for you on your desk.

No note. No signature.

Just a small, velvet-lined box.

You checked it for traps first. Reflex.

Inside was a slim, understated silver pen. Heavy, expensive, engraved with your initials. Subtle. Professional. Perfectly you.

Then you found it. Tucked beneath the satin lining, almost invisible, a single slip of fine cream cardstock. Three words, handwritten in black ink:

Good work. -S

Your throat tightened. Not from sentiment. From something more dangerous.

Approval from Spencer Agnew wasn’t a gift.

It was an invitation. And a warning.

You tucked the card and the pen away carefully, heartbeat steady.

When you looked up, Alex was standing across the operations floor, watching you.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

His disapproval was written in every taut line of his body. Your carefully built trust with him now broken into fragments.

Approval from Spencer had marked you.

And Alex didn’t trust anything that wore Spencer’s attention like a medal.

Over the next week, you were no longer just shadowing ground operations, you were organizing them. Setting schedules. Signing off on manifests. Escorting high-value shipments through the last stages of transfer.

You weren’t at the center of Agnew Holdings. Not yet. But you were in the bloodstream now. Moving through the arteries of a machine built on steel and blood and secrets.

And it was working.

Marlowe’s encrypted updates came in cautiously optimistic.

You were getting closer. You were gaining trust. You were setting the stage for the bigger moves ahead.

But under the careful victories, something gnawed at the back of your mind.

A slow, quiet awareness.

That every step deeper you moved into Spencer Agnew’s world was a step further away from the version of yourself you still pretended to be.

--------------------------------------------------------

Halfway through your fifth month, everything went sideways.

It should have been routine.

You were shadowing a simple exchange, paperwork, handoffs, signatures, the kind you could almost sleepwalk through by now. Two trucks. Six men. A quiet warehouse by the docks, thick with salt and diesel fumes.

The only strange thing had been Spencer himself.

He insisted on overseeing it personally. No explanation. No warning.

Unusual for him, the man who built distance into an art form.

Still, you played your part. Smiled. Nodded. Blended.

Until you stepped out of the car and realized something was wrong.

It was too quiet.

No seagulls screaming over the water. No radios buzzing from the port authority checkpoint. No distant thrum of trucks or container lifts.

Dead silence.

The hair on the back of your neck prickled just seconds before the first shot shattered the air.

Gunfire ripped down from the rusted catwalks above, sharp and sudden, turning the night into chaos.

Screams.

Scrambling boots on concrete.

The metallic clatter of weapons drawn in panic.

Chaos.

You dropped behind the nearest crate, pulling the gun Alex had insisted you carry. The cold metal bit into the flesh of your hands.

You weren’t supposed to use it, hadn’t even planned on it. You weren’t supposed to even look like you could. Your FBI training would give you away in half a heartbeat.

But then your eyes found Spencer.

He wasn’t ducking. He wasn’t even moving for cover.

He stood in the open, calm, almost... curious. Like he was trying to read the pattern inside the chaos.

You opened your mouth to shout just as you saw it. The glint of a rifle barrel overhead, trained directly on him.

"Spencer!" you yelled, voice cracking through the gunfire.

He turned toward you, just a fraction, just enough.

And you moved without thinking.

The gun rose.

Your hand was steady even though your heart wasn’t.

One shot.

The man on the catwalk jerked backward, arms flailing like a broken marionette, before he fell in a sickening echo of boots and steel.

For one suspended second, the world held its breath.

Spencer’s eyes locked onto yours, not in shock, not in anger.

In recognition.

Spencer looked at you. Really looked at you.

Something electric and terrible passed between you.

And then someone yanked him back toward cover, and the world exploded again.

More shots. More shouting. You ran, heart hammering, the metallic taste of adrenaline burning your throat.

You survived. You all survived.

The clean-up took hours.

The shooters were hired freelancers, dead ends. No fingerprints, no ties, no convenient stories. The docks were re-secured. The shipment was intact, whatever it was. You didn’t ask.

You sat on the edge of a battered shipping crate outside the warehouse, the night air cool against your sweat-soaked skin.

Your hand was still trembling.

Not from fear. From something worse.

From the memory of Spencer’s eyes when he realized what you had done.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

You told yourself it was instinct.

You told yourself it was to preserve your cover.

You lied.

He found you there, sometime past three in the morning.

Spencer emerged from the warehouse like a ghost. His shirt bloodstained, sleeves pushed back, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair damp with sweat. None of the blood was his.

He moved differently now. Looser. Rougher around the edges. The king’s crown was crooked.

His armor had cracks. Maybe you had put them there.

He crossed the cracked concrete without a word and stopped in front of you. You didn’t look up immediately. You didn’t trust yourself to.

"You saved my life," he said quietly.

You exhaled a shaky breath and forced your gaze upward.

Spencer’s face was shadowed, half-lit by the distant floodlights. He looked at you like he was seeing something new, something he hadn’t known to look for until now.

"I thought you didn’t trust new people," you said, voice soft and hoarse.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"I don’t," he said.

He crouched in front of you, folding himself into your space without hesitation, without asking.

"But maybe I should."

His hand brushed against yours, not quite taking it, not quite letting it go.

Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt.

It was a simple touch. It should have been meaningless.

But it wasn’t.

You could feel it, the possibility coiled between your skin and his, warm and treacherous.

Spencer searched your face like he was hunting for the real answer beneath all the careful lies.

"Why’d you do it?" he asked.

Your throat tightened.

For a second, just a second, you almost told the truth.

Because you didn’t want to see him fall. Because you didn’t want to lose the way he looked at you. Because some reckless, traitorous part of you didn’t want to be his enemy anymore.

But you didn’t say any of that.

You didn’t say anything at all.

You just met his eyes, steady, practiced, and let the lie sit heavy between you.

For the mission. For your cover. For survival.

But you couldn’t tell Spencer any of it. Of the truth or the lies.

You took a deep breath, letting the corner of your mouth tug into a wry, careless smile. Your own armor.

"Can’t afford to lose the most lucrative job I’ve had in a while," you said lightly, voice dry.

A joke. A shield. A plausible excuse.

Spencer didn’t laugh.

He just looked at you, long enough and deep enough that the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding twisted painfully inside your chest.

He knew.

He knew you were lying.

But he didn’t call you on it. He just nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and stood.

The moment between you snapped like a brittle thread pulled too tight. Without another word, he walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the warehouse. His footsteps fading, swallowed up by the stillness of the night.

You sat there alone, frozen for a moment longer. Your body thrumming with the aftershocks of adrenaline, denial, and something far more dangerous humming just beneath your skin. Your heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

Then a faint shift in the air. The subtle scrape of a boot on concrete.

You looked up.

Alex stood in the doorway, half-shrouded in the dim light spilling from the floodlights outside. Arms crossed. Face unreadable.

But his eyes- Sharp. Cold. Alive with something simmering just beneath the surface.

He had been watching.

For how long, you didn’t know. Long enough. Long enough to see too much.

You straightened slowly, slipping the gun you had used back into the hidden holster inside your jacket. Every movement careful. Measured. Controlled.

Alex didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just watched you with that same ruthless precision, like a man weighing whether to pull the trigger or wait for a cleaner shot.

"You were sloppy," he said finally, voice low and flat.

You let out a breath you hoped sounded steadier than you felt.

"No one else noticed," you said.

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Something sharper.

"He did."

It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement of fact.

You said nothing.

Alex pushed off the doorframe and crossed the space between you in three slow steps.

He didn’t get in your face. He didn’t have to. His presence alone pressed down like a weight.

"You’re here to do a job," Alex said quietly. "Not catch bullets for him."

"I was protecting the shipment," you said, evenly. Another lie to add to your long list. But it was not as clean as you wanted it to be. Not clean enough for Alex.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you.

"You keep telling yourself that," he said. "Maybe you’ll even believe it."

The words landed like a bullet between your eyes. Fast, deep, deliberate.

You lifted your chin, refusing to flinch.

"Is that a warning?" you asked.

Alex’s eyes narrowed, just slightly.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

And then he turned and walked away, vanishing into the shadows with the same silent efficiency he'd arrived with. Leaving you alone with the gun at your hip, the blood on your hands, and the gnawing certainty that it wasn’t just the mission slipping out of your control anymore.

--------------------------------------------------------

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