#Building Scan Missing Data

[marsbimservices]

How To Improve Scan Quality Of Building?

Improve Scan Quality of Building with advanced data processing software. Achieve unparalleled accuracy, precision, and detail by seamlessly integrating data from various scanning devices. Generate detailed 3D models, facilitate analysis and simulation, and ensure comprehensive documentation and archiving—all with the power of cutting-edge software solutions.��Elevate your building assessments to new heights and unlock new possibilities for design, planning, and maintenance.

[vunblr]

Foundations (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.7.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

From Monday to Wednesday, Bucky didn’t take Thomas to kindergarten. He had been away on a mission with Clint, retrieving classified data from a transnational drug dealer organization in Canada before it could disappear for good. It had been a tense operation that required more patience than Bucky liked to admit, but they got the job done.

By Thursday, despite the pounding migraine drilling into his skull, he took Thomas to school. He was exhausted, but after three days away, he wasn’t about to keep the kid out of his routine any longer, and he didn’t want to burden Sam and Steve any longer.

As they approached the entrance, his gaze landed on her. She was holding several small gift bags, and just as he got closer, he saw another parent handing her a neatly wrapped package.

“��Really, thank you so much for taking such good care of Flore. We’re going to miss you,” the man said warmly.

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Goodbye gifts.

It made sense. That was the polite thing to do, a simple gesture of appreciation. Good manners, acknowledgment of familiarity.

And yet, he had neither thought of it nor had the time to get her anything.

When he finally reached the door with Thomas, she greeted him with the same smile as always, showing no sign of expecting anything from him.

“Well aren’t you popular” he tried to joke.

“Being popular doesn’t pay the rent, but is nice.” She high-fived Thomas, ruffling his hair slightly before he ran off to join the other kids. Bucky watched him go, blinking a couple of times as he watched the child merge with the others.

When he turned back to her, she was shifting her weight slightly, grazing the strap of her bag with her fingers as if debating something.

Then, with a quick breath, she asked, “Are you alright?”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Mr. Rog- Steve mentioned you were working when he dropped Thomas off these past few days, and-” she hesitated, scanning his face. “No offense, but you look a little… drained.”

His lips parted slightly, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt the creeping sense that maybe she’d overstepped.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Um, no.” He ran a gloved hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright. I just have a migraine and I just…” He trailed off, as if even speaking was an effort.

Her expression softened, and before she could think twice, she was already rummaging through her jacket pockets. “Oh, that’s the worst. Here-“

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and held them out to him.

Bucky squinted slightly at her, blinking like he wasn’t sure if she was serious.

“Do you have photophobia right now?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…What?”

“The light,” she clarified, nudging the glasses toward him. “Is it making it worse?”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, “Yeah.”

She stepped just a little closer, enough that he caught the faintest trace of something floral on her scarf. “Take them,” she said. “I won’t be using them until later, and you can give them back when you pick up Thomas.”

Bucky glanced down at the sunglasses hesitatingly.

“They’re unisex,” she added, a small teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You won’t look weird.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he finally took them, and neither of them moved away for a second too long.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, slipping them on.

----

Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pills to kick in. A blister and a half. He needed his damn metabolism to cooperate for once. Just this once.

He shifted to his side, his landing his gaze on the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

You look a little drained, she had said.

And he was.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have fought it. He would’ve just rotted in his apartment, letting time blur, barely moving, barely breathing until the serum forced his body to reset. He wouldn’t have eaten, wouldn’t have showered, wouldn’t have cared. Just waited it out in silence, in the dark, until the worst of it passed.

But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Not with Thomas in the house.

He didn’t want the kid worrying about things he shouldn’t have to. He’d already seen how distressed Thomas got when Bucky was too hurt, how his small hands would clutch at his sleeves, how his big blue eyes would fill with silent fear when he witnessed one of Bucky’s episodes.

So, he sucked it up.

He couldn’t rely on Steve or Sam every time. If he was here, he was the only one responsible for Thomas’s care. That was the job. That was what mattered.

Which meant that in the few hours Thomas was at kindergarten, Bucky would do the only thing he could, lie here, breathe through the pain, and hope that by the time pickup rolled around, he’d be functional.

----

By the time pickup rolled around, Bucky had already forced himself out of the apartment. The migraine had dulled into something manageable, not gone, but tolerable. He could function. That was enough.

Still, instead of walking straight up to the gate, he lingered nearby, half-hidden as he watched the other parents pick up their kids, exchanging smiles and small talk. He let the minutes slip by, waiting until only a handful of them remained before finally making his way forward.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, keeping his distance. Thomas spotted him instantly, and his little face lighted up as he ran toward him.

She, however, hesitated. Her brows pulled together slightly as she noticed Bucky wasn’t approaching fully, like he was deliberately keeping himself at the edge of things. But, instead thinking too much into it, she turned back to say goodbye to the remaining children.

Eventually, she moved toward the entrance, ready to grab her things and head out, until Thomas’s voice rang out behind her.

She barely had time to turn before the kid came bounding up to her, gripping a slightly wild but lovely bouquet of daisies.

“These are for you!” he announced, a little breathless from the run.

Blinking in surprise, she knelt down. “For me?”

Thomas nodded eagerly, holding the flowers out with both hands. “We’ll miss you!” Then, with great importance, he added, “Daddy says that if you put an aspirnin-  aspren- aspirine in the water, they’ll stay fresher for longer.”

She let out a soft, surprised laugh before her gaze caught on something tucked between the stems. A small card, slightly crumpled from Thomas’s grip.

Thank you for everything. Barnes Family

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Thomas into a warm hug. The boy giggled, squeezing her back before darting off toward his dad.

She swallowed, glancing past Thomas toward the gate.

Bucky was still standing back, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses she had lent him that morning. When he noticed her looking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She smiled, tightening her fingers gently around the bouquet. Then she watched them go, and turned to walk inside, with slower steps.

The flowers had moved her more than they should have.

Almost every parent had given her a small farewell gift: a box of chocolates, a scented candle, a handwritten note. All sweet gestures, all appreciated. But somehow, this felt different. More personal. More thoughtful.

Maybe it was because Thomas had delivered them with such excitement, his little hands gripping the stems like they were something important. Maybe it was that it’s been ages since someone gave her flowers.

Or maybe… it was because he was the one who bought them. And, she liked the idea more than she was willing to admit.

----

Friday morning, it was Steve who arrived at the kindergarten gate with Thomas.

The boy clung to his uncle’s hand, his usual energy was dimmed, and when he saw her, he only offered a small wave instead of his usual eager greeting.

She crouched slightly, offering him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

He mumbled a quiet “Morning” back, shifting on his feet.

Steve exhaled, giving her an apologetic look as he handed over the sunglasses she had lent Bucky the day before. “He wanted to stay home with his dad,” he explained. “Bucky’s… indisposed. If he seems a little off today, that’s probably why.”

She took the sunglasses, brushing her fingers briefly against the frame before slipping them into her pocket. “Oh, is he sick?”

Steve hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Then, with an tight smile, he nodded. “Still dealing with that migraine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

The truth was more complicated.

Since coming back from the mission with Clint, Bucky had suffered a couple of seizures, probably triggered by stress and fatigue. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just another mark Hydra had left on his body, a collateral damage from years of forced resets in the chair.

The migraines, the memory lapses, the muscle spasms, Bucky had learned to live with those. But the seizures were the worst. They left him wrecked afterward, his body aching like he’d been through a fight he didn’t remember.

So no, he wasn’t just indisposed.

But Steve wasn’t going to tell her that.

Not when Bucky would rather chew glass than let people see him vulnerable.

----

Thomas was quieter than usual that day. He followed the routine, sat in his usual spot during storytime, and played alongside his classmates, but there was a certain way in his movements, like his mind was elsewhere.

During free play, as she helped a group of kids build a tower with wooden blocks, Thomas suddenly looked up at her, furrowing his little brows in thought.

“Um Miss…?”

She smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do adults get more hurt than kids when they fall?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because they’re sooo tall?”

She chuckled at the logic. “It’s about the same for everyone,” she explained gently. “Sometimes kids bounce back quickly, and sometimes adults do, too. It just depends on how they fall.”

Thomas pursed his lips, considering that. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Oh. That’s good. I was afraid Daddy was hurt.”

Something in her chest tightened.

She kept her voice even. “Why’s that, honey?”

Thomas didn’t seem to think much of the question, busy stacking blocks on top of each other. “’Cause sometimes Daddy falls a lot.” The words were so casual, so absentminded, that it took her a second to process them.

Her grip on the wooden block in her hand tightened slightly. “He does?”

Thomas nodded, completely unaware of the weight his words carried. “Not all the time,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. “Just sometimes. And then he gets really tired after.”

She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “I see.”

Thomas hummed in response, satisfied with her answer, and went back to his building, already distracted by something else.

But she wasn’t.

She watched him for a moment longer, as her mind quietly turned over what he’d just said. Something about Thomas’s words unsettled her, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t really her business.

It would be weird to ask Steve, and even if she did, what could she say? Hey, Thomas mentioned his dad falls a lot, should I be worried? No. That wasn’t her place.

So she let it be.

But the thought kept occupying her mind. Especially because today was her last full class with the kids. The festival was over the weekend, and then that was it. Monday would come, and Jane would take over.

Maybe that was why, glancing around to make sure the other kids weren’t watching, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. With a little wink, she placed them in his small hands. “Make sure your dady gets one, okay? And… I hope he feels better soon,” she said gently.

Thomas nodded, tucking the candies into his pocket. “Thank you, me too.”

----

Steve arrived to pick up Thomas just in time, jogging to the gate to greet the boy and ruffle his hair. Then he turned toward her. “How’d he do today?”

She smiled, though there was something… sad in it. “Pretty good, considering he was feeling a little down. I uh- hope James is recovering well.” she stuttered a little. Then, with a small smile, she added, “It’d be wonderful to have you both at the festival. Steve smiled. “But in case you can’t make it, and we don’t see each other again…” she fidgeted lightly with the strap of her bag before she continued, “I just wanted to thank you for helping us with the booths.”

Steve quirked a brow, puzzled.

That’s when she realized, he didn’t know.

Of course, why would he? It’s not like Thomas’s father would go out of his way to mention her to his friend.

“Oh, um… I’m just the substitute teacher,” she explained, suddenly feeling awkward. “The titular returns on Monday.”

Steve’s jaw ticked slightly. “Oh. Bucky didn’t- that’s a shame. After all these months, the kids must be super attached.”

She exhaled a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s tough to leave them.”

He tilted his head. “Do you… have another school lined up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still looking for openings. In the meantime, I mostly fill the idle time nannying.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly like he was filing that information away. “Makes sense.” Then, with an easy smile, he clapped Thomas on the back and said, “Well, ma’am, I’ll definitely be coming tomorrow for those pies, Bucky or no Bucky. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring some people along.”

There was something in his tone that made her blink, like he was already planning something she wasn’t in on.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

Steve just grinned. “Nah. Just keep an eye out.”

-----

Bucky shifted on the couch when Steve and Thomas entered the apartment,  resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. He offered the kid a tired smile. “Hey, bud. Go wash your hands and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Thomas nodded obediently, padding toward the bathroom.

The second he was out of earshot, Steve dropped onto the couch next to Bucky. “So… Tommy’s teacher told me she’s leaving.” He stated casually.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and then grunted. A non-answer.

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You going to the event this weekend?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I should take Thomas, yeah.”

The blonde continued to watch him with intent, almost without blinking.

Bucky looked up, tensing his shoulders. “What?”

“Are we going to pretend it’s not the last chance to see her?”

Bucky’s expression hardened and his posture turned rigid as he looked at his friend. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You know it's not my forte.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “Look, I appreciate this… need you have to push me forward, but I don’t need it, Stevie. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” there was an edge in his voice, a weight that made Steve’s shoulders drop just slightly.

“I know you do,” he said, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “But maybe that’s why-”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s voice was firm and final. “Just… don’t.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. “Man, you are stubborn.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and his voice snapped low and controlled, careful not to carry to the bathroom where Thomas was washing his hands. “You’re overthinking something that isn’t even a thing.”

Steve’s calm expression didn’t change, which only made Bucky’s jaw clench tighter. “You know damn well my few attempts at dating were a disaster,” he continued, sharply. “And I only did it because you kept pestering me about it.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky didn’t let him get a word in.

“You don’t get it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

His shoulders hunched just slightly, his gaze dropping. “No sane person would look at me and think… and she’s not into me. I’d know.”

Steve’s face softened, as he took in the slumped set of Bucky’s shoulders, the way his hand stayed fisted at his side like he was holding himself together by only force of will.

“Bucky…”

But he just shook his head, standing up abruptly. “Just drop it, Steve.”

And with that, he walked off stiffly as he moved toward the hallway.

-----

Saturday arrived, and the festival was bursting with people.

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, music, and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air. Families crowded the booths, with hands full of cupcakes, crafts, and raffle tickets. The children dashed between the stalls, their little faces painted with colorful designs, excited.

And, of course, a noticeable crowd gathered around three particular men.

Steve had shown up with Sam and Clint in tow, and Sam -being Sam- had tweeted about it. That was all it took to draw in curious onlookers and eager fans who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Avengers in civilian mode. Some were bold enough to ask for selfies, which Sam graciously agreed to with his signature charm. Steve kept it low-key, smiling politely while Clint grumbled but still posed when cornered by particularly persistent fans.

The buzz from their appearance did wonders for sales. The bake sale sold out twice, and the raffle tickets were gone in record time.

She watched it all from the distance, with a pleased smile on her face. It was turning out even better than she’d hoped.

Then, she caught sight of Steve talking with the director, shaking her hand as he discreetly handed her an envelope. Even from afar, she saw the way the woman’s eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth, clearly struggling to keep her composure. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose name was on that check. Things were going well, better than well, and that was good. The festival was a success, the kids were having a blast, and the school would benefit enormously from the donations.

She was happy. Truly.

But… she also couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt as the day passed by. She’d hoped to see him there. Maybe standing in a corner, lurking on the periphery with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to dip lower, she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t going to happen.

She wouldn’t see him again.

Oh well. It was just an innocent crush, after all.

Nothing serious. Nothing life-altering. Just a harmless infatuation from observing and interacting with him on a daily basis, the same way she did with any other parent.

With the little difference that she didn’t go to work every morning wondering if any other parent would be wearing that blue henley that suited him so well. Or if his hair would be left loose, or pulled back in that short, neat ponytail that made his sharp features even more striking.

Or if maybe she might find an excuse to have some trivial physical contact. A casual brush of fingers when giving him a paper, a brief touch on her arm to get her attention.

Stupid, she chided herself, shaking her head as she moved to straighten the crafts table. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

----

Eventually, she found herself chatting with Steve and company before they took their leave.

They were… surprisingly normal.

Mr. Wilson -Sam- had a warm, easygoing demeanor. He complimented the cinnamon rolls with genuine enthusiasm and asked questions about the neighborhood, curious about the local community.

Clint, on the other hand, was… well. He made a big show of browsing the crafts table, holding up a knitted cat plushie with a serious expression. “So, if I get this for my dog… how long before he tears its head off?”

She stifled a laugh. “Depends on the dog, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly, turning the plushie this way and that. “Yeah… Lucky’s got a soft spot for cat toys. Rips ‘em to shreds out of love, y’know?”

Steve rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pretty sure he eats them out of spite.”

Clint gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you accuse him of malice!”

They were good people. Easy people. And for a second, she understood how Thomas could be so fond of his father’s companions.

As they said their goodbyes, she almost asked Steve about him. The words were right there, hovering on the tip of her tongue. How’s James? Is he… alright?

But she swallowed them back.

----

After the Avengers trio left, the festival slowly quieted down. Without the crowd magnet that was Sam’s tweet, the streets grew calmer, and the noise of conversation softened as people trickled out. The streetlights flickered on, casting warm glows along the sidewalks.

She was absentmindedly rearranging a set of crocheted coasters on the table when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Low, a little rough.

“How much for the coasters?”

Her heart gave a startled jolt as she turned around.

There he was, hands in his jacket pockets, hair pulled back neatly, the streetlight casting a soft glow over his tired features.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I- uh…” She cleared her throat, her smile slipping out before she could stop it. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s already playing with that girl… Fiona, or Flora,” Bucky replied, glancing toward the playground. “Apparently, she just got here. Same as us.”

She followed his gaze, watching the children chase each other, laughter echoing through the yard. “They get along well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened, lingering on the kids before he looked back at her. “Thank you for the sunglasses, by the way.”

Right. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I get migraines, too, so I know how it can be sometimes.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah. They helped.”

She rocked back on her heels, brushing the edge of the table behind her with her fingers. “I’m glad.” He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “And-” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face, “thank you for the flowers.”

His lips twitched, just enough to soften his expression as he lifted his gaze toward her. “Not too old-fashioned, I hope.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I… loved them,” she declared, almost too earnestly. She felt a little silly, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “The last time I got flowers was… well, a friend brought them when I was in the hospital for appendicitis… like five years ago.” She chuckled lightly, brushing the edge of the table again, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had.

There it was. The opening he should have ignored.

But he didn’t.

“And… what presents do your boyfriend give you on special occasions then?”

The question came out more casual than he felt. He kept his posture relaxed, like he didn’t really care about the answer. But his eyes were locked on her, sharp and unwavering.

Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked down, fidgeting with the table’s edge again. “Oh, um… I’m not… I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

Bucky’s jaw shifted, and his teeth clenched before he relaxed them. His body unconsciously leaned just a fraction closer. “Oh.”

She looked up then, and their gazes met. His were piercing, framed by dark circles that spoke of exhaustion, but seemed to intensify the blue.

So, not seeing anybody. His throat bobbed, and his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t expected to get this far. He exhaled, slowly and measured. “Right.”

Her gaze flickered down, suddenly finding the space between their feet very interesting. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek, and she pushed it back again.

Before either of them could say another word, Thomas came running, voice loud and cheerful as he yelled. “Miss Y/n! Look!”

They both turned, and the spell broke as the child waved a giant cookie with excitement. “Flora’s mom gave me this!”

She forced herself to laugh. “Wow, that’s huge! You better save some for your dad.”

Thomas grinned, already taking a big bite. “No way!”

Bucky huffed, as a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Figures.”

The kid then scampered off, cookie half gone before he even made it back to the playground.

The moment gone, Bucky shifted, and his body tensed when he realized how close he was standing. He took a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I, uh… better keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, finally letting go of the table. “Yeah… of course.”

Before he walked away, she hesitated but found her voice. “I’m glad you came.”

His posture stilled and he straightened himself before slowly turning to face her. His gaze softened, his always-present guarded look slipping just for a moment.

“…Yeah. Me too.”

----

After their conversation, Bucky found himself hovering on the edges while keeping an eye on Thomas, his gaze instinctively drifting back to her as she moved between the booths, helping kids pick out treats, chatting easily with parents, her laughter blending into the warm evening air.

He lingered longer than he meant to, always just a few steps away but never quite close enough. Every time he tried to approach her again, something got in the way.

A parent pulled her aside to thank her. A kid called out her name, needing help. Another teacher waved her over, asking her opinion on where to store the leftover banners.

Bucky’s mouth would open, half-formed words on his tongue, but then he’d shut it again, stepping back, tensing his shoulders as the opportunity slipped away. Time slipped by, and the evening grew cooler as the crowd began to thin. Booths were closing up, the parents gathered their kids, and the buzz of excitement slowly winded down.

Eventually, Thomas tugged at his sleeve, his small voice pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “Daddy… I’m bored.”

Bucky blinked, looking down at him.

The kid’s eyes were drooping, since the day’s excitement clearly caught up to him. “Can we go home now?”

Bucky exhaled, resigned. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s go.”

Thomas nodded, and then looked back toward the crafts booth, scrunching up his face. “Wait… I wanna say goodbye to Miss Y/n.”

His throat felt dry. But he swallowed it down, nodding as he squeezed his son’s fingers back. “Alright.”

He straightened his posture, forcing his shoulders to relax, willing himself to push past the stupid, adolescent feeling twisting in his gut. This wasn’t about him. It was for Thomas. Just for Thomas.

So he took a breath and walked toward her.

She was at the crafts booth, boxing up leftover yarn and packing away the crocheted coasters. When they approached, she looked up, and her eyes widened before a warm smile softened her face. “Hey, Thomas.” Then her gaze flicked to Bucky, lingering for a second too long on him before she looked back at the boy. “And James.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again, but he gave a curt nod, unconsciously squeezing Thomas’s hand just a bit tighter.

Thomas stepped forward, and tilted back his head to look up at her. “You’re really leaving?”

Her smile faltered, and she crouched down, “Yeah, buddy. I am.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his lips curled into a sad frown. “But… who’s gonna read the stories now?”

Her eyes shimmered, but her smile stayed firm. “Miss Jane will. And she’s really good at funny voices, too.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkled. “But I like your voices better.”

A laugh broke through her lips, soft and warm. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. And hey, maybe I’ll come visit sometime, okay?”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thomas beamed, stepping forward and wrapping his little arms around her neck. She stiffened, just for a moment, before hugging him back, closing her eyes as she held him close.

Bucky’s chest ached. He looked away, trying to ignore the sting of it all. This was just for Thomas.

When she finally pulled back, she ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? And be good for your dad.”

Thomas nodded, his smile wide and sincere. “I will!”

She stood up, drifting her gaze back to Bucky. “Well, again, I’m glad you two could make it.”

His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his gaze to the side. “Yeah. Figured Thomas would want to… y’know.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, a shadow crossing her face. “Of course.”

For a second, the words were right there. The things he wanted to say, the things he knew he should say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just gave a stiff nod. “Take care.”

Her smile faltered, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the box. “You too, James.”

Thomas tugged at his hand, his little voice breaking through the moment. “Come on, Papa. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky murmured. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, guiding his son away.

He didn’t look back.

Not even when he wanted to.

-----

A couple of weeks passed, and their daily life settled into a certain rhythm. Thomas adjusted well enough to the new teacher. According to him, she was “nice” and “funny,” but then he’d always add, with a little pout, “But Miss Y/n was better.”

Bucky didn’t have much to say to that. He just ruffled his son’s hair and changed the subject, pretending like the kid’s words didn’t affect him.

He felt drained again. It was getting harder to balance parenthood, missions, and the neurological bullshit that seemed determined to make his life a living hell. The migraines were more frequent, and the muscle spasms in his shoulder were more stubborn. And there were days when the exhaustion sank so deep into his bones, that he felt like he was drowning.

His temper was shorter. His mood was broodier, and that was saying a lot.

Not in front of Thomas, of course. He forced himself to keep it together around the kid, to push down the irritability and the tension coiling under his skin. But that meant the rest of his social circle got the brunt of it.

Steve noticed. They all did.

And Steve -being Steve- decided to stage an intervention ambushing in his living room.

“You need to find a nanny,” he said one evening, firmly.

“No,” Bucky snapped, not even looking up from his coffee. “I’m not letting a stranger into my house.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Buck, you can’t keep this up. Eventually, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, tightening his grip around his mug.

Steve’s voice softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’re all here for you. But we’ve got our own responsibilities, too. Our own missions, our own lives.” He paused. “You’re not a burden. You’re not in this alone, but you’ve got to figure out a way to make things work, not only for Thomas, for you too.”

The words settled like stones in Bucky’s gut.

He knew Steve was right. He knew he was leaning on the team too much, burdening them with his fucked-up life and his chaotic mind. But hearing it out loud stung in a way that made him feel like a failure all over again.

----

That week, he had to travel with Clint to Canada for a mission. He had made arrangements with Steve for Thomas to stay at his place. It felt like another burden to drop on his best friend, but he didn’t feel he had another choice.

Things ended a day earlier than expected, and Bucky didn’t bother going back to his apartment first. He was bone-tired, dirty, and stiff from travel, but he just wanted to see his kid. Make sure he was okay.

He called Steve, but there was no answer. Not unusual, but still irritating.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to his place and rang the doorbell twice before he heard footsteps approaching.

The snarky remark he’d been ready to throw died in his throat the second the door swung open.

Because it wasn’t Steve standing there.

It was her.

Wearing a floral apron, hands dusted with flour, and a faint streak of it on her cheek as she blinked up at him in shock. Her mouth opened, then closed, her eyes wide.

Bucky’s brain shut down. His body locked up, as he looked at her, so familiar and yet so impossibly out of place. He barely managed a croaked, “What… what are you doing here?”

She blinked again, then straightened her pose, wiping her hands on the apron. “Oh- um… Hi, James.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made him feel things, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder. “Steve had to run an errand, and he asked me to watch Thomas for a while.” Her eyes flicked back to his, “I… didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Bucky stood there, frozen in the doorway, his tired mind struggling to catch up. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t understand. “Yeah. Came back early.”

She shifted her weight, playing nervously with the edge of her apron. “Right… well, Thomas is inside. We… we were making cookies.” She hesitated, then added, “He said they were your favorite.”

Bucky’s heart did something stupid, something he didn’t like, and he had to clear his throat to shake it off.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s right.”

She smiled then, soft and warm, relaxing her posture. “Well… come in, then.”

He stood there for half a second longer than he should have, as his brain still struggled to process the fact that she was here, in Steve’s house, baking cookies with his kid.

“Where’s Thomas?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low and gravelly as he moved past her, already unfastening the straps on his tactical vest.

She blinked, momentarily stunned before she managed to answer, “In… in the bathroom.”

Bucky grunted, not even looking at her as he pulled a knife from his thigh holster, the blade catching the light before he tucked it into an old cupboard by the hallway. Then came another knife, a handgun, and an extra clip, all disappearing behind the tiny wooden doors.

She knew it was rude to stare. She knew it.

But it was the first time she’d seen him like this.

The tactical suit made his broad shoulders seem impossibly solid, and the black fabric hugged his body, emphasizing the lines of his arms, as the curve of his biceps strained under the worn seams. The vest molded against his chest, doing nothing to hide the muscular expanse beneath it, or concealing just how strong he was.

His thick thighs were framed by those dark cargo pants that clung to him as he moved. Even weighed down by holsters and utility belts, he moved with a lethal grace. And his hair -God, his hair- disheveled and muddy, framing his face and somehow softening the hard cut of his jaw.

There was dirt smudged across his cheekbone, and a faint bruise along his jaw, evidence of whatever fight he’d been in. His lips were pressed in a thin line giving him an edge of danger.

Danger.

That was the word. He looked dangerous. And damn, if that wasn’t… hot.

He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” He turned to her, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. “Where’s Steve?”

She straightened, nervously brushing her fingers against the fabric of her apron before she crossed her arms, tightening her posture. “I don’t know, sincerely. He said he had things to do and asked me to babysit for a couple of hours.” Her chin lifted just slightly. “I told him the last time we saw each other that I’d be doing this until I found a spot in another kindergarten.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

“He said he asked you for my number,” she added, just a touch defensive.

He shifted his posture, narrowing his eyes. “Did he now?”

She tilted her head, pulling her brows together. “Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer and flicked his gaze to the side, jaw working as he realized what happened. That punk.

Steve must’ve swiped her number from his phone at some point since he hadn’t deleted the contact yet.

His teeth clenched, and his body went rigid. Of course, he had planned this. He could practically hear that self-satisfied voice in his head, calling him out for being stubborn.

“Um… is everything alright?”

Her voice broke softly through his thoughts. Her arms were still crossed, and there was a crease of concern on her brow, as she pressed her lips together while she watched him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, relaxing his stance just a fraction. “…Yeah. Everything’s fine.” For a second, he didn’t know what to do. How to stand. What to say.

Silence.

Awkward, heavy silence.

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, nervously twisting the apron’s hem. “Well, I’m… I’m going to check on the cookies.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

The moment she rounded the corner and got out of sight, he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped forward as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about the possibility of seeing her again. Hell, the way his chest stuttered when she opened the door was proof of that. But the fact that Steve had the nerve to call her without letting him know bothered him.

He knew this wasn’t accidental. Not by a long shot. Steve didn’t do accidental when it came to him. The punk knew very well about the nightmares. About the shitty migraines and the episodes that left Bucky feeling like his body was betraying him. About the way he was falling behind, failing to balance it all.

He had been on his case for weeks about getting a nanny, and now… this? Her of all people?

His fingers curled into fists.

Damn it, Steve knew. He knew, and he’d gone behind his back, meddling in things he had no right to touch. He’d give the punk a piece of his mind for this.

Just as soon as he could breathe normally again.

“Daddy!”

Bucky’s head snapped up just in time to catch Thomas barreling toward him, flinging his little arms around his waist with all the force his tiny body could muster.

The impact made Bucky stumble back half a step before kneeling and wrapping his arms securely around his son.

He let himself sink into the moment, holding Thomas close, shutting his eyes for a second longer than necessary. The kid’s head was buried against his chest, warm and solid, real.

He stayed like that, resting his chin on the child’s messy hair until the boy started chattering excitedly.

“Daddy, we made cookies! Y/n let me mix the dough and everything!” Thomas pulled back just enough to look up at him, with bright eyes. “Uncle Steve was busy, but she came, and it was so much fun!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile, nodding along as Thomas continued to recount his afternoon. His little voice was so cheerful, that Bucky couldn’t help but soften, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“I’m glad you had fun, buddy.” His voice was calm, even if his thoughts were anything but.

Meanwhile, she was still in the kitchen, apron in hand, tracing absentmindedly the floral pattern with her fingers as she leaned against the counter.

She didn’t know how to face him. Not after that awkward, clipped conversation. Not after the way his body had stiffened, and his eyes had narrowed as he realized she was there.

There was definitely something going on.

When Steve called, his voice had been chirpy and casual. He’d said he remembered her mentioning she was open to babysitting, and he asked if she was available for a few hours.

She’d said yes without a second thought.

They set a day and time, and she showed up expecting to watch Steve’s kid, or maybe a relative’s. She never imagined that Steve lived alone in his apartment and she’d walk in and find Thomas there.

He had been vague -really vague- when she asked who she’d be watching. He hadn’t lied, exactly. But he’d definitely led her to believe it would be his responsibility she was taking on.

When she arrived, Steve explained to her that Bucky was away, and he was in charge of the kid for some days. But then, some important things came up -again, he’d been vague about the details- and he couldn’t leave Thomas with just anyone.

“So I remembered what you told me,” he’d said with a disarming smile. “and asked Bucky for your number. He instantly agreed to it, he was so thrilled when I told him you were the one watching after the little guy.”

It had made sense at the time. He’d seemed so sure, so confident when he’d explained it all. And of course, it felt good to see Thomas again.

But then Bucky showed up at the door, tactical suit half undone, weapons dropping from his holsters, and she realized he didn’t look thrilled.

His expression had been guarded, his body was totally tense and his words clipped and cold. Not exactly the reaction of someone who had agreed to this arrangement. But then again… why would she suspect anything when Captain America himself had stood there, looking her straight in the eye with that earnest, honest gaze of his, and told her everything was fine?

And now here she was, hiding in the kitchen, debating whether she should leave or stay until Steve came back, since, technically, he was her employer for the day.

And, well… she needed the money.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Perfect. Just perfect.

How the hell did she get herself into this?

She looked toward the hallway, hearing Thomas’s cheerful voice as he babbled to his father. She could just make out the low, rumbling sound of Bucky’s replies, his tone softer and calmer than when he spoke to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she started to transfer the cookies from the cooling rack to a tray, arranging them with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the man who was currently standing just a few feet away.

Bucky heard her curse under her breath, quiet but unmistakable, and something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

None of this was her fault.

He exhaled through his nose, raking a hand through his grimy hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a tangle. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to not be in this position, trying to smooth over a situation Steve had thrown them both into.

But here they were.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the kitchen, feeling ridiculously out of place in his tactical gear against the warm, homey scent of cinnamon and sugar.

She was still standing by the counter, transferring the cookies onto a tray, tense. So tense. He hesitated for a second before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

She startled slightly but didn’t turn around.

He stood in the doorway, blocking some of the fading daylight, with his broad body.

“I, um…” He scratched at the back of his neck, brushing his fingers through tangled hair, already regretting how awkward this was. “Can you pass me a glass?”

Finally, she looked at him and nodded, moving to the cupboard and reaching up on her toes, grabbing one and handing it over without a word. Her fingers brushed his, soft and warm, and his grip tightened on the glass just a little too hard.

He filled it from the tap, taking a slow sip, using the seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I forgot…” He sighed, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Steve asked me for your number when I was out of the country. My mind was… elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her expression eased just a bit. Were her eyes a little glassy?

Oh, he was definitely going to strangle Captain Jerk the minute he saw him.

“Yeah… so, sorry if I was rude back there.” He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the counter. “I know it’s by no means an excuse, but I’m tired-”

“Don’t worry,” she cut in softly, with a gentle voice as she shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised at how easily she let him off the hook.

“I can’t even imagine…” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing at his disheveled state. The dirty tactical suit, the bruises blooming under his jaw, and his wild, tangled hair.

Her gaze lingered a little too long on the way the fabric stretched over his chest. Luckily, he didn’t notice since his gaze drifted toward the tray of cookies.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Want one?”

He looked up, his gaze met hers, and for just a second, she forgot how to breathe. His blue eyes were softer now, warmer.

“…Yeah.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her heart skipped, and her fingers trembled just a little as she tilted the tray toward him.

He hesitated just for a second like deciding which one to choose, then his eyes flicked again to her face. And there, sensing the warmth of his body standing so close to her, and his scent -sweat and leather, dust and something distinctively him- filling the small kitchen, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in so much trouble.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira

[justchillgurl]

Title: Debt and Dagger Smiles.

Summary: At Kanghak High, she’s the girl everyone turns to—for help, for answers, for secrets. Controlled, calculating, she runs the school from behind her polite smile. Unseen by her, Geum Seong-je starts paying attention—and he doesn’t like what he sees. He likes it too much.

Check this out!@

Author's Note: Welcome to Debt and Dagger Smiles. This story is a slow burn—full of power plays, tension, and the clash between control and chaos. If you're into smart characters, unspoken games, and dangerous chemistry, you're in the right place. Updates will come as inspiration strikes—feel free to leave your thoughts.

Content Warnings: None (for now).

_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠____

Chapter 1: The Balance Sheet.

At Kanghak High, no one held the web of whispers tighter than her.

She walked the halls with a quiet, calculating ease—her uniform always crisp, her eyes always focused, her phone never more than a breath away. Most students thought of her as approachable, reliable, the kind of girl you’d ask for help with a project or directions to the nearest printer. And sometimes, she said yes. But only after calculating the weight of the favor.

Because nothing came free.

She didn’t offer kindness out of softness. Her generosity was strategic. She said yes when it mattered—when the person asking held potential. A future teacher’s pet. A student council officer. Someone whose name would matter on a list. Those who received her help might think they got lucky.

They didn’t.

They were already in her pocket.

She didn’t waste time with the Union. Despite their presence in the school and the vague air of intimidation they carried, she saw them as distractions. She wasn’t trying to control through fists—she was building something smarter. Cleaner.

In her notebook, color-coded and organized to military precision, she kept track of every test date, every exam format, and every student in the top ten. Her grades were near perfect, and she made sure to keep it that way. While others stayed out late or fought behind buildings, she was home by eight sharp. Her family didn’t tolerate disobedience, and she didn’t test their limits.

Not publicly.

What no one knew was that she ran the school blog.

Anonymous. Undefinable. Ruthless.

She didn’t write everything, of course. She barely wrote at all. But she knew what was happening—who was cheating, who was skipping, who was crying behind the lockers. Gossip reached her before it hit group chats. Secrets traveled faster when people trusted you, and she made sure everyone trusted her just enough to slip up.

Geum Seong-je watched her from the corner of the school convenience store.

She didn’t notice him. Not because she wasn’t observant, but because he wasn’t in her circle. Not worth tracking. Not yet.

He’d seen her around, of course. Everyone had. But this was the first time he paid attention.

She stood in front of the drink fridge, scanning the labels like she had a spreadsheet in her head comparing caffeine levels. Her movements were efficient, deliberate. No wasted steps. She picked a small can of black coffee and a rice ball, paid in coins, and dropped the receipt in her bag.

Not once did she smile.

When another student tried to stop her near the exit—some third-year begging for help printing a missing assignment—she tilted her head slightly, brows pinched as if already calculating.

“What do you do again?” she asked.

“I’m vice secretary of—”

“Of the eco club,” she finished. “Right. You owe me. Done. Send me the file. I’ll print it. But you’re collecting survey data for me next month. No complaints.”

The girl nodded quickly.

She walked off without confirming. The favor was made. The debt recorded.

Seong-je didn’t move. He leaned back into the shelf, hood pulled low, watching her disappear past the glass doors.

Interesting.

He’d heard rumors before—of how she always had the answers to tests before they dropped, how her notes circled among the elite students, how she knew when a relationship ended before either person confirmed it. He’d assumed most of it was exaggerated.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

She didn’t just survive in this school.

She ran it—quietly, efficiently, and with terrifying precision.

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

End of Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 has been updated to third-person POV.

Thank you for reading🫂.

[sharieb]

The Ones Who Fade pt 1

Genre: Angst (not proofread)

Pairing: LADs x MC (Still a non-Mc fanfic, but this chapter is in MC's pov for the plot)

Writer's notes: Hey everyone! Welcome to this chapter of this series. This chapter will be divided into 2 parts and will focus on getting a glimpse of the guys' behaviour through MC's pov. I tried to keep the boys as original as possible but also display the turmoil that simmers within them through their day, so I hope you all enjoy.

First Previous Next

The rain had followed her all morning, clinging to her coat like sorrow. It tapped quietly on the windows of the Hunters Association building, whispering like an omen. MC stepped inside, brushing droplets from her shoulders. The Hunters Association was quieter than usual. The usual hum of chatter and footsteps was muted, shadows hanging heavier in the corners.

Lately, something’s been off with one of the boys, from what others have been telling her. Everyone says he has not been himself lately. And it’s been days. No matter how much others try to reach out, it feels like they are chasing shadows and hitting dead ends. She needs to visit him, needs to see him face-to-face. She won't give up until she somehow pulls him back from whatever’s holding him down. She owes him that much.

As MC sat at her usual post behind her desk in front of the computer screen, her eyes flickering from data to him, Xavier. He’s hunched over his desk, pale light painting shadows beneath, his fingers hovered over the keyboard, still as his eyes, repeatedly scanning the same line on his report like it holds some secret he can’t quite grasp. His usual quiet sweetness is masked by a distant, colder edge, and his restless eyelids betray how little sleep he’s gotten—probably from those damned nightmares again.

She approaches Xavier, who didn't look up, as MC tries to keep her tone light but gentle. “Xavier, you’ve been stuck on that page for twenty minutes. Maybe it’s time to step away for a bit?”

He doesn’t look up, voice low and clipped. “Can’t. There’s too much to do. Need to refine the data.”

“You’re staring at a blank field.”

That made him stop. Not because she was wrong, but because she noticed. He closed his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“I’ll get it done. Just… give me a minute.”

She frowns, sensing the strain beneath her partner's words. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here, you know.”

He finally meets her eyes, exhaustion flickering through his usual calm. “I’m fine. Just... tired.”

MC wanted to say more. Offer warmth and comfort. But the words felt like stones in her mouth, heavy and misplaced. So she nodded and sat beside him, letting the silence do what words couldn’t. Soon, Captain Jenna came over to where they both sat and handed them their mission for today before sending them off.

While out on the field, the duo found themselves in the middle of a fight with wanderers. As MC fought, she noticed a change in how Xavier moved—usually his movements were so sharp and precise—but today his steps were heavier, his reactions just a bit slower. It’s like the weight of those sleepless nights and haunting dreams is dragging him down. Even during the fierce battle, the distance in his eyes is hard to miss. Once the fight was over and they started to head back, MC softly nudged Xavier's arm. "Hey… you sure you're okay? You’ve been zoning out all day. Thought maybe we could grab hot pot or something. Your treat, of course."

Xavier paused for a moment and looked over to MC. He gave her a tired smile, even though his gaze still appeared distant, with the smile not reaching his eyes.

"Heh… tempting." His voice lowers, eyes now shifted back to the ground. "But… not tonight. I’m—" Xavier exhales, running a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping "—just really tired. Think I’m just gonna head back home and get some more sleep." MC frowned and try to get a read off of Xavier as she knew how much Xavier loved a good hotpot after a long mission.

"Xavier, this isn't like you. You've been off for days. Talk to me, please."

Xavier looked at MC for a moment, contemplating if he should talk to her about what was going on in his head, in his dreams, but the tiredness and then unusual night of insomnia he suffered with for the past couple of days got the best of him in the end.

"It's nothing, MC. Just tired. That's all." His voice was almost a whisper, nearly audible as he walked past her, down the sidewalk.

"Just really tired."

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

MC decided to visit Rafayel at Mo Art Studio. As she entered, the scent of turpentine and old canvas clung to the walls.

His space used to be full of life — beautiful colours, wet brushes in jars, half-finished portraits leaning against every surface. Now, it looked more like a graveyard of ideas. The floor was scattered with torn sketches, overturned paint bottles, crumpled rags, and a drying canvas smeared with abandoned strokes.

MC stepped in carefully. “You’ve redecorated,” she joked gently.

He was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled, a paintbrush twirling in his fingers like a cigarette. His shirt was stained and hanging loose off one shoulder, hair a bit of a mess, but somehow still intentional. That flair never left him — even now.

“I call it: ‘Melancholy in Eight Shades of Beige,’” he muttered. “It’s performance art. Very exclusive.”

She knelt beside him. “Want to tell me what happened?”

He sighed, dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. “My muse has left me. Again. And this time, I don’t think it's coming back. I’ve stared at that canvas for hours, and all I managed was a panic attack and three broken brushes.”

“Four,” she corrected, pointing to the one snapped behind him.

He huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Ugh, tragic. I’m a disaster.”

“No,” she said softly, “you’re just stuck. It happens.”

He looked at her then, eyes tired but still burning with something deep. “Yeah… just stuck, I guess. Nothing’s coming out right.”

MC offers a small smile, “Maybe a break? Or a walk on the beach? Sometimes stepping back helps.” He shrugs but doesn’t argue, eyes still distant. The air feels heavy, like the frustration is settling deep in him. MC notices Rafael’s usual flair is dimmed, his voice lacking its usual sass as he mutters,

“I’m fine… just a bit stuck, nothing more.”

That quieter tone sets off alarm bells for her. She leans in, voice gentle but probing,

“Raf, this isn’t like you. What’s really going on?” But he just shrugs, eyes flickering away, shutting her out with that distant, closed-off look she’s never quite seen before.

“You’re always popping up whenever I’m trying to work, huh?” His voice had that usual edge, but today it lacked its usual bite — more tired than annoyed.

MC raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. “You don’t sound like yourself. What’s going on?”

He gave a short, almost bitter laugh. “Maybe I’m just out of ideas. Or maybe the ideas have outpaced me. Either way, it’s... draining.” His usual sassy grin was gone, replaced by a distant look that didn’t reach his eyes.

MC stepped closer, softer now. “You don’t have to face it alone.”

Raphael’s eyes flickered, a moment of vulnerability breaking through. “It’s not about facing it. It’s about not knowing how to keep up.”

He turned back to the canvas, but the paintbrush trembled slightly in his hand, betraying his tired mind. Rafayel soon placed the paintbrush down with a sigh and a tired smirk, shaking his head. “Thomas has been on my case nonstop about the next exhibit. He keeps pushing for new work, new ideas. Honestly, I’m running on empty.”

He glanced at MC, voice softer but firm. “I appreciate you dropping by, but maybe give me some space to breathe. I need to focus before I lose it completely.” Soon, MC reluctantly granted his wishes as she steps back quietly, sensing the weariness beneath his sass, and lets him be, giving space without pushing too hard. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the weekend when MC visited the Akso Hospital to see Zayne during his break. Even though the hospital tends to be hectic on some days, Today in particular, the place was really busy and tense due to the large flow of patients coming in and even that didn't stop some of the nurses and doctors, who knew her from giving her uneasy glances.

“Dr. Zayne's… tense today,” Yvonne whispered. “Snapped at three interns already. Might not be the best time, MC. Just a heads up.”

MC thanked Yvonne and went in anyway and made her way down the sterile halls of the facility to Zayne's office. Under the dim glow of Zayne's office, he sat slumped in a cracked vinyl chair, eyes closed but mind racing. The endless beeping of monitors and distant echoes of hurried footsteps seeped through the walls, relentless as the weight settling deep in his chest.

When she entered, he didn’t turn to see who came in. “If you're here to check on me for the fifth time, Greyson, don’t. Not now.”

Just as he spoke, the air thickened, a sharp cold creeping through the room like a frozen breath. MC notices but says nothing at first, just watches him with concern.

“I’m not. Just passing through.”

His eyes flash icy for a moment before they soften a bit at the sight of MC. He sighs, visibly forcing the chill back into control, rubbing his temples like he’s fighting to stay steady.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there… It’s just been a rough few shifts, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

"I can tell. You're more snappy than usual, Dr. Zayne."

MC replies as she steps quietly into the office and sits in the chair in front of Zayne's desk, a delicate box of macarons clutched in her hands. MC recalls Dr.Greyson's words, while making her way to Zayne's office, on how relentless Zayne's shifts had been—back-to-back, no room for rest. This was his first real break in what felt like forever.

And yet, he sat hunched over a tablet, eyes bloodshot but fixed on the screen, fingers scrolling through endless reports and surgical notes even now. The room felt colder than usual, the hum of the fluorescent lights pressing down on them both. "I brought your favourite,” she said, holding up a paper bag, holding a box of macaroons from the café they both loved. “Still warm.”

Usually, the moment he saw the macaroons, he’d pause to grab one—his small, sweet refuge amid chaos. But today, he barely glanced at the box.

“No thanks,” he muttered, not looking up.

MC hid her surprise at Zayne's unexpected rejection of having sweets for once. MC hesitated, not knowing what to do now as she set the box down beside him.

“You don’t have to push so hard,” she said softly. “Even the greatest fighters need a break.”

He let out a breath like a knife scraping over glass. “Not yet,” he said, voice tight. “There’s no time.”

MC didn’t respond right away. Instead, she sat quietly beside him, the macaroons untouched between them. Her phone buzzed softly with incoming messages—little updates from the others, Yvonne, Greyson, even Dr. Noah, checking in or dropping quiet remarks about Zayne. Every mention of his name came with the same strained tone. Not judgment. Not envy. Just… concern. As if they, too, had noticed the subtle shift in him. The growing coldness. The apparent distance.

She looked at him again—really looked—and spoke gently. “You don't have to be here all alone, struggling, Zayne."

That finally made him pause. His fingers stopped moving. Slowly, he turned to meet her eyes. Tired. Sharp. Haunted. Eyes that looked past scalpels and blood, that had seen death and refused to blink. He kept hearing those words for the past few days from everyone was if they were broken records to the point it was getting on his last nerve.

“Don’t make this harder than it is,” he snapped. It came quick and edged, like a reflex he couldn’t control, more defence than malice.

MC blinked at the sudden sting, but steadied herself, holding his gaze. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Help,” he echoed, and this time the word dripped with quiet bitterness. “That’s a luxury I can’t afford.”

The silence that followed settled between them like frost—unmelting, undeniable.

Still, she didn’t leave. Her presence, quiet and unmoving, was the only warmth in the frozen room.

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

I'm stopping this part of the chapter here for now and starting the second part of the section very soon. As you all already know, this is just an ooc version of the LIs based on the previous chapters, so their personality and reaction to situations like these won't be entirely accurate to how they might have reacted. Besides that, thank you all once again for reading, and shout-outs to everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments on my content. I deeply appreciated your support, even if it seems small to you all.

taglist: @plzdonutpercieveme

[domm1etae]

Hello!! If requests are still open can I ask for a Seonghwa/reader office fic? Ever since I've found that one office asmr video he did I can't stop thinking about it 😭

Overtime Attraction

seonghwa x reader

oneshot | mdni

2.5k

Y/N’s strict, no-nonsense boss Seonghwa calls them in for a late-night “work session” that quickly turns into way more than just project revisions

nsfw tags under

readers gender not specif. , top seonghwa, boss/employee, workplace tension, power dynamics, praise kink, slow burn, buildup, desk sex, possessive seonghwa, tension release, passionate make-out, teasing, thigh touching, mutual pining, eye contact, unguarded moments, lap straddling, finger teasing, deep kissing, after-hours intimacy, needy touches

Y/N hurried down the marble hallway, heels clicking in sync with the beat of the clock ticking on the wall. It was 8:59, and every second mattered when it came to Park Seonghwa. As their boss, he was notorious for his unwavering punctuality and no-nonsense attitude. Nothing frustrated him more than tardiness, and Y/N had been on the receiving end of his reprimands enough times to know they didn’t want to push his patience any further.

Sliding into their desk just as the clock struck nine, Y/N let out a small sigh of relief. But the relief was short-lived. Seonghwa’s office door opened, and he stepped out with his usual commanding presence. He scanned the room, his sharp gaze briefly landing on Y/N, and for a moment, they could feel their pulse race.

“Team meeting in the conference room. Now,” he announced, his tone clipped and direct. No unnecessary pleasantries. Just business as always.

Y/N grabbed their notebook, gathering themselves before following him. As they settled into their usual seat, they couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves. This project was crucial, and Seonghwa had been working them all hard to ensure everything went perfectly. His expectations were high, and they didn’t want to be the one who let the team down.

Seonghwa took his seat at the head of the table, flipping through his notes with focused precision. He went over every aspect of the project, analyzing each detail and making it clear exactly what he wanted. His calm, authoritative tone filled the room, and Y/N found themselves hyper-aware of every word, jotting down notes to ensure they wouldn’t miss a thing. But despite their efforts, Seonghwa’s expression remained as unreadable as ever.

At the end of the meeting, as everyone else began packing up to leave, Seonghwa’s gaze fell on Y/N. He raised an eyebrow, his face as composed as always.

“Y/N, stay behind a moment.”

Y/N felt their stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and dread. Had they made a mistake? They waited as the room emptied, glancing up at Seonghwa as he watched everyone file out. Once the door closed, he leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought.

“There’s a section in your report from last night that has some errors,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Some critical data was left out. I’ll need to go over it with you later to make sure it’s fixed before tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. They’d spent hours on that report, meticulously checking each line, but evidently, it hadn’t been enough to meet his standards. “Of course, sir. I’m really sorry about the oversight—I thought I’d gotten everything.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I know you worked hard, and I appreciate the effort. But my standards are high for a reason.” He glanced at his watch. “I have meetings the rest of the day, so we’ll handle this tonight after hours. Make sure you’re available.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the idea of being alone in the office with Seonghwa, especially given the tension that had been building between them over the past few weeks. There was something about him—his intense focus, his precision—that made it hard not to be captivated by him. And though they’d never admit it, the idea of a private meeting with him was thrilling.

“Understood,” they replied, maintaining their composure despite the rush of anticipation.

Throughout the day, Y/N worked tirelessly to finish other tasks while nervously glancing at the clock. The office gradually emptied, and by 7 PM, they and Seonghwa were the only ones left. As the last few coworkers waved goodbye, Seonghwa finally emerged from his office, his expression as composed as ever.

“Y/N,” he called, gesturing for them to follow him. They stood up, clutching their notes and laptop, and walked into his office, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement settle over them as he closed the door behind them.

He sat down across from them, pulling up the document on his computer. “Let’s start from the top,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he scanned through the lines. They worked through the report, his voice low and steady as he pointed out each section that needed correction.

But as the minutes ticked by, the air between them grew more charged. Every time his hand brushed over the mouse, or his shoulder accidentally brushed theirs, Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. His closeness was almost dizzying, and the usual stoic, unbreakable mask he wore seemed to falter slightly as they moved through the corrections together.

At one point, as they both reached for the same section on the screen, their hands met, lingering longer than necessary. Y/N looked up, catching the flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of warmth, of something that wasn’t entirely professional. His fingers lingered on theirs, and he didn’t pull away.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, finally releasing their hand. But his gaze remained intense, locked on them with an unreadable expression. “Y/N,” he began, his voice lower than before, carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I… don’t usually let things like this happen.”

Y/N’s heart pounded. “Me neither,” they whispered, barely able to find their voice. There was something raw in his expression, something they hadn’t seen before. And in that moment, the weight of his controlled, disciplined exterior finally broke.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from their face. “You’ve been working so hard,” he murmured, his fingers grazing their cheek with surprising tenderness. “But I think there’s been something between us for a while now.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and before they could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips brushing softly against theirs. The kiss was gentle at first, almost cautious, as if testing the waters. But as they melted into his touch, his grip on their waist tightened, pulling them closer. His strict, measured demeanor fell away, replaced by a passion that left them breathless.

Seonghwa lifted them onto his desk, his hands exploring with a newfound freedom that left them shivering. He whispered praise, his words quiet and reverent, as if he were savoring each moment. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit,” he murmured against their skin, his voice thick with desire.

Y/N wrapped their arms around his neck, pulling him closer, their own restraint slipping away. The air was charged, heavy with everything unspoken between them.

Seonghwa’s lips brushed against Y/N’s, deepening the kiss as his hands found their waist, pulling them flush against him. Y/N’s legs shifted, one knee rising as they positioned themselves on his lap, their skirt hiking up as they straddled him. A low sound rumbled from his chest, sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as his fingers traced circles on their thighs.

“Y/N…” Seonghwa’s breath ghosted over their lips, his voice thick with a want he had carefully kept buried until now. “You… have no idea…”

Y/N’s fingers traced up to his tie, tugging it slightly, silently urging him closer. He let out a soft groan, pressing his hips forward so they could feel the evidence of his own need. His hands traveled up their sides, grazing over the fabric of their blouse, his touch just shy of indulgent.

“More,” Y/N whispered, the word escaping them in a needy breath. They felt their pulse quicken as his hands finally traveled to cup their face, his thumb brushing softly over their bottom lip before trailing down, brushing over the sensitive spot at the base of their neck.

A sly smile played on Seonghwa’s lips as he watched their reactions, reveling in every hitch of their breath and the faint flush on their cheeks. “Oh, you want more?” His voice held a note of control, deep and rich, as if he was savoring each moment of their unraveling.

“Yes…” they murmured, and he raised an eyebrow, his hands sliding back down to grip their waist firmly. They gasped softly as he lifted them onto his desk, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of them, legs spread just enough to reveal the hint of lace at the edge of their skirt.

He leaned in, capturing their lips again, a little rougher this time, his gloved hand reaching to cradle their cheek while his other hand trailed to their thigh, inching upward with a slow deliberateness. Each kiss became more intense, more consuming, until they felt dizzy with need. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin just below the hem of their skirt, his lips moving to trail down their neck, nibbling softly as he went.

Y/N’s hands clutched the back of his blazer, pulling him close as he teased them, letting out a quiet whimper as his hand finally ventured to the edge of their underwear. “Seonghwa, please…”

He smiled against their skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Shh, we’re not alone yet. Do you really want someone to hear?” But despite his caution, his thumb pressed into them through the fabric, earning a muffled gasp from Y/N as they bit their lip to keep quiet.

"Good. Just like that,” he murmured, his voice heavy with approval, as he toyed with them, keeping the touch just light enough to drive them wild with need. “Be good for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Unable to contain their need any longer, they pressed their hips up to meet his touch, their body aching for more as he continued to tease, his fingers tracing soft circles around their most sensitive spot, still separated by just a thin layer of fabric. His control, his restraint, was maddening, and he relished every second of watching them unravel under his touch.

With his other hand still steady on their cheek, he finally whispered against their lips, “Hold on to me, Y/N.”

Seonghwa’s voice was steady and sure, like he was holding the reins even as the world tilted beneath them both. Y/N’s pulse quickened, their hands clutching his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm line of his back. His words echoed in their mind—Hold on to me. They did as he commanded, wrapping their legs around his waist, drawing him closer still, as he continued his slow, torturous exploration.

His fingers traced the waistband of their underwear, skimming over their skin just enough to leave a tingling path. He maintained eye contact, a look of both mischief and fierce intent in his gaze, as if savoring the power he held in their shared secret, here, alone in his office after hours. Y/N was panting softly, struggling to keep quiet even as their restraint unraveled under his measured, relentless touch.

Seonghwa’s lips met the edge of their jawline, and he brushed his nose along their cheek, lingering by their ear. His whisper was barely audible, but it sent a shiver down their spine. “You’re so beautiful like this, Y/N,” he murmured. “So responsive… so ready for me.”

Y/N’s head tilted back, giving him access to the curve of their neck, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips trailed down, placing open-mouthed kisses along their throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave a whisper of pressure before he soothed each spot with his tongue. His hand slid up their thigh, and this time, he didn’t stop at the edge of their underwear. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding their center, slick and warm with anticipation.

A shaky breath escaped Y/N as his fingers began to move, slow and sure, teasing and tracing over every sensitive spot he discovered. Y/N’s hands found his tie again, tugging at it reflexively as their head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as they lost themselves in the sensation. His touch was skilled, and the friction drove them to the brink, each movement adding fuel to the smoldering fire between them.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low, a trace of roughness seeping into his usually controlled tone. Y/N’s gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes made them feel as if they were laid bare, every inch of desire on display for him alone. He didn’t look away, his fingers moving with greater purpose now, watching every small gasp and whimper, reveling in the effect he had on them.

When he finally withdrew his hand, Y/N bit back a whine of protest, only to feel him shift them back on the desk, guiding them to lie back. The cold surface beneath was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body as he loomed over them, lips curved in a self-assured smirk.

“Be patient, Y/N,” he whispered as he leaned down, his hands tracing the curves of their body before he carefully unbuttoned their blouse, his touch gentle yet decisive. “We don’t want to rush this… not after all that time spent building up to it.”

With each article of clothing he removed, his gaze became more intense, drinking in the sight of them with an appreciative, possessive gleam. When they were finally bared before him, he let his hands roam, mapping every inch of them, his touch both comforting and electrifying.

His lips claimed theirs again, and this time, there was no restraint. His kiss was demanding, consuming, his hands gripping their hips as he settled between their legs. They could feel the hard press of him against their core, both of them beyond any semblance of control. His fingers laced with theirs as he aligned himself, pressing forward with an exquisite slowness that made them gasp. His forehead rested against theirs as he whispered, “You’re mine tonight, Y/N. Every part of you.”

With every thrust, his control slipped just a bit further, and he abandoned the careful restraint he had kept around his desire for so long. They clung to each other, their shared need overcoming any lingering hesitations, their breaths mingling in the heated silence of the empty office.

Each movement was a promise fulfilled, a long-held tension finally released, as he guided them to the brink, his voice a steady, grounding presence in their ear, murmuring words of praise and desire that left them trembling beneath him. And as they reached their peak together, Seonghwa’s name fell from Y/N’s lips in a breathless whisper, echoing into the quiet, marking the end of one kind of distance—and the beginning of something far more consuming.

They stayed close, breaths slowing as they held each other, still entangled on his desk. Seonghwa’s fingers gently traced along their arm, as if reluctant to let them go, even now. He smiled, soft and real, his usually sharp expression softened in a rare, unguarded moment.

“Tomorrow…” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you might just have to stay late again.”

[izumkay]

THE CONTRACT CLAUSE- |CH-1|

—SATORU GOJO

ღPairing- SatoruGojo×Fem!Reader

ღSummary- Thanks to your friend, Haibara, you land a job at the country’s top company—but CEO Satoru Gojo? He’s not impressed. Between causing him trouble and his infuriating charm, you quickly become his favorite target. But when things take an unexpected turn, Gojo finds himself in a position he never thought he’d be—desperate, frustrated, and drawn to you in ways he can’t ignore. The office just got a lot more dangerous—and a lot more heated.

Genres/tags- Modern AU, love triangle, Enemies to lovers, contract marriage, office romance, Sunshine×Grumpy, fluff, tension, forced proximity, Satoru is desperate for you, why not?

Warnings- 18+ only, sexual content, toxicity, angst, hate sex, mentions of death, blood, hurt/comfort, obsession, possessiveness, SA attempts.

Wc- 6.1k

♡A/n- and here's another series, kinda getting wild writting 4 fics at same time, my hands been itching to write this, and here it is, hope you enjoy this series😋

Next chapter!

You never expected to land a job at one of the most prestigious companies in the country. But here you were, walking through the gleaming halls of a corporate empire, thanks to your friend Haibara. He’d been raving about the opportunity for weeks, insisting you’d be perfect for it, despite the fact that your background wasn’t exactly corporate royalty.

"Don’t worry," Haibara said with a wink as he led you into the building, "Gojo’s an easy guy to get along with. Just don’t take him too seriously."

Easy? From what you’d heard about the CEO, Satoru Gojo was anything but easy. The man was a legend—charming, brilliant, and with a reputation for making life hell for anyone who crossed him. Not exactly the kind of person you’d expect to have an easy time with.

When Haibara introduced you to Gojo in the lobby, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. But when the CEO turned around, grinning like he owned the world, it was worse than you could’ve imagined.

"Ah, so this is the famous friend of Haibara," Gojo said, his tone light but his eyes scanning you with obvious amusement. "Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."

You frowned, unsure how to take that. Haibara had warned you about Gojo’s charm, but you couldn’t help the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

"I’m sure you have," you replied coolly, "It’s hard not to leave an impression."

Gojo’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, trust me, I’m sure you’ll leave quite an impression here too."

You didn’t like the sound of that, but Haibara quickly ushered you away, probably sensing the tension already building.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The first day at the company went exactly as you’d expected—awkward and filled with subtle judgments. As Haibara had promised, most people were friendly enough, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that some of them were sizing you up, like they didn’t quite believe you belonged. But nothing prepared you for your interactions with Gojo.

For the first few days, he kept his distance—mostly. But then came the first meeting, a big one that you’d been nervously preparing for. You had to present some data that, frankly, you weren’t entirely confident about. Just as you were halfway through your presentation, you heard Gojo’s voice cut through your nerves.

“Actually,” he interrupted with a cocky smile, “I think the numbers are wrong. Did you check these?”

Your stomach sank as all eyes in the room turned to you. Gojo leaned back in his chair, watching with mild amusement, his usual playful grin now tinged with a hint of superiority.

“I—I’m sure they’re accurate,” you stammered, trying to regain your footing. But Gojo didn’t back down.

"Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve missed a few important figures." His eyes glinted as he leaned forward, a mock-serious tone in his voice. "Maybe next time, you should double-check your work before presenting it."

You could feel the heat rising in your face. The room was silent, all attention on you. You glanced at Haibara, who gave you a sheepish smile, clearly not expecting this level of public humiliation.

“Gojo, I—” You cut yourself off, the urge to snap at him bubbling up. “Maybe you should check your own numbers first before you criticize mine.”

There was a brief, stunned silence before Gojo let out a laugh, loud and infectious. “Oh, I like you.” His eyes twinkled, and the way he looked at you felt more like a challenge than anything else. "Keep it up."

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The rest of the meeting was a blur. Every word you spoke felt like it was being analyzed, judged, and immediately met with Gojo’s cool, unbothered responses. By the time it ended, you were completely drained.

Haibara found you standing in the hallway afterward, clearly trying to regain some composure. “Hey, don’t let him get to you,” he said, offering a grin that was a little too wide to be comforting. "Gojo’s just... Gojo. He’s always like that with new people. He’ll come around."

You shot him a look. “If by ‘come around,’ you mean ‘make my life miserable,’ then yeah, I’m sure he will.”

Haibara laughed nervously, clearly not expecting this much tension so soon. “Just... try not to let him get under your skin too much. I know he’s a pain, but it’s all part of the job.”

You stared after Gojo’s retreating form, already plotting your next move. If he thought this was a game, well... you weren’t about to lose.

“He literally humiliated me during today’s presentation, Haibara,” you said through gritted teeth, storming down the hallway. “I was trying to make a good impression, and he—he mocked me in front of everyone.”

Haibara sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I warned you about Gojo. He’s… a lot. But that’s just how he is with everyone new. He likes to test people.”

“Test people?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “He practically made me look like a complete idiot. I’ll never live that down.”

Haibara gave you a sympathetic look, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s not fun. But the thing about Gojo is, if he’s teasing you, it means he’s paying attention. He doesn’t waste his time on people he doesn’t care about.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait… you mean he does this to everyone? Just to mess with them?”

Haibara nodded, almost reluctantly. “Yeah. He’s not exactly known for being subtle. But if you can put up with it, you’ll see a different side of him. Trust me.”

“Great.” You sighed. “Now I’m supposed to just... what? Endure his reign of terror until he decides to show me that ‘different side?’”

“Exactly,” Haibara said, half-grinning. “And I’m pretty sure he’ll find a way to make it up to you—somehow. It’s just the way he works.”

You looked down the hallway, where Gojo had disappeared into his office. “I swear, I’m going to make him regret ever messing with me.”

Haibara just chuckled. “Careful what you wish for. Gojo’s not as easy to outsmart as you think.”

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The company cafeteria was bustling as usual, but you were in no mood to enjoy it. After the disaster of your first presentation, you'd barely managed to salvage your dignity. All you wanted was some peace and quiet with your lunch before heading back to work.

You were mid-bite when a shadow fell over your table.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite new employee," a familiar, infuriating voice drawled.

You looked up to see Gojo, his signature cocky smile plastered across his face. He held a coffee cup in one hand and a perfectly balanced tray of food in the other, looking like he had all the time in the world. Without asking, he slid into the seat across from you.

"What do you want, Gojo?" you asked, your voice flat.

He leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered by your tone. “Nothing, really. I just thought I’d check in on you after that interesting performance in the meeting earlier. You know, see how you’re holding up.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Are you, though?” he teased, resting his chin on his hand. “Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your laptop at me.”

You gripped your fork tightly. “I was two seconds away from throwing my shoe at you.”

Gojo laughed, loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables. “See? That’s the kind of passion I like to see in my employees. Keep that up, and you might actually survive here.”

You glared at him, your appetite completely gone. “Do you always make a habit of humiliating people in front of their colleagues, or am I just lucky?”

His smile faltered for the briefest moment, but then it was back, brighter than ever. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. If anything, I was helping you toughen up. This industry isn’t for the faint of heart, you know.”

You didn’t bother responding, choosing instead to stab at your salad with a little too much force. Gojo, of course, didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care.

“You know,” he continued, as if he hadn’t already said enough, “if you ever need pointers on how to actually impress people in a meeting, I’d be happy to help. Just say the word.”

Your fork clattered against your plate as you stood abruptly. “You know what, Gojo? I don’t need your ‘help.’ What I need is for you to stop making my life a living hell.”

Without waiting for his response, you grabbed your tray and walked away, ignoring the amused chuckles that followed you. You could practically feel his smug grin burning into your back as you stormed out of the cafeteria.

You could feel the weight of other employees’ eyes on you as you stormed out of the cafeteria. It wasn’t hard to guess why—The Satoru Gojo had been sitting across from you, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world, and you had dared to talk to him so casually, like he was nothing.

Whispers trailed behind you as you made your way to the elevator.

“Did you see how she talked to him?”

“Who even is she?”

“I heard Haibara got her the job…”

You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to turn around and snap at them. Of course, they were surprised. Gojo wasn’t just the CEO; he was practically a legend around here—charming, untouchable, and so ridiculously good-looking it made you sick. People probably bent over backward to please him, and yet here you were, treating him like the pain in the ass he was.

You pressed the elevator button with more force than necessary, muttering under your breath. “Why does he have to be so insufferable? Couldn’t he just ignore me like a normal boss?”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. As much as you hated to admit it, Gojo’s charm was dangerous—not because it worked on you, but because it made everyone else act like he could do no wrong.

But you? You saw through him. Beneath that perfect smile and effortless confidence was just a guy who got off on making people’s lives harder. Well, if he thought you were going to be another one of his fans, he had another thing coming.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Your shift finally ended, and the office was slowly emptying out as employees trickled toward the elevators. Letting out a sigh of relief, you pushed back in your chair, relaxing for the first time all day. Stretching your arms above your head, you savored the feeling of being done.

Grabbing your bag, you slung it over your shoulder and stood, ready to make your way home. But just as you turned, someone tapped your shoulder. Startled, you spun around to see a woman standing behind you.

She had brown hair, and though her dark circles made her look utterly exhausted, there was an air of calmness about her that instantly put you at ease. She looked like someone who had been through a lot but didn’t let it faze her.

“Hey, newbie,” she greeted, her voice soft and unhurried, as though the chaos of the office didn’t touch her. “I’m Shoko Ieiri. Pleasure to meet you.”

There was no sharpness, no judgment in her tone—just simple politeness. You felt your shoulders relax a little more.

You gave her a small smile and introduced yourself in return.

Shoko nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I’ve seen you around. Figured I’d say hello before you got swallowed up by this place.” She gestured around the emptying office with a faint smirk.

You chuckled nervously. “Yeah, it’s… definitely been an interesting first few days.”

“Let me guess,” she said, raising an eyebrow knowingly. “Gojo?”

The way she said his name, with just a hint of exasperation, made you laugh despite yourself. “How’d you know?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “Oh, he has a habit of singling people out. Likes to see how much he can push before they snap. Don’t let it get to you. He’s harmless—mostly.”

“Mostly?” you repeated, skeptical.

Shoko smirked. “He’s annoying, not evil. Though sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.” She tilted her head, studying you. “You stood up to him, didn’t you?”

Your face flushed slightly, and you shrugged. “I wasn’t about to just sit there and let him walk all over me.”

Shoko’s smirk widened into a small grin. “Good. He needs someone to put him in his place every once in a while. Just… don’t let him get too under your skin. That’s what he wants.”

You weren’t sure whether her advice was comforting or ominous, but it was nice to have at least one ally in this place.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” you said with a small smile.

Shoko waved you off. “No problem. And if you ever need a break from Gojo’s nonsense, come find me. I’m usually in the infirmary—or hiding on the roof.”

With that, she gave you a lazy wave and headed toward the elevators, leaving you standing there feeling a little less alone in this chaotic new world.

She's hot.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The next few days were a blur of work, tension, and Gojo’s irritatingly constant presence. Each time you saw him, you could practically feel the weight of his eyes on you, his gaze a mix of amusement and challenge. It was like he was always waiting for you to crack, and you weren’t about to give him that satisfaction.

It wasn’t until a week later that things took a strange turn.

You were in the breakroom, pouring yourself a coffee when you heard footsteps approach from behind. Before you could turn around, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the room.

"Mind if I join you?"

You didn’t have to look to know it was Gojo. His voice was unmistakable.

You paused for a moment, then finally turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you... allowed in the breakroom?"

Gojo chuckled, clearly amused by your sarcasm. "I run this place, remember? I’m allowed wherever I want."

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your cool. "Right. Forgot about that."

He leaned casually against the counter, his presence taking up way too much space in the room. "You’re still holding a grudge about the meeting, huh?"

"Why would I not be?" You shot back, folding your arms. "You made me look like an idiot in front of everyone."

Gojo grinned. "I didn’t make you look like an idiot. I just pointed out what you missed. No big deal."

"No big deal?" You shook your head in disbelief. "That’s easy for you to say."

Gojo took a slow sip of his coffee, eyeing you with that infuriating, confident look. "You’ll get over it."

You felt the heat rise in your chest. “I’m not getting over it, Gojo. Not until you apologize.”

He blinked at you, as if surprised. “Apologize?”

“Yes, apologize,” you repeated firmly. “For humiliating me.”

For a moment, Gojo was silent. Then, in a tone that sounded way too calm for your liking, he said, "I don’t do apologies."

You stared at him, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you.

Gojo’s smile softened, just slightly, as he leaned closer. "But I do know how to make it up to people. If you’re willing to let me."

Before you could respond, he was already walking out, leaving you standing there, once again at a loss for words.

What's his problem? Fucking bastard.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

It was lunchtime, and you were more than ready to get away from your desk for a bit of peace and quiet. You grabbed your lunch from your bag, planning to eat in solitude, away from the chaos of the office. The thought of being alone, if only for a little while, was comforting.

But as you started to make your way toward the breakroom, two girls appeared in front of you. They were dressed similarly—well-put-together, with matching smiles that felt a little too rehearsed.

“Hey, newbie,” one of them said in a sweet voice that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Wanna have lunch with us?”

You hesitated, glancing at the two of them. You weren’t in the mood for small talk. You just wanted to eat in peace. "Uh, no, you can go on, thanks," you replied, already feeling the discomfort of the situation.

But they didn’t move. Instead, they exchanged a look, almost like they were trying to decide something. Then, the other girl spoke up. “Come on, we’d love to get to know you better. You don’t want to eat alone, do you?”

You could feel the pressure mounting. It was clear they weren’t going to take no for an answer. You sighed, trying to keep your frustration in check.

“Really, it’s fine. I’m just—”

But the first girl cut you off, her tone more insistent now. “It’s not a big deal. We’ve already got a spot saved for you.”

They stepped forward, practically guiding you down the hallway toward the cafeteria. Your resistance was futile. They were pulling you into their orbit whether you liked it or not.

You shot a look of exasperation at them, but they only smiled sweetly, too sweetly, as if they had no idea how fake it all felt.

Great. Just what I need.

You let out a small groan as they guided you into the crowded cafeteria, making your way to a table at the far end, far enough to feel isolated from the rest of the office. They both sat down, pulling out their lunch with practiced ease, waiting for you to sit across from them.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” the first girl insisted, flashing you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We don’t bite.”

You sat down, feeling the weight of their expectations press down on you. "Thanks," you muttered, unfolding your napkin and trying to focus on your food. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just trying to be friendly.

“So,” the second girl began, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “How’s your first week been? We heard you’re special—you know, thanks to Haibara.”

You raised an eyebrow, shooting a glance at her. “Special?”

“Oh, we’ve heard all about how Haibara got you the job. He’s quite the popular guy around here,” she said, her tone almost too casual, like she was fishing for something.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you focused on your food, trying to ignore the unease creeping up your spine. But the silence between you was thick, like they were waiting for you to crack, to say something.

It was then that the first girl leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as if she were about to share a secret. “You know, Gojo doesn’t usually take well to people who are… difficult to handle. And Gojo seems pretty interested in you.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. Of course, they knew. It was practically the office gossip by now.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said coolly, trying to hide your growing irritation. “I’m just here to do my job, like everyone else.”

But they weren’t buying it. The second girl smirked, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Oh, we’re sure you’re just here to do your job. But with Gojo, things don’t always go as smoothly as you’d like, right?”

You shot them both a look, your patience running thin. “Is there a point to this conversation, or are you just trying to get under my skin?”

The first girl giggled, but it sounded fake, like a high-pitched attempt to cover up something else. “We’re just saying… be careful. People around here might not be as nice as you think.”

You looked at them both, sensing the underlying threat in their words, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d made a huge mistake by getting caught up in this office politics mess.

But you weren’t about to back down. “Thanks for the warning,” you replied, with as much calm as you could muster. “But I can handle myself.”

The tension in the air was palpable, but they didn’t press further. Instead, they exchanged a look, nodded to each other, and then turned their attention back to their food, as if the conversation had never happened.

But you could feel the weight of their words hanging over you. Be careful.

You weren’t sure if it was their jealousy, or something more sinister, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t just about lunch anymore.

As the lunch continued, the two girls didn’t seem to let up. Instead of wrapping up their conversation, they ordered even more food—each plate arriving in front of them like they were trying to prove something. They smiled at each other, exchanging whispers, occasionally throwing glances your way.

“More food?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as a waiter brought over a massive platter of sushi and another tray of tempura. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

The first girl, who had barely touched her own meal, grinned. “Oh, we’re just hungry. And we thought you might want to try some more things. You know, since you’re still... adjusting to the office.”

You stared at the food, trying to make sense of their behavior. It was becoming clear that they weren’t just offering a kind gesture—they were making a statement. They wanted you to feel out of place, to see how out of their league you were.

“Don’t worry,” the second girl chimed in, her voice almost too sweet for comfort. “We’ll be here to help you with everything. We’re kind of experts around here, after all.”

You caught the undertone in her words, a hint of superiority that made your skin crawl. They weren’t interested in being friends. They were sizing you up, measuring you against their version of the office hierarchy.

Taking a deep breath, you forced a smile and said, “I’m good, really. Thanks.” You didn’t want their charity, nor did you want to be their pawn in whatever game they were playing.

But it didn’t matter. They kept piling food onto the table, filling every empty space as if to make sure you couldn’t escape their clutches. At that moment, you realized they weren’t just trying to be nice—they were trying to show off. They were flexing their power in this place, and you were just the unlucky newcomer caught in their spotlight.

Your stomach churned with the sudden feeling of being trapped. You had to get out.

The two girls continued to push food toward you, their smiles becoming more insistent with each passing minute.

"Come on, you’ve gotta try this," the first girl said, nudging a plate of sushi closer to you. "It’s really good. You wouldn’t want to miss out."

You glanced at the platter, feeling the weight of their gaze on you, the pressure mounting. But there was no way you were going to eat with them—not after everything that had just happened.

You shook your head, forcing a polite smile. "Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m really not that hungry."

They exchanged another look, the kind that made you feel like you were being judged in ways you couldn’t fully comprehend. The second girl raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "Oh, come on, don’t be shy. We ordered all this for you, after all."

You stiffened. All this for me? It was clear now. They weren’t being generous. They were trying to trap you in their world, to make you feel like you owed them something.

"No, really," you said, shaking your head more firmly this time. "I’m not hungry. You can enjoy it yourselves."

The first girl leaned back, folding her arms with a small pout. "You sure? It’s really good."

You met her gaze evenly, refusing to let the discomfort show. "I’m sure. Thanks, but no thanks."

They finally seemed to get the message, though they didn’t look happy about it. They stopped pressing, but the atmosphere around you had shifted. The two girls returned to their food, but there was a coldness in the air now, a silent tension that hung between you.

You pushed your plate away slightly, your appetite completely gone. You could feel the weight of their judgment, like they were watching you closely, waiting for you to slip up, to give in to their pressure.

But you wouldn’t. Not with them.

As you stood up, ready to make your escape from the uncomfortable situation, you couldn’t help but notice that the two girls had devoured every last bite of the food. Of course they did. They were practically setting you up for this.

You sighed, preparing to head back to your desk and pretend this entire ordeal never happened. But as you started to walk away, one of them called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

"Where are you going?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in mock confusion. "Pay for this all first. You were giving us a treat, right?"

You stopped dead in your tracks. A treat? Your stomach dropped as realization hit. There was no way you were treating them. You had barely enough money for your own lunch, let alone the absurd amount of food they had ordered.

You turned around, trying to keep your composure. "What? When did I say that? Look, I don’t even have—"

But before you could finish, the second girl interrupted, her tone more forceful now. "Oh, come on. You said yourself you’d treat us. Pay up." She smirked, like she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

No way.

The cafeteria suddenly felt much smaller. You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers, the judgment. You had no idea how many people were watching, but it felt like the entire place was waiting for you to make a fool of yourself.

Your heart raced, the beat echoing in your ears. Shit, shit, shit. You felt the blood rush to your face, the heat of embarrassment flooding your cheeks. You didn’t even have enough to cover your own meal, let alone all of this.

"Look, I—I can’t pay for this," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it cracked, betraying the panic you were feeling.

The first girl’s grin widened. "Really? Because you said you would. And now you’re backing out? Interesting."

The tension in the room was unbearable. It felt like everyone was just waiting for you to crack. The whispers grew louder, and you could feel the judgment pressing down on you. Your hands trembled at your sides.

You glanced around, desperately searching for an escape, but there was none. They had cornered you, and now you were the center of attention in the worst possible way.

The tension in the cafeteria was suffocating. Your face was burning, your stomach twisted in knots. Every pair of eyes seemed to be on you, waiting for you to somehow get out of this mess. You could feel the heat of their gazes, the quiet murmur of voices spreading like wildfire.

The second girl stepped closer, her grin widening. "I guess we’ll just have to tell everyone how generous you are, huh? Backing out of your word like this?"

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your words, but before you could say anything else, the sound of the door to the cafeteria opened, and a calm, deep voice broke through the tension.

"Is there a problem here?"

You turned instinctively toward the voice, and there, standing in the doorway with a quiet confidence, was Suguru Geto.

He was dressed in a sharp suit, his expression cool and composed, like he had just stepped out of a boardroom meeting. Suguru’s gaze shifted from you to the two girls, then back to you, noticing the way you were practically frozen in place, trapped in an impossible situation.

The two girls didn’t seem as confident now, glancing at Suguru with a mix of surprise and unease. Suguru stepped forward, his calm demeanor not shifting an inch.

"What’s going on here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The first girl opened her mouth to speak, but Suguru raised a hand to stop her, his voice steady but firm. "You’ve been harassing her for a while now. I’m guessing that’s not exactly ‘friendly,’ is it?"

They both fell silent, unsure how to respond. Suguru's presence alone seemed to have a calming effect, though it was clear they weren’t used to someone calling them out so directly.

Finally, Suguru turned to you, his expression softening slightly as he spoke. "Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it."

Without waiting for a reply, Suguru walked over to the counter, where he paid for the entire meal with a few smooth motions, the cashier offering a respectful nod.

Turning back to you, he gave a small smile. "You’re free to go now. I’ll handle the rest."

You stared at him for a moment, your heart still racing, but a small wave of relief washing over you. How did he know to step in?

The girls exchanged a quick, frustrated glance but said nothing. They were no longer in control of the situation. Suguru's intervention had completely shifted the power dynamic, and just like that, you were no longer the center of their mockery.

"Thank you," you muttered, feeling a bit of gratitude and confusion mix together.

Suguru gave a simple nod, his expression still composed. "No problem. You don’t have to thank me. Just... be careful with those two."

With that, he gave you a small, reassuring smile before turning to leave. As he walked away, the weight of the situation seemed to lift, and you let out a long, shaky breath.

You watched Suguru walk away, your heart still racing from the wave of relief that washed over you. The girls were no longer a threat, and you were free from the embarrassment, but something else lingered. Something you hadn’t expected.

As Suguru’s back disappeared through the cafeteria doors, you couldn’t help but feel this rush of gratitude and something else—something deeper, more unsettling. He was so nice. The way he had stepped in, so calm and effortless, his composed demeanor... He had a certain presence that made you feel safe, like no one could touch you as long as he was around.

But there was more than that. You couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat when he spoke to you, how his cool gaze seemed to hold your attention with every word.

You had barely known him for a moment, but that moment felt like it had lingered. The way he effortlessly took charge of the situation, the way he seemed to care without any hesitation—it made you want to know more.

His dislikes. His likes. Everything.

What was he like? What did he enjoy? You found yourself curious, almost desperate to find out. You wanted to ask him questions, to uncover every little detail about him, even if you had no idea where to start.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Focus. You’re at work. You don’t have time to get caught up in this.

But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever you thought about him. Suguru Geto had just saved you from a world of embarrassment, and now all you could think about was how incredibly cool he was.

And, as much as you tried to push it away, a small part of you wondered just how much of that coolness was a façade—and how much was real.

As you made your way back to your desk, your mind kept circling back to the brief interaction with Suguru. The gratitude, the rush of emotions, and the way he had effortlessly handled the entire situation. It wasn’t just about saving you from the awkwardness—it was the way he made you feel seen, like you mattered in a place where you were still just a newcomer.

You sank into your chair, the familiar hum of the office surrounding you, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Suguru Geto. The name echoed in your mind. He was calm, composed, and kind. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to know more. Much more.

You took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside for the moment. Work wasn’t over, and there were plenty of things you still had to get done. But as you opened your laptop, your thoughts lingered on him, on how his presence had felt like an anchor in the chaos.

You shook your head, trying to get back to work. Focus. One thing at a time. But deep down, you knew this was only the beginning of something far more complicated than you could have imagined.

The day went on, but your mind stayed with Suguru. And for some reason, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was just the start of something far more intriguing than you’d ever anticipated.

A/n- I swear guys this is a Satoru×reader fic, Trust🙏🔥

Check out my masterlist for more!🩷

→ Series Masterlist.

🏷️- @katthekat1234 @ilovejeann @gojobiggestslut @mypenguinobject @belle643

[maeintree]

chapter i. | into the hollow

Summary: Your long-awaited vacation is cut short when Bill Randa drags you into a classified expedition. Now, you’re stuck in a room full of military personnel, a photographer, and a quiet but observant tracker, James Conrad. As Randa and Houston Brooks explain their Hollow Earth theory, you start to realize—this mission is more than it seems, and Conrad knows it too. Pairing: James Conrad x Field Medic!Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Military themes, strong language, slow burn romance, suspense, mentions of injuries, canon-typical violence Author's Note: setting the stage for the expedition! this chapter introduces key players and builds up the tension before skull island, and it's a little short and i'm sorry! hope you enjoy nevertheless.

Masterlist | ← Previous Chapter ⋆ Next Chapter →

The room is stuffy and thick with the scent of old paper, burnt coffee, and sweat. A single oscillating fan hums from the corner, doing little to push the heat around.

The walls are lined with maps, aerial photographs, and classified documents tacked to corkboards, the kind of place where bad ideas are made to sound reasonable. 

You pause in the doorway, eyes sweeping over the faces gathered inside. Your sweater sleeve covers your nose, shielding you from the foul stench wafting through the room. Fucking smells in here. 

It sucks, you think. All these soldiers (as well as Landsat), just like you, were ready to go home—finally take a break, see their kids, and enjoy some peace after the war with Vietnam. But instead, you’re being sent off again, dragged into a mission with a bunch of maniacs convinced they'll find something on an island that will probably get them all killed.

The projector turns on, and a man starts speaking: "Hello and welcome. I'm Landsat Field Supervisor Victor Nieves." He points to a blond man at the front: "This is my colleague Steve Woodward, our data wrangler."

He continues, "Our expedition takes us to a place every nautical trade route known to man has avoided for centuries. As for our satellites show that the island is surrounded by a perpetual storm system, allowing it to remain hidden from the outside world; but with Colonel Packard's helicopter transport, we will be the first to break through to the other side." 

"We're also pleased to be joined, for the first time, by the resource exploration team led by Mr. Randa and accompanied by biologist Miss San, geologist Mr. Brooks, and Field Medic," he says your name. Heads turn toward Bill, Houston, and the biologist, while you remain at the very back, mostly unnoticed—except for Conrad, who glances back at you.

"Our focus will be on the island's surface, theirs, what lies beneath." He turns his head towards Houston, "Mr. Brooks," signaling for him to go to the front. 

"Simple really, we'll use explosives to shake the earth and create vibrations, helping us map the subsurface of the island." The projector switches to the bombing plan. "We'll fly in over the south shore and strategically drop seismic charges to better understand the earth's density."  

"You're dropping bombs?" Conrad’s British accent cuts through the room.  

Houston nods awkwardly. "...Eh, scientific instruments."  

A soldier chuckles. "You hear that, boys? We're scientists now!" Laughter follows.  

Woodward, a.k.a blond man grunts. "You guys are not scientists."  

"We'll land and set up base camp for ground excursions led by Captain Conrad." Conrad gives a slight nod. The speaker scans the room before calling out, "Major Jack Chapman."  

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp military uniform steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His thick Southern drawl carries through the room as he begins speaking.

"Once on the island, the storm’s interference will cut radio contact with the ship. We’ll be on our own." The projector clicks again.  

"Three days later, the refueling team meets us here." Chapman points to the north end of the island. "That may be our only safe departure window."  

"So, tip for everybody—don’t miss it. Please."  

The supervisor wraps it up. "Alright, back to your places. We fly in the morning. Good luck."  

You’re the first out, escaping the awful-smelling room and into the cold, salty air. The meeting was exactly what you expected—reckless plans wrapped in scientific excuses. Pulling your sweater tighter, you descend the metal stairs, boots clanking against steel. 

"Goddamn suicide mission. Why am I in this? Why, dear Lord, why?" you whisper to yourself. 

You flip through the file Randa gave you again, hoping for some kind of reassurance. The words blur together, refusing to sink in no matter how many times you read them. Everything happened too fast—too sudden for the gravity of it all to truly settle.  

Just yesterday, you had stormed into Randa’s office, furious at him for going back to the senator. And somehow, Senate Willis agreed to this insanity. Jesus Christ. Probably worried about competition, afraid the Soviets would find something first. But still—goddamn.

The ship sways gently beneath you, the deep hum of the engine vibrating through the deck. Around you, soldiers linger in small groups, their laughter and conversation blending with the distant crash of waves.

You weave through narrow corridors, the dim overhead lights flickering slightly with each shift of the vessel.

Eventually, you find your way down to a storage unit, stacked high with crates stamped with military insignias and Landsat labels. Equipment—cameras, geological tools, radios—piles upon piles of supplies meant for an expedition that feels more like an invasion. 

As you scan the room, a faint shimmer of light catches your eye from the far corner. Curious, you step closer.  

Conrad stands near a stack of crates, the small flicker of a lighter illuminating his face in the dimly lit storage bay. Shadows dance across the sharp angles of his jaw as he reads the labels, his expression unreadable. At the sound of your footsteps, he turns, brows furrowed.  

"What are you doing down here?" he asks, his voice low, steady.  

You lean against a crate, arms crossed. "I could ask you the same thing." The air smells of wood, metal, and a faint trace of oil. 

Glancing at the boxes, you feign casual curiosity. "Why does a geological mapping mission need explosives?"  

He tilts his head slightly, watching you. "You weren’t listening in class. Seismic charges for the geological survey."  

You walk past him, fingers trailing over the rough wooden crates, scanning the stenciled labels. Landsat Equipment. Seismic Survey. Your lips press together. "Uh-huh. You believe that?"  

"I didn’t say that," he replies simply.  

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shift gears. "Have you met Colonel Packard yet?"  

Conrad nods. "Yeah."  

You scoff. "The guy's wound pretty tight."  

Conrad shrugs, flicking his lighter open and shut. "Well, the man's a decorated war hero. That’s the package they come in." His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he asks, "And you? Isn’t one field medic on a jungle mission a step down for medical?"  

You narrow your eyes. "I didn’t choose to be here," you say, tone edged. Then, arching a brow, you add, "Are you doubting my credibility? Safe to say, I think I’m a damn good medic."  

He smirks faintly. "And being here doubles the small pay you have."  

You huff a quiet laugh. "Huh. Okay, Captain Conrad, what about you?" You tilt your head, challenging. "How did British Special Forces get roped into this?"  

"Just Conrad," he corrects. "I’m decommissioned."  

"Mhm."  

"They offered me money," he says as if that explains everything.  

"Ah, right. Just like the small pay you mentioned earlier." You mimic his words with a smirk, catching the slight flicker of amusement in his expression. "You don’t strike me as a mercenary."  

He meets your gaze, unreadable. "And you don’t strike me as someone who’s seen war."  

You hold his stare. "Government field medic," you clarify. "I don’t do war."  

The ship creaks, metal shifting with the waves. For a moment, silence stretches between you, something unspoken settling in the air. Then, a sharp click—a sudden flash blinds you.  

"Sorry, documentation," a voice chimes. You blink, turning to see Mason—Weaver, or whatever her name is—grinning slyly, camera in hand. "Also, both of you are being called."  

You clear your throat, glancing at Conrad before nodding toward the stairs. "You coming?"  

He hesitates, flicking his lighter one last time before pocketing it. His gaze lingers on the crates as if considering something. Then, with a small nod, he exhales.  

"Yeah."

You and Conrad barely make it a few steps toward the stairs before the sound of approaching footsteps echoes through the storage bay. The dim overhead lights flicker as the ship sways, casting long shadows over the crates.

Turning your head, you spot Bill Randa, Houston Brooks, and San Lin making their way toward you. Randa looks as intense as ever, his gaze sharp behind those thick glasses, while Houston appears more at ease, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

San Lin moves with quiet curiosity, eyes scanning the stacks of equipment.  

“There you are,” Randa says, adjusting his glasses. His voice carries that same urgency he’s had since the beginning of this mission. “We were looking for you both.”  

Conrad tucks his hands into his pockets, glancing briefly at you before replying. “Didn’t realize we had a curfew.”  

Houston chuckles under his breath as he steps past, running a hand over one of the crates. “Impressive setup, huh? Landsat really went all in.” He tilts his head at one of the labels.

Geological Survey Equipment. Seismic Imaging.

“This stuff could map the entire island in incredible detail… or, you know, do a hell of a lot more than that.”  

San Lin examines a set of carefully sealed containers, each marked with biohazard symbols and research tags. “I assume you two weren’t just down here sightseeing?” she asks, her voice calm but pointed.  

“Sightseeing’s not really my thing,” you reply, crossing your arms.  

Randa exhales, clearly uninterested in small talk. “The mission briefing is over, and I need you both focused. There’s a lot you don’t understand yet.” He turns toward the crates, pressing a palm against one as if grounding himself.

“Everything we need to confirm our theory is right here.”  

You exchange a glance with Conrad, who looks just as unconvinced as you feel. “Right,” you say, voice dry. “A theory.”  

Houston gestures toward a nearby set of steel doors at the back of the bay. “Come on, since you’re down here, might as well take a look at the other storage areas.”  

Reluctantly, you follow as he pushes the doors open, revealing another section of the ship lined with rows of metal shelves and stacked crates. Inside, floodlights hum overhead, casting a harsh white glow over the neatly organized equipment.

Maps and geological charts are pinned to a board near the entrance, displaying rough sketches of Skull Island’s terrain. A few scientists are inside, cataloging supplies—mostly radios, first aid kits, and survival gear.  

Near the back, a weapons locker sits against the wall, its steel doors secured with heavy-duty locks.

Inside the mesh barrier, you can make out the unmistakable shapes of rifles, handguns, and stacks of ammunition. Next to it, another container is marked with a bold red symbol—explosives.  

You glance at Conrad, who doesn’t seem surprised.  

“Seismic charges, huh?” you murmur, voice laced with skepticism.  

Randa ignores you, stepping further inside as if absorbing the weight of everything stored here. “We are on the brink of discovery,” he says, more to himself than anyone else.  

Houston, ever the optimist, claps a hand against one of the crates. “Let’s just hope we live long enough to see it.”  

You shiver slightly as a draft creeps in from somewhere, the cold steel walls doing little to keep out the ocean’s chill. Folding your arms, you take a slow step back toward the door.  

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s hope.”

The spare bedroom is small, barely enough space for the two cots squeezed into opposite corners. A single overhead light flickers, casting a dim yellowish glow over the metal walls. You drop your bag onto the cot closest to the wall, exhaling as you finally sit down. The air smells faintly of salt and oil, but at least it’s better than that god-awful meeting room.

Mason sets her camera bag down by her bed, stretching her arms with a tired sigh. “So,” she starts, glancing at you with a knowing smirk, “what were you and Conrad doing down there?”

You huff a quiet laugh, kicking off your boots. “Sightseeing.”

She raises a brow. “Right. Sightseeing in a dark cargo hold full of explosives and classified equipment?”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one with a lighter and a suspicious amount of curiosity,” you say, leaning back against the wall. “Conrad was already there when I showed up.”

Mason hums, clearly unconvinced but amused. “Mm-hmm. You two seemed cozy.”

You scoff. “If by ‘cozy’ you mean questioning the sanity of this mission, then yeah, sure.”

“Seriously, though,” she says, shifting to face you. “What do you think’s really going on with this mission?”

You exhale, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing good. Randa’s desperate, Packard’s got that war-hungry look in his eye, and those ‘seismic charges’ aren’t fooling anyone.”

Mason nods. “Yeah. Feels off.” She fiddles with her camera. “But at least we’ve got front-row seats.”

You watch her adjust the lens, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “You believe in all that—exposing the truth, showing people what they don’t want to see?”

She shrugs. “Someone has to.”

You smirk. “Lucky us.”

A pause lingers between you before you smirk. “Alright, journalist. If we live through this, first round’s on you.”

Mason laughs. “Deal.”

The ship groans as another wave rolls beneath it, but for the first time tonight, the tension in your chest eases just a little.

funny how she said she doesn't do sightseeing then says she does to mason.. kinda weird, anyway that was chapter one! i used most of the script from the movie itself to actually feel like you're in it. hope you enjoyed, lots of love from me! (sorry if it was too short, the chapters will be much more longer later on!)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[mollycabot]

Alex Cabot X Reader Missing

A/N Alex’s Wife is Missing and if she not found Alex is ready to end someone. ‼️Mentions of kidnapping and assault and blood SA

Alex was working a case when her phone started ringing and when she saw it was Liv she picked up,

“Hello” Alex said “Alex you need to get down here we had a report of a woman walking in the park and being attacked and dragged into the bushes by man” Olivia said.

“Why do you need me?” Alex asked as she an Ada not a detective “I don’t know how to break this to you but the woman’s wallet was left and the ID in it says Y/N Cabot, I’m so sorry Alex” Olivia said sadly.

Alex felt her world come to a stop and Alex snapped “IF YOU SCREW UP THIS I WILL RUIN ALL YOUR JOBS”.

“Alex calm down we will find her and I know how much she means to you and I won’t give up until we find her but we need you to be calm and come and help us and also try to call her so we can try and track her phone.” Olivia stated as Alex agreed and made her way to the SVU unit once she got there she immediately went to the captains office where she saw the captain Olivia and Elliot.

“Ok Alex we need you to call Y/N and see if she picks up so we can track her phone” Alex nodded and took out her phone. It’s rings for what felt like forever and then it goes straight to voicemail and alex was becoming quite aggressive with her words.

“Son of bitch” Alex said under her breath “Alex do you have any idea if Y/N had any problems with anyone? Alex took a minute to think

“yes she had problems with her ex and her friends they would harassed her on social media and then they would show up to her old apartment and harass and assaulted her but she refused to have them arrested but once I talked her into it she agreed to get a restraining order against her” Alex explained Olivia nodded and went to scan the data base for the girls information .

Alex became quite anxious and started walking up and down the squad room think about all the possible things that could happen to Y/N, "Alex you need to relax i know its hard but we will find her and worrying yourself like like this is going to make you ill" Olivia said walking back into the room and out a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder.

Olivia handed the file of information over to Elliot so she could take Alex home. once back at Alex's place Olivia and Alex sat down on the couch and Olivia said "Alex would you like me to make you a coffee or something?".

Alex said "i'm alright thank you and i'm ok to stay here please go back liv and find Y/N she my everything" Olivia nodded "alright call me if you need anything and i will update every step of the way so you won't miss anything." Olivia said as she walked out and made her way back to the station.

as liv came back she saw Elliot getting his jacket and rushing out "we got a lead" Elliot said to liv as she followed quickly behind the others and phoned Alex, "Cabot" Alex said answering the phone "Alex we got a lead on Y/N" Oliva said "ok i'm on my way" Alex said as she walked out and got into her car.

as the squad pulled up to an old abandon house "well this can't be good" Elliot said as Olivia and Elliot walked up to the door and walked in with the weapons at the ready as they walked into the building. as they walked through the different rooms with no luck on finding Y/N as the felt like hope is lost liv hears small quite whimpers coming from the basement.

liv ran down the stairs and kicked the open old wooden door, as she enter the room she looked around and saw a small mattress on the floor with a thin blanket and chains as she walked closer she saw a young women who was beaten black and blue and half naked. "Olivia" the girl said quietly "yes honey i'm here and Alex is on her way, we going to get you out of her and to the hospital" Olivia said as removed the chains and warped the girl in her coat to keep her warm and cover up herself and helped outside and into the ambulance. as Alex pulled up.

"oh baby come her" Alex said as she climbed into the ambulance and took Y/N's hand in hers.

Once they got to the hospital Alex and Olivia waited while the doctor ran the usual routine test and stuff and not long after they where allowed to see Y/N Alex wasted no time in running into the room and pulled Y/N into a hug.

“I’m glad your ok baby I was so worried about you love” Alex said and Y/N just cried eventually once Y/N had calmed down Olivia asked what happened.

“I was on my way home when my ex and her mates jumped me and beat me up and said if I didn’t go with them they would hurt Alex and I didn’t want them to so I went and then my Ex got her mates to do things to me that I didn’t want and they hurt me really bad” Y/N started to cry and Alex hugged her close.

“Shhh your alright now my love your safe it’s going to be ok I’m here and not leaving my love” Alex said gently and once Liv got the evidence and Y/N statement she went back to work to track down the group that hurt Y/N. Given the evidence and dna they where able to track down the group that hurt Y/N Olivia wasted no time arresting them and Alex had no chill trialling them in court and make sure they never hurt Y/N or anyone else again.

But she was mostly glad to have her Y/N back. It would take time to heal but Alex was going to help Y/N through this and help her get back to as normal as possible.

[naomikozura]

Playing With Fire: Chapter 4

Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Fem!Reader (Criminal)

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Romance

Warnings: Strong language, use of weapons, trespassing, angst, trauma, emotional turmoil, mentions of Reader’s past, bribery, reader being a smart ass. (lmk if I missed any!)

WC: 9.3K

Summary: What happens when the one person you're supposed to kill, is the one you have a moment of shared recognition and longing with? What happens when your loyalties are questioned?

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3 || Chapter 5

The massive web of connections on the investigation board that laid on your coffee table made your brain go into overdrive. The clutter of maps, papers, photographs, and notes all pinned on the board and scattered on the couch and the table, it all slowly brought together your task at finding the direct hit to taking Red down. It had been a week since he broke into your apartment and threatened you, leaving you feeling more motivated to take him out than when you first started this assignment a month ago.

You had spent the majority of your time analyzing his patterns, putting together every hit he made and every operation under his watch. Each job, each stakeout, each tiny detail leading you closer and closer to dismantling his entire criminal empire.

You leaned forward, taking a quick sip from your wine glass before placing it on the table, pinning another point on the board, a meeting he had held with some of his partners that you scoped out. It was a normal monthly check-in, his partners updating him on the scope of the land, the hits they had taken, and the mention of the abduction of Amazo resulting in a failure. It was one of the final straws that made Black Mask's inquiry with Penguin. Amazo was supposed to help Sionis rise in the ranks, solidify him as a powerful hand in international trafficking. The entire operation stopped by none other than Batman and Nightwing. They also were pinned on the board, it wasn’t likely they were connected to Red, but they were on the board anyway. Any encounter was important. You laid back into the couch, soaking it all in as you crossed your legs, contemplating your next move. You could set a trap, lure him in and get him off guard.

It was a thought, but he was calculative and smart. He would probably see your attack from a mile away. You needed to plan around his strengths and expose his weaknesses.

You laid your head against the back of the couch, looking up at the ceiling before making your decision, your head lolling to the side and taking note of the time. It was still early. You could make it to the next point of contact.

You let out a breath, pushing yourself from the couch and changing into your stealth clothes, securing your mask above your nose and pulling your hood over your head, falling into the alley and speeding down the streets to your pinpoint location.

The air was thick with tension, the wind blowing as you slipped into the shadows of the abandoned factory, moving silently to not be caught by any potential security measures. You kept your breath even, scanning through the night with your night vision goggles, trying to find any sign of movement or suspicious activity.

Your eyes instantly locked on the black figure moving through the building, its movements calculated and careful, blending seamlessly into the darkness and staying practically invisible. You moved into the room, carefully treading as you moved towards the beams above the room, the walkway hanging from the ceiling, trying to stay hidden as you watched Red. He kneeled, watching as he pulled up a device that downloaded information from the data box that was wired in the wall. You felt your heart race increase, the plan playing through your head as you tried to focus. Your muscles tensed, waiting for the perfect moment to get him off guard.

Once Red stood, you pushed yourself off the walkway, your feet taking the majority of the impact as you kicked him, his head snapping to the side and landing on the ground, launching back at him with your knife as you cut through his arm. You felt his grasp as he slammed you to the ground, your anger taking over you as you jumped over him and grabbed his head, trying to snap his neck only to be met with him wrapping his hands around your ankles, twisting your body and forcing it on the ground. He slammed you down, his body crushing yours as you tried to aim your dagger at his throat. You felt a solid, forceful punch in the gut as he dug his knee into your side. Each of his hits met with equal force, your body tangled with his as you rolled and landed on top of him, your face meeting his crimson helmet as you tried to force the knife into his jugular, his hands forcing the knife to come to a halt as it shook in your grasp.

His eyes narrowed at you, a subtle scoff as he forced the knife out of your hands, disarming you as he wrapped his legs around your body, forcing you into the ground his leg forced against your back as he shoved your face into the concrete. Your breath hitched, gasping for air as the heat of his body burned through her, his intensity causing her to struggle underneath him.

“Getting better, sweetheart.”, Red’s voice was low, the vibration flowing through your bones in an eerie sensation. “Almost had me that time.”

“Get… off me.”, you struggled, your cheek pressed firmly on the ground as you struggled against his grip. His hold was unmoving, his presence full of lethal power. You met his gaze, his body heat causing your skin to burn, trying to push him off of you.

You could not let him get the upper hand, you strained against him, using all your force to get out of his grasp. You struggled to get to your feet as you felt his hand clasp around your wrist, spinning you around until your back was pressed against his muscular chest, his voice echoing in your ear.

“What are you doing here, (Y/n)?”, his voice rumbled in a deep octave.

“You know why motherfucker.”, you forced out, the venom laced in your voice as you glared dagger at him behind you. “You need to be taken care of.”

“Taken care of? Sweetheart, you’re so sure of yourself.”, you could hear the humor in his tone, the smirk that probably lingered on his lips under his mask. “You don’t think you could possibly take me down. I’ve gotten you three times in a row, don’t act like you’re better than you actually are.”

��And you think you’re big and bad?”, you spit at him, you annoyance growing, the extinguished fire reigniting itself as he held you in an iron grip. “You're a nobody, Red. You only have this hold on weak men because you can’t rise to the ranks on your own. You are nothing without Black Mask and Carmine’s rings.”

“You got a smart mouth on you. Talking about being a nobody.”, He grabbed your face, forcing your head closer to his. “Take away Penguin, take away your connections, take away everything that brought you into this life. Who are you?”

Your jaw clenched, your anger setting into your bones, your vision turning red at his obvious bait. Taunting was always his best card to play in order to get a rise out of you. There was nothing you hated more than people second guessing you, invalidating your work and efforts to get to where you were.

“I’m the one who’s going to fucking kill you.”, you seethed. “I’ll be the one collecting that bond on your head, and when I do, I won’t ever have to deal with your bullshit or Sionis ever again. I’ll be free to leave.”

His grip tightened, making your jaw ache from the force but you refused to flinch at the pain. You were getting under his skin, you could tell by his ticks. Looks like he also hated being second guessed.

“You think you’re untouchable, but you forget that you’re just human. You can die just as easily as the rest of us. It’ll be the greatest pleasure to watch the life drain from your eyes when I put a bullet through your fucking skull.”

“Watch your fucking tone.”

“Does it bother you knowing that you have no real power? That you’re nothing without taking territory and men from other crime bosses?” His eyes narrowed, the anger radiating off him in waves. He was trying to maintain control, but you could see the cracks in his composure. His grip on your face felt like a vice, but the pain was secondary to the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

You smirked at him. “I’ve dealt with worse than you and always received my payment. You're just another obstacle, another name on my list. And believe me, I’ve got a solid kill count.”

“Solid kill count yet you can’t make the shot that will actually count.”, he taunted. “You can’t touch me. You underestimate me and that is your biggest mistake.”

He shoved you away, making you stumble but you caught yourself quickly, standing tall despite the ache in your jaw. He paced, his fists clenching and unclenching, the muscles in his neck taut with barely restrained fury.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Your smart mouth will get you killed, sweetheart. I’ll break you. Slowly, painfully. And when I do, you’ll beg for the end.”

“I’d rather die than ever have to beg you for anything.”, you watched as he straightened, his body on guard as you focused on him, ready for when he’d attack.

He lingered a moment, his gaze piercing into you as if he could see the very core of your being. Then, without another word, he turned, heading towards the door. The room seemed to exhale as he reached the exit, the air thick with the weight of his threat.

"This isn’t over, Red.", you spoke out as he walked away.

"No, it isn’t.", he called out. Just as he was about to leave, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing with lethal intent. "If you follow me, I'll shoot you.”

The door closed behind him, the loud slam echoing through the room, leaving you standing in the middle of the room with your fists clenched at your sides and your gaze focused where he stood. There was a burning sensation in your chest, an anger that penetrated deep within you.

You wanted to scream, to punch something, to make him feel even a fraction of the rage he had put within you.

You stayed silent, the frustration boiling beneath your skin. You knew you couldn't afford to let it consume you. Not yet. There would be a time for anger, a time for revenge, but for now, you had to bide your time.

You need to be smart.

You need to be patient.

You would make the Red Hood regret ever doubting you.

Breaking into a high secured building seemed a lot more difficult than it was, bypassing the security system to run on a loop in order to not be caught. You slipped past the few guards inside, noting that the building being “highly secure translates to only three guards being on duty.

One at the entrance, one by the invaluable pieces of art and jewels, the last navigating the rest of the building, floating so his movements were unpredictable. It didn’t matter though, especially since you’d already made it inside. You needed to find the office and grab the intel you needed.

You moved around quietly, your all black suit helping you blend into the night as you navigated carefully through the halls. The downloaded blueprint of the building located the office was only a few doors down. Looking around the corner you noticed an opening, quickly going through and sliding into the dark office.

You skimmed through the office, taking note of the files cascaded on the table. Your eyes notice different company names and a long list of names. Lifting the paper, you noted it was a guest list. For what you couldn’t care less. This wasn’t what you were here for.

The file cabinet caught your eye, picking the lock and opening the first drawer, looking through the files quickly to find the one you were searching for.

“Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong” the sound of the deep, distorted voice made you jump, turning around quickly as his body was already pushing yours against the cabinet.

“Red”, you seethed.

“What are you doing, Y/n?”

“That’s my business. Not yours.” you countered, trying to discreetly find an out. He must’ve noticed because he moved his face closer to yours. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing, sweetheart”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, trying to push past him and move to the other side of the room, but right as you did you felt his hand wrap around your arm, pulling you into him. Your heart started beating, pounding in your chest as the adrenaline told you to find an out. You trashed against him, his arm wrapped across your chest to hold you in place as his gloved hand covered your mouth. You kept fighting him until his back was against the wall, your back flush against his chest, slowly calming down as you saw a small light illuminate the floor.

A guard.

You watched the floor light up, the flashlight scanning through the room as your heart pounded in your chest in hopes he wouldn’t go deeper into the room. You sank into Red’s hold, relaxing in his warmth. A part of you, the delusional part of you, found a sliver of comfort in the way you were against him. You could feel his heart in his chest, even and calm. How was he so calm? You pushed the thought away as you watched the light disappear down the hall, the door clicking as it closed and locked as the footsteps descended down the hall.

Once the click sounded, you snapped back to focus, turning away from him once you realized the position you were in.

“Thanks”, you muttered, forcing the gratitude out like it was acid.

“So you do know how to say thank you”, he teased before you snapped your head towards him, glaring daggers as he backed away.

You turned back towards the filing cabinet, skimming through until you finally found the file you needed.

Gotcha.

You turned, Red’s eyes focused on you as he sat in a chair nearby with a leg over the other and his arms crossed. He stayed silent, almost as though expecting you to answer but you didn’t.

“Let me guess. The file is in Sionis”, you contemplating answering him. “Why do you have bad blood with one of your boss’s partners?”

“Why would I tell you about my bad blood with Sionis?”

“So there is?”, he countered quickly.

“He… He’s a dog. He needs to be taken down a few notches, humbled.”

“That why you let me go so kindly?”, your jaw clenched. “You said it was spite, i’m assuming it’s because of him?”

“You’re making me regret not shooting you in the mouth.”

You opened the files, skimming through the information to confirm it was Sionis’ file. You placed it under your arm, turning to walk past him. He stayed silent, not questioning your actions until you paused.

You were still angry with him. Even more so than usual and yet him being here didn’t stir any emotions inside of you. It left you feeling confused at why he was so hot and cold. If you were the enemy to him, and you killed all his operations why didn’t he take his free shot to kill you?

Was he waiting for something to happen? Did he expect something to pop up and then he would take the first chance he could to get rid of you?

It didn’t make sense. He was so adamant the other day that you were probably the worst thing that could’ve ever happened and yet he stood five feet away from you watching your every move and not even trying to stop you from escaping with the file.

Why?

“They tasked me to kill you. I won’t do it because Sionis doesn’t deserve an easy out. You die, he regains his position as the top of the food chain and I’ll do anything to keep that from happening. Don’t think this is because I won’t kill you, because I think we both know I can.”

That was the last thing you told him before jumping on the table, jumping up and pushing the window open and climbing to the roof before running home.

The file contained an entire run down on Roman Sionis, his background, his upbringing, his family and criminal ties, even why the Sionis and Two-Face were at odds with one another. You needed to find a weakness, an opening to knock him down a peg, something to keep him from becoming the top dog in Gotham’s underground.

Ever since you met the man, you’d despised him. Your meeting went back longer than the meeting at the Lounge. You were certain Black Mask never recognized you, but you remembered him from when you first tried to gain footing in the underground. He’d sent his men to beat you to an inch of your life when he’d found you trying to steal from him to try and get some money. You were still weak, small, barely 16 and your appearance had changed a lot since you were a teenager. He’d left your body bloody and beaten, left to be attacked by others but you were able to drag yourself into a sewer drain and let yourself rest until you could find a way to tend to your injuries. It was the same time Penguin had taken you in.

You’d chosen this life to get away from the ghost that haunted you. You couldn’t go back to the family, go back to Gotham Academy, after Robin disappeared, you wanted to put that entire life behind you. It was easy to have all your problems solved, but you couldn’t be in that life without thinking about him. He’d made everything bright, made living with the family tolerable. The only way to get over him was to leave the life he made so bright behind.

That life never suited you, and you were fine with it. You’d rather work with Penguin and get the money you needed to leave by your own hard work, not because some rich family was giving it to you.

Sionis had ties to Arkham Asylum, being admitted there a few times before leaving and getting more of his business to take off. He had ties to almost every major criminal that was locked behind bars there and you wondered if there was something deeper in his connections. He already called one of those connections in and was set to be released soon. You let your brain overwork itself until you couldn’t focus anymore.

You couldn’t handle this, you needed a break, needed time to just be alone and bask in your own emotions. You let out a breath, pushing out of your chair and stretching your legs. You needed to get out, go on the field and do some real work, but your job with Calvi had taken up a good chunk of your time. You still needed him to be in contact with Penguin.

You pulled out your unmarked phone, dialing Calvi’s number, hearing the line ring twice before he answered.

“Calbera speaking.”

“Hey, Calvi. It’s Vivian.”, you said with a smile in your tone as your face remained neutral. “I was just calling to set another time to meet.”

“Vivian, it’s nice hearing your voice again.”, he said in a smooth tone, “Yes, we can set a time. How does tomorrow evening sound?”

Tomorrow.

You felt a tug at your chest as you looked at the calendar, your mind unsure of your answer before you heard him call your alias through the phone. Tomorrow was too… raw, but you needed to get this job done sooner than later.

“Tomorrow is perfect. I look forward to seeing you Calvi”

“The feeling is mutual. See you tomorrow Vivian”.

The line went silent, your eyes still focused on the calendar before turning and heading to bed, looking out at the sky as the small light from the stars barely shined through due to the light pollution. It was enough though, enough to get a good idea of what it would be like to see the stars in full effect.

~

“I want to go out to the mountains, like camping or something.”, you squint your eyes trying to see the stars over all the light from the buildings around you. You couldn’t see the stars that well but you imagined them well enough to see what they could possibly look like.

“We could go, you know?”, Robin looked up, standing next to you as the wind blew your hair and ruffled his own. “Let’s plan a day to go together.”

“I don’t even know who you are behind the mask and you’re asking me to go camping with you?”

“I could tell you.”, he shrugged. “I don’t see why I couldn’t talk to Batman and see if he’d let me.”, you stared at him, a part of you in shock at his openness to ask his mentor to let him reveal such a huge part of himself. The thing that made his identity a secret. Was he really willing to risk it all for you?

“Yeah, I’d like that”, you smiled at him before looking back up, the breeze wrapping around you like a blanket of comfort.

~

The next evening came quickly enough, the time slipping by as you busied yourself with getting ready and heading over to Calvi’s estate. The butler taking you inside and Calvi waiting for you in the foyer. He smiled at you with a charming look, reaching a hand out and leading you into his main sitting room. He fetched you some wine, the same red you had at the club a week ago when Red had barged in and ruined everything. You were still angry at him, beyond pissed, but the anger had dwindled with the days as you started to focus more on things that did nothing but cut you open on the inside.

Calvi talked mindlessly as you paid minimal attention to his words, everything flowing in one ear and out the other, your responses dry but you covered them up well with your eye contact and body language. He didn’t even notice just how detached you were from the situation and you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore than any other day. Today just wasn’t a good day for you. It brought back pieces of your past that left you to shreds and made you feel forgotten.

“Vivian, would you like to accompany me to a Gala being held in a month?”, you snapped up to him, your eyes focused on him as he stared at you.

“A Gala?”, you asked softly, still trying to focus on what he mentioned before this.

“It's an annual Gala held by some of the most prestigious businessmen in Gotham, every major partner, business owner, and A-list celebrity will be there. I’ve gotten a special invite to be honored for the evening for my business and would like to bring you as my plus one.”, he placed a hand on your knee, his eyes focused on you and hoping you’d say yes.

“An evening in your honor, that sounds…. Amazing.”, you replied softly, smiling as he focused on your lips. “I’m flattered that you’re asking me. Of course I’ll go as your plus one.”

“Great, I’ll forward you all the information you need. I think it will be a good way to celebrate the past two weeks of getting to know each other.”

You forced a smile at his words, noticing that he was taking this relationship in a different context than you had hoped. This was your way to get him to switch from working with Red to working with Penguin. You just needed to find the perfect opportunity to get him talking about his deal with Red and somehow steer to Penguin.

“So, Red Hood?”, you asked quietly. “I didn’t expect you to have ties with someone who’s been running rampant and causing a fuss on the street. It’s been all over the news recently.”

“He provides good protection, helps me get an upper hand in my operations and doesn’t let black market intel slip into the wrong hands. I think it’s a pretty secure system.”, he leaned back, taking a drink of his whiskey before looking over at you again. “Why the sudden interest, my dear?”

“No particular reason. I just know there are a lot more established people who run the crime rings. That’s all”

“How do you know about the crime rings?”, he raised an eyebrow at you, questioning you for a moment.

“Let’s say, I like to dabble in what goes on in Gotham’s underground matters. The rich, upscale life is too…. Boring.”, you confessed. It wasn’t a lie. Upper Gotham was boring and only consisted of rich assholes parading around like everyone owes them something.

“That is very true. I don’t think I can help make it less boring, can I?”, he motioned slightly, cocking his head as his eyes bore into yours.

“You already managed to make it less boring with our meeting at the club last week.”, you smiled, a mischievous grin painting your features. “I like seeing that side of things. It might be dangerous but…. It left me excited.”

His eyes darkened at your words. You were playing your cards right and he was slowly falling into it. You needed him to further bring up the topic, until then your hands were tied and you could only wait as he focused on your features.

You had your hair in a loose ponytail, one that wasn’t underdressed but not overdone either. It was a perfect inbetween that matched your laid back attire of a basic white tee and tan dress pants with your exposed necklace perfectly tying everything together. It was simple yet classy, not over done but not underdressed.

“I can bring more excitement if you want to join in on future meetings. Of course, if you’d be interested.”, your smile didn’t reach your eyes but you were good at covering it up with false excitement.

“I would love that, Calvi”, you touched his hand, clasping it and rubbing your thumb on the back of it before he leaned forward, placing a kiss on your forehead before kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I look forward to it then, my dear.”

You felt absolutely nothing. Yet, you couldn’t help but imagine if life would be more simple if you had been with someone like Calvi. Handsome, rich, intelligent, and able to hold his own when it came down to business and the underground. You wouldn’t lie to yourself, you knew he was successful and had a hand in the black market business, but you didn’t fall so easily for the charm of someone who had too many flaws, hidden secrets, more skeletons in the closet than you cared to deal with. His family business was dirty and their reputation was filled with all sorts of shady upbringings. Calvi was not the type of person you got involved with in any way that was for anything other than business.

After your meeting, he led you to the front, waiting for the car to come around and take you home, but you had requested the driver take you to another location once you had said your goodbyes and hopped into the car. The driver only nodded and drove 20 minutes to the other side of where you were supposed to be. It was late, almost 10pm. You hadn’t noticed your meeting with Calvi had been so late but that’s what happens when you agree to meet at 7pm instead of earlier like regular people. Once you arrived, you thanked the driver and got out, letting the wind hit your face as you walked down the street and up to the building that overlooked the water.

You rounded the building, finding the ladder shaft that led all the way to the top of the building. It was a tall climb but you didn’t care. You wanted to feel a sense of exhilaration climbing up so many floors just from the side of a building. You had been trained properly to ensure you wouldn’t fall and you didn’t. You reached the roof in ease after 10 minutes of climbing up the long ladder.

You walked over to the ledge of the building, over where it overlooked the rest of the surrounding areas and looked down at the place that once brought you good memories and feelings of happiness. You sat on the ledge and focused on letting yourself just bask in the moment.

It was chilly outside, your legs pulled up to your chest as you watched the water. It’d been a while since you came here, your heart constricting at the distant memories you’d shared with the Boy Wonder. It was secluded and no one ever came up here, it was perfect to just wallow in the past of everything. There were parts of you wondering if you came here enough, if he’d somehow show up too. You scoffed at the thought before fiddling with the pendant on your necklace that was perfectly exposed.

It wasn’t too long ago that you came back and sat in your own company to grieve through losing him. You never found out why and the closure would never present itself. You wanted to give him every excuse, every reason why he didn’t return but in the end it was to only ease your hurt.

Footsteps behind you broke you from your trance. The silence grew as you slowly turned your head, meeting the exact person you already knew it was. You were too tired, too burned out, too emotionally unwell to even be angry at his presence.

“What are you doing here?”, his voice questioned through the voice distorter, his distance making him easy to hear but still kept him far away enough to not come across as a threat.

“I come here all the time.”, you muttered, not caring to fight with him today. Especially not today.

“That wasn’t my question.” he repeated himself. “What are you doing here?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to look at the water without answering him. Did he follow you here? He had a bad habit of keeping tabs on you when he needed to mind his business.

“Y/n.”

A simple call. Simple yet demanding.

“What?!”, you snapped. “Why are you following me? Just go away, give me peace at least today! You can go back to trying to kill me tomorrow, hell at midnight if you want but just go!”

He stopped in his tracks, the blanket of silence falling over you again. You noticed the sockets of his helmet move, his shoulders tensing as he looked at you, likely taking in your emotional state. You’d never shown a level of vulnerability to anyone before, but you were so close to breaking. The heat and pressure behind your eyes growing by the second.

Today was the day he’d left. The day he didn’t come back. You needed to be alone. You needed to process the hurt that you still carried in your heart. It was the only thing that made you weak and you hated it. How did some boy make you weak after fighting all those years to be strong? How was he your Achilles heel?

You could feel him still standing behind you, your lip quivering as you forced yourself to stay composed. His boots shifted before he walked to the ledge, standing there and staring at the water with you. You looked at him silently, trying to gauge why he was here. He didn’t say anything, just stood quietly as you sat on the ground with your legs to your chest and your chin resting on top of your knees.

The silence felt…. comforting.

He didn’t say anything else, you didn’t speak. You just basked in the silence together and it felt like he was giving you a silent form of support. You noticed his body relaxed, his muscles resting instead of flexed and ready to fight.

The heaviness in your chest grew into an overwhelming ball of emotion, but you forced yourself to push it away. You couldn’t break down in front of him.

You just couldn’t.

“I had a friend I used to meet here”, he spoke finally. “Seems like it was a lifetime ago”

You looked at him, your eyes softening at his confession. “Yeah. Me too.” you breathed. “It seems like it was a hundred lifetimes ago”

Silence again. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was like for him then, had he always been this dangerous? This cut throat and with a murderous edge?

“Were the two of you close?”, you broke the silence.

“We were. We became friends unconventionally but it was a good relationship to have.”, even through the distortion in his helmet making his voice change, you could hear how his tone softened from its usual rough and deep tone.

“That’s good. It’s hard to find people to have good relationships with”

“What about you?”, he asked, turning to you as you looked up at him from the ground, your eyes locked on each other and a moment passed in similarity.

“We had it good… but guess it wasn’t good enough”

Red looked at you, his body language open as he waited for you to continue.

“He disappeared. Just never came back. So..”

He didn’t say anything after that, just turned back to the water and soaking in the small bit of wind blowing your hair out of your face. You were not dressed for the weather but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He moved his hand towards you, passing you a small item. You raised an eyebrow at him, grabbing the item before you felt the warmth flood your hands.

It was a hand warmer.

You silently thanked him, allowing yourself to soak in the quiet. The silence stayed for a while longer, maybe 20 minutes give or take before he turned, leaving you as you watched him walk away from the ledge.

“Hey”, you called to him, making himself too in his tracks and he moved his head to the side, waiting for your response. “It’s after midnight. You have a free shot right now”

He turned his whole body, staring at you silently seeing his eyes narrow slightly. You couldn’t see his expression but you felt something different in the air. He stared at you almost in empathy.

“I’ll save it for next time”, he muttered, turning and taking off, leaving you alone on the roof as you watched after him.

There was no way you just… shared your past with him, right?

You didn’t think too much about it, letting yourself bask in the cold silence before finally heading home closer to 1am. Leaving behind another part of your past as you went home to rest for the coming days.

It was dark, the lights from the city in the distance seemed to be the only thing illuminating through the night. You moved silently through the field, your senses on high alert and responsive. Your goal was simple: get inside the building, download your information, and leave before you got caught. You needed this information, it was another piece to your puzzle in bringing down both Sionis and Red. It was foolish to try and dismantle both of them, but you needed an upper hand.

Your heart pounding in your chest as you moved in, everything seemingly too calm. Scanning the area, you took in every detail, trying to catch anything that could raise alarms. It was quiet. Too quiet.

You slipped in through a window, jumping from the top of the building and landing softly on the ground, your footsteps almost non-existent.

You couldn’t be too careful, taking in the palettes of wooden crates organized neatly throughout the room. Anyone of these could trigger an alarm, or worse, get you caught in the middle of the workers trying to kill you.

You needed to go up a few floors, the server room being on the upper levels of the building. Moving through the room, you found the staircase, carefully moving and ready to jump over the ledge if the moment called for it. You were not going to get caught up like last time.

You pulled open the door, peeking in to securely sneak in. It was empty. The late hour could be the reason but something tugged at your gut telling you it was something else.

“C’mon, this way.”, a voice rang out, forcing you to press your back against the wall, flush to minimize being seen. Three men, probably patrolling or fucking around. Regardless, you needed to get past them. You waited until they passed, moving carefully as they left. You watched after them, double checking the hall before moving to the other end of the floor, reaching the secured room as you connected your drive to the security panel to hack into it.

The universe must love putting you in shitty situations, not even five seconds later the room filled with a flashing red overlay, an alarm blaring throughout the building. You snapped your hands up, covering your ears as you turned around, trying to ensure you weren’t getting caught or tripped an alarm. Nothing. Panic surged through you trying to find a way to get out of this without getting caught.

You heard the click of the door, your eyes widening as you pushed through, shutting the door and walking over to the server. You connected the flash drive, hacking into the system and downloading the information you needed. You heard footsteps from the hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for the chip to turn green.

The handle rattled as the men barged into the room, your heart spiking as you swiped the flash before it could download everything you needed. Dammit!

The sound of gunshots erupting through the room sent you into overdrive, forcing you to face them head on and get out of the building. You moved quickly, the bullets missing you as you tipped over the desk and ducked behind it. Chips of broken wood flew all around you, the gunshots never ending as they moved closer towards you. You tried shooting back at them with your own fire, but it was four against one. You were going to get caught.

Fuck.

The gunshots stopped, your heart pounding as you tried to contemplate your options. A loud explosion threw you off, the guards cursing as gunfire started again. The shots getting louder before they stopped completely, then a lone shot echoed.

You stayed frozen, mentally preparing yourself for what you’d face if you stood. You turned, looking at the doorway, your heart dropped but flooded in relief. You pushed the thought away as the deep distorted words moved through the room.

“Move!”, he ordered you, the alarm getting louder as you pushed yourself to your feet, rushing to the door as meeting his eye line.

You hesitated, your pride eating at you before you clenched your jaw. You couldn’t be in debt to him. Before you could say anything, the sound of more men rang out. Red motioned for you to follow him and for some reason, you did just that. You ran behind him as you slipped through the hallways, his body ramming into a door, breaking it down as he kicked through the window, glass shattering everywhere.

Your adrenaline was pumping through you, your heart working overtime and your mind racing as you tried to keep up with everything happening around you.

“You coming or do you want to get shot?”, he taunted before he climbed out of the window, you following closely behind as you climbed the ladder to the roof. The outside of the building also had an alarm system, the blaring ringing in your ear as you tried to focus on getting out of the death trap filled with men ready to die for their cause.

You saw as Red’s body disappeared over the ledge, your lungs burning to reach the top and get a break from the chaos inside. A gloved hand extended itself, staring at it as you paused, taking it as Red hauled you over the top, your body crashing into his. He had a hand on your back, your hands on his forearm and chest, breathing in the air as you tried to catch your breath.

Why was it so hard to breathe right now?

You looked up at him, your hands still on his body as his gaze held yours. He didn’t narrow his eyes or seem annoyed, he just… watched you.

“I…” you sucked in a breath. “I had it under control”, you muttered.

“Sure you did, sweetheart”, sarcasm dripping from his tone. You rolled your eyes, your attitude less than it normally was.

He really did just come out of nowhere and help you, a tug in your gut making you question why when all he’d done the past month is try and kill you. Had he softened after the two of you saw each other on the roof? You doubted it. He always had ulterior motives and you needed to find what they were before it was too late.

In the midst of your trance, Red heard a snap behind him, his hands still on your body as he heard the cocking of a gun, the sound missing your ears entirely. He grabbed your body, shielding it as he jumped behind one of the metal containers on the roof as a rain of fire flooded the roof. They were shooting to kill, and he was not about to get killed by these brainless men.

You snapped out of your trance, the thud that you hit the ground with making you focus. Red’s body was over yours, his gun raised as he took shots at the men who came closer to the two of you.

These men were not easing up.

“A little help would be nice, sweetheart”, he grunted as he ducked, his back flush with the container.

“Right”, you muttered as you stood, taking out your pistol and reloading the mag and snapping it into place, taking aim as you shot at the men on the other side of the roof.

“What the fuck do they want”, you heard him curse next to you, taking another shot as one of the men fell to the ground. “We need to get out of here.”

“Oh really? I thought I’d set up a picnic”, you rolled your eyes.

His head snapped towards you, glaring and unamused before yanking you back behind the container. The bullet barely missed you.

“Stay focused”, he bit out.

“God you’re controlling” you made another shot, “Does it help inflate your massive ego knowing you’re calling the shots right now?”

“You’re annoying, you know that right?” the irritation evident in his tone and it made you smirk. You enjoyed getting under his skin.

“Never had anyone complain before, people love me”

“If you could stop talking and actually focus, we can get out of this shithole alive”, he forced.

“Thanks but I don’t need you to boss me around.”, you ducked before shooting back, dropping the mag and reloading.

“Clearly you do.”, he growled, aiming at the men, shooting one in the leg and another in the shoulder. “Watch for the guy with the patch.”

You narrowed in on the man Red described, the goon pulling out a grenade, about to throw it before you got a clear shot of his head, the bullet hitting its mark, his body thumping to the ground.

“Got him. Are you happy now?”, you straightened, seeing as all the bodies laid on the ground.

“Ecstatic”, he muttered, uncocking his gun and reloading the bullets. “We need to leave.”

“I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh my..”, he placed a hand on his helmet, almost like he was trying to calm down. “Can you not be difficult for once.”

“I was doing fine..”, you trailed off as he imposed on your space, taking up all the air in proximity and making you silent.

“You set off the security system when you broke into the server room.”, he loomed over you, his stance on guard and his muscles flexed.

“That wasn’t me.”, you bit out. “Someone else must’ve tipped the alarm, but I was careful.”

“You always have some excuse.”

“It wasn’t me”, your fists tightened. “I had it under control.”

“You were being cornered, outnumbered, and getting shot at, I wouldn’t call that under control”

“I didn’t ask for your help”, you glared at him.

The tension in his shoulders showed his irritation, “You never ask for help. That’s your problem.”

“And you’re always in the fucking way. That's yours.”, you bit back.

“God, we need to-”, he paused, “Fuck, here we go.”, he scoffed before grabbing your arm, pulling you behind him, his body shielding you as he unloaded his entire mag. More men came through the doors, rushing towards the both of you.

Red charged, throwing punches as you followed with the other goon behind him. Four of them focused on taking down you and Red. You jumped over one of them, and swung your leg around, kicking one of them in the jaw as they dropped to the ground. You ran towards the other goon, watching as he pulled out a knife and trying to strike you with it. You twisted your body around his attacks, dodging each one and hitting him in the gut.

The goon punched you, trying to dig the blade into your side as you threw yourself back, pushing yourself off the ground and disarming his weapon, throwing it to the ground. He grabbed your arm, flinging you over his head and slamming you down. You felt the ache in your back, but you couldn’t focus on the pain, you needed to get out.

You looked over at Red, watching as he fought off two men at the same time, both of them delivering and receiving hits from the hooded vigilante.

You focused, running towards the goon who was trying to kill you, punching directly under his jaw and his head snapping to the side with your second blow. His body dropped to the ground, turning as you ran over to help Red.

You jumped on the man’s shoulders, using your dagger and digging it into the side of his neck, his body toppling to the ground. Red quickly secured a hold on his goon, tightening his grip and cracking his neck sideways before throwing his body carelessly on the ground. You sucked in a breath as you took in the blood that splattered all over you. Your hands were covered, not that it was unusual, you were used to it.

“For someone so smart you get yourself in stupid fucking situations”, Red mocked.

“Yeah well, it comes with the job.”, you wiped the sweat off your forehead, looking up at him and sitting in silence.

Red did a quick overview, his senses kicking off as he watched you mess with something in your utility belt. The infrared in his helmet exposed the movement in the dim lit roof. His eyes narrowed, alarms going off. He noticed the staggered movements of a body, raising a gun and aiming for you. Without hesitating, he lunged, pulling you into him and pushing the both of you to the ground.

“What the hell?!”, you exclaimed, watching as he aimed his gun at the darkness, before heading a thud of a body. You watched as he narrowed his eyes, pulling you to your feet with him.

“Fucker was still alive.”, was all he said as he scanned through the roof again. “Almost put a bullet through your skull.”

God, how many times had he saved your ass tonight?

“It's clear.”, he motioned, you following behind him as he reached the ledge of the building. You stayed silent, shifting from one foot to the other before you swallowed your pride and broke the elongated silence.

“Thanks, for everything. For tonight.”, you forced out, hating that you had to thank him for saving you. You were always careful, tonight was just…. Bad luck.

“Yeah. Whatever.” Red’s voice was firm, but you didn’t fail to notice how it had a miniscule softness to it. It was less harsh than normal and it threw you off. You rubbed the back of your arm, feeling a vibration in your pocket as you took out your transmitter.

The message sprawled simply, but made your gut drop.

Sionis Industries, 2200 hours, Tomorrow. BM

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion and annoyance, turning as Red stayed focused on you. What did Sionis want now? To torture you some more with his ridiculous tasks? Come onto you a little stronger? God, could he just leave you alone for once.

“Duty calls.”, you waved the device before shoving it back in its holder, turning away and jumping to the other building and disappearing.

Red watched after you, a tugging in his gut before brushing off the feeling. He couldn’t deny you were stubborn, hot-headed, smart… charming. Different than before. It made his irritation towards you lessened a sliver. He ignored the thought, leaving in silence as he stepped over the bodies of the men and disappeared into the night.

The room was empty, as you pushed the door open, three guards lingering at the entrance as you moved deeper into the room. Your eyes fell on Sionis leaning back in his leather chair, his gaze fixated outside and seeing you in the reflection. His gaze darkened as he turned, fixated on you like a predator. You hadn’t told Penguin about the meeting tonight, wanting to ensure Sionis’ reason behind meeting with you wasn’t for something completely unrelated to Red.

“Y/n, glad you could make it.”, his voice rang through the empty room, the windows surrounding every side of the room making you feel exposed. His corporate building was smack in the middle of Gotham, it was both strategic and dangerous. “Sit. We have business to discuss.”

“I’d prefer to stand”, you said confidently, not letting your nerves get to you. Sionis stared at you with serious eyes.

“I said. Sit.”, his voice was sharp, a vein popping on his forehead. When you refused to sit, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey on the desk and smashed it to the ground. Your body stayed still and held his eyes but a small fraction of you wanted to flinch. “I don’t have time for you to play these games, Y/n.”

“Then get to the point, Sionis.”, you spit out.

His maniacal laugh echoed as he moved towards you, his body towering over you in pure greed, anger, hatred. You could sense his itch to hurt someone, to punch them or even kill them. He wouldn’t touch you. You knew that much. He couldn’t risk losing his deal with Penguin, it would ruin his entire process to getting Red out of the picture.

“I just don’t understand, sweetheart.”, he spoke loudly as he picked up the glass filled with his whiskey, the bottle shattered at his feet. “It’s been almost two months. Why haven’t you caught the son of a bitch yet?”

Your jaw tightened, the reminder burning through you as you watched his calculative and taking note of your every word. “I’m doing everything I can. He has an upper hand, Sionis. He’s calculative, quick, and has eyes and ears all over the city. He’s always two steps ahead.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing everything you can. This dirty piece of shit has been destroying my jobs! I’ve lost millions! Maybe my last request was too mired in subtlety. I want this man dead. Now, when I say dead, I mean seriously dead! Beaten, broken, his head mounted on my wall kind of dead! Either do it or I’ll convince Penguin for you to take his place instead.”

God, you never hated anyone more than Sionis. Red even didn’t make her as angry as Sionis did. He was ruthless, power-hungry, unhinged, and just purely psychotic. You were surprised at how tame he had been the past month, Roman Sionis did not have a reputation for being calm and composed. He was open and aggressive and that made him the top of the Criminal food chain. He was the one person you did not fuck with or betray. It always ended with someone getting tortured, beaten half to death, or straight up killed.

“Don’t forget I work for Penguin, not you.”, your eyes narrowed as you shoved your face in his a little more. “I’ll take care of Red Hood on my own time. I still have other jobs the Boss asks of me.”

Sionis fists clenched at his sides, his foot tapping on the floor as he analyzed your glare, looking for just the tiniest, miniscule chip in your facade. You were good at keeping things hidden, you never let anyone break through your walls. That was the only way to survive. Your stance solidified and your gaze hardened.

“I already cost him hundreds of thousands, he won’t let me take another hit at him so easily after busting two of his operations.”

Sionis’ smirk widened into a sinister, full smile, “You think a couple hundred thousand is anything? I lost millions! Get this fucker’s body on my desk soon or I will start shooting bullets down someone’s fucking throat.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing I want more than that bond you have on his head.”, you took a step back, his hand grabbing you.

“If you get his body on my desk by the end of the month I’ll double the bond.”

A million dollars.

You could be free. It was all you needed to finally get away. The last of your savings to put you in a secure spot. You already wanted to get rid of Red, the past few days meaning nothing to you in how he treated you. You knew it was all for his own selfish motives and this would be your selfish motive. A million dollars. That would make anyone go crazy.

“Consider it done.”

Sionis smirked, his dark face gaining more of an ugly maniacal appearance to it as he loosened his grip on your arm. “Good”, he hummed, returning to his desk. “If you fail, I’ll make sure to do my own look as to why.”

“Don’t waste your time. It’ll be done.”, you said finally, seeing his eyes follow you as you turned and left through the door, the guards letting you out before you reached the elevator. You clicked the lobby button and sat in your thoughts as you contemplate your next move. A million. It wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things. Relocating, moving, starting somewhere new, that would take the majority of the money, but it was enough to get you started.

The ring of the elevator brought your attention back to reality, stepping out into the lobby and heading out the door. You didn’t have a choice. You needed the money, you needed this assignment, you needed to get rid of Red. Your life quite literally depends on it.

The air outside was fresh, a stark contrast to the suffocating feeling inside of Sionis’ office. You took a deep breath, calming yourself before walking back home. You couldn’t let Sionis win, but right now, you were at his mercy.

Red needed to be taken care of.

Even though a part of you felt cold at the thought, it was the only way.

A/N

Hello everyone!

So so many of you have been sending me messages on here saying how much you love this story so far and it makes me so happy that you’re enjoying it! We finally get to see more of Red and Reader slowly get to know each other outside of the masks. I know it’s still picking up but the upcoming chapters will be full of more progression!

Again I cannot thank you enough and please leave comments, messages, or any questions!

See you next week xx.

[blackkatmagic]

for the ask game! how about granta omega?

Sometimes, there are doors to the spirit world in the most convenient places.

Granta slips out of the wild tangle of electric and organic and into the sterile halls of the Senate building, light on his feet in the darkness. The air here hums, heavy and dark, and Granta breathes it in and smiles.

It never fails to satisfy, the fact that so many thousands of benders and Force-sensitives are so desperately chasing one poor, powerless thief around Coruscant, howling like tookas that just got their tails stepped on.

Well. For certain definitions of powerless. And poor.

Pulling his hood up, Granta hums a quiet tune, scanning the Vice-Chancellor’s office. Mas Amedda isn't quite stupid enough to leave proof of his involvement with the Sith out in the open, but it’s a near thing. And he’s certainly not that careful with proof of his corruption. If Granta didn’t know better, he’d think Mas Amedda was outright asking for someone to blackmail him into betraying Palpatine, and, well. Granta will graciously take him up on the offer if he’s so desperate for it.

It only takes a few moments of slicing to find what he needs, and Granta tucks the data chips away in his coat, neatens the office to erase all signs of his presence, and heads for the hall. There’s another door into the spirit world three levels down that opens up in a plain half-consumed by wires that grow and leaf like vines, and from there Granta knows a path through one of the more misanthropic spirits’ territory, leading to another exit deep in the Undercity. As much as Granta enjoys making the Senate Guard pull their collective hair out over his entrances and exits, sometimes it’s more productive to get out with less of a fuss—

Glass cracks, shatters, and the wind howls like an enraged thing, so strong that for an instant Granta is almost spun off his feet. He snarls a curse, wrenches around, and stopping a bender’s power is possible but not here, not suddenly. Getting away is a better plan, because once Granta is out of sight he’ll be faceless, unremarkable even to a clone trooper.

When he goes to run, though, the airborne shards of glass that are supposed to be shatterproof are still spinning through the air, and the trooper in the center of the storm has his blaster up and aimed, perfectly steady despite the gale.

All benders are at least a little annoying, in Granta's perfectly objective opinion, but airbenders are some of the worst.

“Surrender,” the clone says, a clear warning, and Granta rolls his eyes even as he takes a half-step back, gaze flickering up and down the hall. Getting back into the spirit world is possible even without retreating to the door he emerged from, but the idea of giving away what he is so early in the game is disappointing. Granta was hoping to see the Guard scramble around looking for clues for at least another few weeks while he set up all the pieces on the board.

“Little old me?” Granta asks, pitched to faux innocence that’s meant to infuriate. He takes another step back, calculating his odds of getting into Mas Amedda’s office again before the clone can reach it. “I'm just doing my civic duty. Shaking off a few cobwebs, uncovering the truth about our esteemed leaders. Are you really going to persecute me for that?”

“No,” the clone says, entirely, delightfully unimpressed. “I'm going to persecute you for burglary and breaking and entering. Hands up.”

Obligingly, Granta raises his hands, palming one of his knives as he goes. “Really,” he drawls. “How uninspired of you. Commander, wasn’t it? I think I've seen you around before—”

Movement. Impossibly quick, almost as quick as a Jedi, with the force of a hurricane behind it. Granta flings the knife even as he throws himself to the side, hits the ground and rolls beneath a scything kick, a burst of air so concentrated that it leaves a dent in the wall. It just misses him, though, and Granta whirls grabs for the blaster at the small of his back and puts two shots in the air—

Impact, hard enough to steal his breath, and the clone commander slams him up against the wall with all the force of a tornado, grabs for his hood—

The face is as easy to slip into as a new coat, and Granta throws his hands up, turns his cheek like he’s braced for a blow as the dark hood falls away. The commander freezes, breath catching audibly, and Granta looks up at him with a clone’s face, eyes wide.

“Commander,” he says, and it wavers, almost cracks—

“Fox!” another clone shouts, and instantly Fox is moving again, grabbing. Granta throws himself to the side, but Fox follows him, hits the ground on top of him, and Granta laughs as he lets his own face flicker back into being.

“Fox,” he repeats, halfway to mocking. “What a good name.” In an instant he’s pulled that face up, twists out of Fox’s grip as a sleek black fox and flips free, then bolts sideways even as the other clones lunge to catch him. This shape is quicker than a Human, though, and in an instant he’s hurtling back towards Mas Amedda’s office, rounding a corner with Fox scrambling behind him—

One step sideways, a leap, and he’s back in the spirit world, landing lightly amidst a forest of trees with metal-veined leaves, the mortal world falling way behind him.

“Thank you, Mother of Faces,” he says lightly, and when he rises it’s as a Human again. The opposable thumbs are so useful, after all, even if wearing different faces all his life has left him only vaguely attached to any of them.

And then, with a whirling gust, wind sweeps through the forest, rattling the tree leaves and startling Granta. He whirls, and across the half-there shimmer of distance that marks the separation, he can just see Fox in his bright red armor, stalking up the hall and straight towards the spot where Granta vanished. He stops there, close enough to touch, and even if Granta can't hear what he says when he raises his comm, he can guess. Laughs, leans in, and there's no way for Fox to feel the brush of fingertips that aren't in the same plane, but Fox still pauses, turns his head.

“How interesting,” Granta says, and he can feel the shard of the Mother of Faces inside him, present since the moment he was born, turn towards Fox in contemplation. She likes the clones, so set in their identity, forging their own faces out of sameness. And that makes Granta like them, too.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he can't play a few games, particularly when it comes to toying with Fox. The man is interesting, after all.

[in-my-loki-feels]

For the bed sharing prompts: 💡 Needing white noise or a night light (Lokius :))

Thank you for the prompt! This is pre-relationship but hopefully you'll still like it! Going to put it under a read more since it got a little long. 🙈

💡 Needing white noise or a night light

Mobius waited until he was alone in his quarters before calling on Miss Minutes for help. 

“Howdy! What can I do for ya?” she said, popping into existence. 

“Can you pull up the security feed for room 674C?”

“Sure thang!” 

On Mobius’ TemPad, the pixels resolved to a view from above of where he’d left the Loki variant. They didn’t usually keep variants around, and when they did it was in a time cell, but Mobius wanted Loki to work with him. He’d found a floor within the TVA with forgotten rows of single occupant rooms and brought Loki to one to see if he could build a little trust. Even if he’d had to lock Loki in the first time. 

“After that chase you led everyone on, I have to,” he’d explained, “but if you behave, show you’re serious about wanting to help, then we can talk.” He’d pointed out the PJ’s and toiletries and left him to rest. 

Time worked differently at the TVA but that didn’t mean there were no breaks. In addition to their 17 minute meals, all TVA workers had a rest period in between working shifts. The problem was, Loki didn’t look like he was getting any rest, which left Mobius wondering what he was up to in their downtime. He hoped it wasn’t another escape plan, but it wouldn’t have surprised him. 

By the second “morning”, Loki had been looking a little too close to how he had when he came through the portal in that S.H.I.E.L.D. base. They’d never kept a Loki variant within the TVA. Could something in the walls be affecting his biology? 

On the TemPad screen, Loki appeared to be sleeping: he was lying on his side, partly curled up, eyes closed. However, the lights were on and since there wasn’t any light fixture other than the overheads, the room was awash in bright yellow light. Mobius couldn’t imagine trying to sleep under those conditions. 

“Does he know how to turn the lights off?” he wondered aloud. 

“Yep,” Miss Minutes chirped. “I switched them off the first night and he put them right back on.” 

It didn’t make any sense. As far as he knew, Jotunn needed sleep like most other creatures. But Loki had been showing serious signs of being deprived of it. 

“Is that all you need?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Miss Minutes winked out of existence, leaving Mobius to sit and watch Loki in bewildered silence. 

—

He thought he knew everything he needed to know about Lokis and what made them tick, but this new behavior had Mobius going back to the Archives—skipping out on his own rest—to look for answers. He took this particular Loki’s file to a table and began flipping through it, scanning the info for anything relevant. 

His life matched that of his Sacred Timeline counterpart, up until his nexus event. Mobius knew most of this data by heart, so he read through it in reverse order, starting with the Battle of New York and then the events preceding it. 

“Time spent between worlds: unknown,” he read out loud. What must that have been like, floating in space—or whatever lay between the boundaries of the Nine Realms—until he was eventually found by Thanos? All alone in the dark, wondering if there was any end to hope for. 

Mobius froze, then re-read Loki’s fall from the Bifost. Then he smacked himself in the head with the folder he held. He was an idiot for not seeing it right away. Shuffling the papers back into the folder, he slapped it closed before hurrying out of the Archives. 

—

Of course, Requisitions gave him a hard time when he went down to make his request. 

“All rooms come with the standard items and nothing can be replaced unless it’s broken,” the clerk behind the desk said, her tone long-suffering. “Is it broken?”

“Uh, no.” Mobius wracked his brain for ideas. “What about something new? A little change of scenery?” 

She gave him a long look, then pulled out a thick binder with dog-eared papers in it. She flipped through it, pausing to read a couple of times, then set it aside with a sigh. 

“I guess that’s not against the rules.” 

“Great!” 

—

Loki, with dark circles starting to form under his eyes, seemed curious about the bag Mobius brought along to his room.

“Please don’t tell me I’m being given more work to do in my spare time.” 

“You wanted to be helpful, right?” Mobius replied, grinning at Loki’s dismay. “It’s not that, don’t worry.” 

Mobius usually left Loki at the door but today he followed him inside. Then he stopped, seeing that the room was so sparsely furnished, there wasn’t even a bedside table. Oh well, the look of the thing wasn’t the point. 

He set the bag down and pulled out his surprise: a small brown table lamp with an orange lampshade. 

“Is the TVA aware there are other colors in the universe?” Loki asked dryly. 

“What’s wrong with brown?” said Mobius, in his usual brown suit. “I thought you could use something to zhuzh up the place.” 

Loki gave the lamp an unimpressed look. That was alright. Mobius hadn’t expected an effusive show of gratitude. He took the lamp over to the bed—the only other piece of furniture—and plugged it into the wall. When he switched it on, the area by the bed took on a softer, yellow-orange hue. 

He looked to Loki for a reaction.

“Yes, it really livens up my prison cell,” Loki said.  

Mobius chuckled and started towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Which still makes no sense!” Loki called after him. 

—

Mobius felt a little guilty for pulling up the security feed for Loki’s room when he got back to his own quarters. He wasn’t looking to spy on him all the time, but he wanted to see what happened. 

The TemPad showed Loki had moved to sit on the bed. The overhead lights were still on, and the longer Loki sat, without moving, the more Mobius began to doubt his suspicions. 

Then Loki stood and crossed the room to turn off the overhead. It left the room mostly shadowed, except for warm glow from the lamp on the floor. Loki got onto the bed, curling up on his side like Mobius had seen before, and seemed to fall asleep. Mobius watched a little longer, then closed the TemPad. He hoped that had done the trick. 

—

When he fetched Loki from his room the following morning, the bags under the god’s eyes were less prominent and there was even a little pep in his step.

From this prompt list. Other fills will be under this tag.

[dandylovesturtles]

I come bearing a little Sidelined AU propaganda for the @tmntaucompetition ! Featuring a guest appearance by @intotheelliwoods Poptart and Sprout.

———

“Whooooooaaaaaaa!”

Leo can’t help but echo his brothers’ amazement as they enter the stadium. There are so many turtles here (and others, too!) - so many different versions of themselves, some familiar and others radically different.

It’s ridiculously cool.

“I knew it!” cheers Donnie behind him. “I knew I was right about multiverse theory! Oh, this has so many fascinating implications for physics! You guys know how…”

Leo tunes out Donnie’s ramble (he can’t understand any of it anyway) to focus on the turtles in front of him. It’s easy to pick out the other Leos in the crowd (their color coding seems to be one of the few constants between them), but he’s quickly noticing he’s an outlier in one very big way.

“Hey guys,” he says, interrupting Donnie, “am I the only Leo rockin’ wheelies?”

“Statistically unlikely,” says Donnie, coming to stand next to him. “Given infinite possibilities, there are definitely other worlds where you use a wheelchair, and myself and Raph and Mikey as well.” Donnie pulls down his goggles, scans the crowd, and then says, “But you’re right that you may be the only one in the building.”

“I wonder what the difference is between our timeline and everyone else’s?” asks Mikey.

“I dunno!” Leo’s eyes scan the crowd. “Let’s ask.”

He catches sight of another Leo nearby, this one missing an arm. He also seems to be in the company of a grandpa Leo, and Leo has no idea how to handle the implications of that one so he decides not to think about it too hard.

“Hey!” he calls out, wheeling himself up, careful not to catch anyone’s feet on his way. “Leo! …Oh, that’s so weird.”

The other Leo turns, doing the momentary skip with his eyes when Leo isn’t at the height he was expecting. Leo’s used to that by now. The one-armed Leo retrains his eyes, grinning and holding up a hand in greeting.

“Well there’s a handsome face,” he says.

“Takes one to know one,” replies Leo enthusiastically.

“Oh no, this is going to be the whole competition, isn’t it?” he hears Donnie say behind him. He rolls his chair back into his brother’s shin and takes satisfaction in the yelp he hears after.

“Quick question. Did Draxum and the Foot Clan put together the Dark Armor in your timeline?”

“Huh? Oh!” The other Leo laughs. “Yeah! That feels like forever ago.”

“And he didn’t put you in it?”

“Uh, no.” The other Leo shrugs. “He put himself in it. Is that what happened to, uh…” He gestures vaguely at Leo, who nods.

“Oh yeah. What about you?” Leo eyes his empty shoulder. “Was that from the Shredder?”

“Nope!” The other Leo waves that off. “This was from the Krang!”

“Oh,” says Leo. (Behind him, he hears Mikey whisper, “What’s a Krang?”) “Okay, thanks. We’re just trying to figure out where our timeline went different.” He grins. “Nice compression sleeve, by the way.”

“Thanks!” The other Leo grins back. “Nice wheelchair!”

The other Leo and the big Leo tailing him move on. Leo swivels his chair so he can look back at his brothers.

“Okay, so we know the difference,” he says. “In most other timelines, Draxum is an idiot.”

“He’s an idiot in our timeline,” says Raph, “but I see your point.”

“Cool!” says Mikey. “Mystery solved!”

“Now hold on!” Donnie dashes to stand in front of them, arms held out. “Gentlemen, you can’t really mean to take a single data point and form a conclusion based on that!” He pulls up the screen of his bracer, typing frantically. “We need to gather data from every group here, and then we need to run cross-references to find all the commonalities, and then-“

Leo looks at Raph and Mikey. “Nachos?” he suggests.

“Nachos!” they both cheer.

He starts making his way through the crowd, Mikey and Raph helping him navigate, leaving Donnie to catch up.

“Really!? That’s it!? Don’t you have any interest in the mysteries of the multiverse!? You’re abandoning it for nachos!? …Well okay, but no jalapeños on mine!”

[jams-sims]

Anyway i've calm down, taken a couple of deep breaths and I'm ready to tackle whatever the fuck it was we all just experienced the latter half of the stream.

Tubbo is confirmed dead, he is a robot of some kind, he made another robot called Creation, creation finds the Gurdian, the guardian is Philza, Philza and Creation meet it is initially hostile from Philza end, Everything is hashed out, Creation says he must rebuild tubbo for Sunny, they go to see Tubbos body, Create says that Tubbos is missing data.

Create must find the one that killed Tubbo to get that missing Data. The data is purpose (I think, I remember them saying a couple of name but for now we are calling it purpose.) it between all of that, create says the data must be in the possession of the person who killed Tubbo. That is Richas.

We go back to spawn we meet up with people, inbetween all of that, Creation scans Richas and says he believe Richas has the missing data/know as purpose.

This is the part that is really up in the air. I don't believe creation would have any reason to lie and say Richas has something he doesn't. But because no one check it pretty much has become schroders cat.

Now it could be Richas has another items of important. He may not even have this thing/data known as purpose. Because Tubbos has been in limbo the entire time we have had this reset.

Tubbos love life is in shambles, he feels out of place in the morning crew, he doesn't have create. He was in a bad place and there is a real world where purpose is not a physical item but something that Tubbos must attain himself. It is not something he can just be given or collected in data.

The second part that crazy is the only way to bring him back is for someone to unlock create and build a super computer. The problem everyone is super broke expect for Bad. An the person who was asked and given a special name was Philza, Philza is broke monetary in the new system. He can't do anything.

WELCOME TO CAPALTISM BABY!

This is not even touching on how soul crushing it is for sunny to be left alone. Tubbo and Sunny had a big fight and now sunny alone with no one and it's heart breaking. It ironic because the one that can relate to her the most is Tallulah.

Tallulah has gone through it beat for beat. An it sad that they couldn't have talked more and Sunny anger is valid. Her hate for Richas for taking her dad away will need to be worked through but for now she is left alone go back to her house to be with Leo.

It is on top of that I'm also bring up with the seriousness of the situation. Philza went directly to the spawn point to try and break laws to get a bunny to show up. It is heart breaking to see him breaking shit and screaming out into empty air for someone to show up.

Tubbo has named Philza correctly, he is a Guardian.

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 24/45 Word count: 3006 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 22. Out Of Sight, But On Your Mind

Charles parked his car close to the factory. Besides meeting fans and taking photos with them at the gate, he received a few gifts for his team principal. It was his first day back at the factory after Silverstone. He collected all the gifts and got out of the car. He looked at them. There were a few handwritten notes and a few stuffed animals. A soft smile grew on his face. He thought it was cute from the fans.

As he walked through the gates, the atmosphere shifted from the enthusiastic cheers from the fans to the more subdued workplace ambience. Charles couldn't help but wonder how Matilde was doing. It has been four days since he last saw her.

Deciding to leave the gifts in Matilde's office, Charles approached her office, which wasn't empty. He hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to leave the gifts behind or not. He decided to go with the first option since he didn't know where else to leave them.

"Hello, can I leave this in Matilde's office?" Charles politely asked the woman behind Galileo's desk. Where was Galileo?

The woman looked up, showing some arrogance. "You can ask Mister Verratti."

Oh, right, Narciso Verratti was the interim team principal for now. Charles showed a small smile and nodded. He knocked on the glass door and waited until he got a response. Narciso looked up from his work and gave him a nod. Charles opened the door and stepped inside. "Hello," he smiled.

"Buongiorno, Charles," the businessman said. "It's good to see you. What can I do for you?"

"I have some gifts for Matilde," Charles said and looked at the gifts. He looked back up to Narciso, who looked at Charles like he was stupid. "Can I leave them here for when she comes back?"

Narciso took a deep breath and looked back at his computer screen. "Sure," he breathed. "You're not the first one. You can leave them in the corner," he said, pointing to the corner. "She's very loved, isn't she?" he mumbled.

Charles stepped towards the corner, but stopped walking when he heard those words. "Come again?" He turned around.

"Hmm, what?" Narciso looked at Charles again. "I was talking to myself, sorry."

"Ha," Charles replied, squinting his eyes while scanning the man. He placed the gifts alongside the other gifts on a cabinet and left the office. Charles walked through the engineer's department, finding it awfully quiet. The exchanged greetings lacked the usual energy. Did they all miss Matilde so much? How much influence did she have?

"Hey," Charles greeted the team. He sat down next to Xavi. Oh, shit, the golden birthday box in Matilde's desk drawer. His eyes shot to the glass office; he didn't want to disturb Narciso again.

"Hello," Xavi replied.

More engineers greeted Charles.

"Everything okay here?" Charles asked.

Xavi nodded. "Hmm-hmm, just as usual."

Charles nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Narciso seems very enthusiastic to be here," he sarcastically said. "It looks like his mood is affecting the entire building," he observed.

Looks were shared, but no words were exchanged.

The topic shifted to work-related things, and the past weekend was summarised. The collected data had already been processed, and they quickly began to talk about the setup for the Hungarian Grand Prix. Carlos also joined the talk with his team, just like a few others who were important to a race weekend. The things that they usually discuss during a meeting with Matilde are discussed during a spontaneous desk meeting without the interim team principal.

After an hour, they called in a break. Charles looked at the TP's office again, observing if Narciso noticed anything about the desk meeting. And it wasn't the case since he was still very focused on his computer screen. That was until his assistant called him, and they both left. Charles saw the perfect opportunity to get the golden birthday box.

"I will be right back," he said, quickly walking towards Matilde's office. He walked to her desk and opened the drawer. And there it was: the golden box. He grabbed it and quickly walked away. It was like he was completing a secret mission. And his team thought that as well, when they saw Charles sneakily entering and leaving the office. A reassuring smile rested on his face, and he went to look for Galileo. "Where can I find Galileo?" Charles asked a woman from HR.

"Marketing and PR, probably."

"Alright, thanks." Charles smiled and walked to the next department on the top floor. And indeed, Galileo was moved to this floor. He was sitting in the corner, facing the wall; an improvised work corner. "Demoted?"

Galileo dramatically swung around, sighed and looked unamused at Charles. "Boss is not there, I'm not there," he said. "If you need Matilde, good luck contacting her family." He showed a fake smile and turned around.

"It's Good to see you, too," Charles said. I came here to ask you a favour—well, Matilde did." He placed the golden box on the desk.

"What is this?"

"The birthday box," Charles replied and opened the box. "With birthday cards. Matilde asked to deliver these around the office when there is a birthday."

Galileo flipped through the cards and noticed a list. "I never knew she did this." He opened the list, and all the birthdays of the employees of the month of July were noted there. His eyebrows raised, he never knew about this. "She missed a few days."

"Yeah, she's not here," Charles shot back. "Look, I am not here every day and you are, she specifically asked for you to do this." He looked at the assistant. "Can you take care of it? I'm sure everyone will appreciate it."

Galileo nodded. "Absolutely." He got up. "I will deliver these straight away." He shuffled through the cards.

"I will help you," Charles offered.

Galileo raised his eyebrow and looked impressed. "That is kind of you."

They walked through the different departments and buildings to deliver the birthday cards to the destined people. They obviously wished them a happy birthday as well. For the ones who weren't present, they left a card on their desk or in their locker.

As they walked around, Charles and Galileo engaged in a conversation, discussing various topics and occasionally sharing anecdotes about their experiences with Matilde. It was starting to become evident that despite the different roles they played in the team, Matilde's influence had touched each member in unique ways.

"I've got to admit," Galileo said with a chuckle. "You are the last person I ever thought I'd be walking through the office with delivering birthday cards."

"How the tables have turned," Charles replied.

They continued their task, stopping by different workstations to wish team members a happy birthday. The expressions of surprise and gratitude on their colleagues' faces hinted at the positive impact of Matilde's thoughtful tradition.

They stumbled across the night shift manager as they approached the final department. Galileo and Charles walked over to him with grins on their faces. Mario looked up from his desk and gave the two young lads a side-eye.

"What do you need?" Mario sighed and annoyedly removed the glasses from his face.

"It's your birthday delivery service," Charles said and widely smiled. "Buon compleanno, Mario."

Galileo stuck out the card. "Happy birthday," he smiled. "Matilde wanted to give this to you herself, but unfortunately, she couldn't be here."

"Thank you, kids," Mario replied and smiled gratefully. He accepted the card and opened the envelope, taking the card out of it. It was a white card with a small red car in the middle. He smirked and read what was written inside: a simple birthday message. Mario looked up, noticing Galileo and Charles desperately trying to see what the card looked like. "Wait until it's your turn," he said, shaking his head. He placed the card on his desk. "Thank you. How is she doing?" He leaned back on his chair.

Charles and Galileo shared a quick glance, to see who would answer the question. "Fine," Galileo then said. "Recovering, but fine, I think. I haven't spoken to her since Tuesday." It was now Friday.

Mario nodded. "It's just bad luck that it happened to her, nothing that would have prevented it. Anyway, I will send her a quick message and then prepare for the meeting," he breathed.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" Galileo then asked, realising it was weird to see Mario.

"Yes, but Mister Narcissist wants me to be at a meeting, even though I'm completely not needed."

Charles squinted his eyes. He knew who Narciso Verratti was, but he had barely met him. And he started to see and understand that not everyone liked the businessman. "It's a shame," he shared.

"It is what it is," Mario shrugged.

Then Galileo and Charles said bye, wishing Mario good luck with his work. Their mission was complete, and the two walked back to the office, satisfied with the positive and grateful reactions their co-workers shared. Plus, the two finally started to connect with each other. They were engaged in a casual conversation. The weight of the birthday delivery mission seemed to have lifted some of the initial tension between them. Charles began to see Galileo as more than just the 'annoying' and 'heartless' assistant, and Galileo started to appreciate Charles beyond the race track instead of the grumpy dickhead. They had one thing in common: they highly respected Matilde, and she highly respected her team.

Charles returned to his engineers. "Sorry, it took longer than expected," he apologised.

"What were you doing with Galileo?" Carlos asked and raised his eyebrows, being aware of the relationship between Charles and Galileo.

"Something Matilde asked us to take care of."

When it was time to go to the meeting, everybody got something to drink first and made their way to the meeting room. Once everyone was present - on time - they had to wait for Narciso. The people in the meeting room were lively and sharing things. Until... until two people walked in. The room fell silent and the entire atmosphere changed on the spot.

"Buon pomeriggio a tutti," Narciso greeted the team and sat down on Matilde's spot. His assistant sat across the room, which was not Galileo's spot. It was different. "Cominciamo," he called, saying that they could begin.

Laurent Mekkies got up and walked over to the presentation screen, ready to present the recap and upcoming events. "Good afternoon, everyone. Last week was an intense and weird week, I hope everyone recovered from it and has found new energy for the upcoming races. It's gonna be tough, especially because it is the last doubleheader before the summer break-"

"Mi scusi, perché parliamo inglese?" Narciso asked why everyone was talking in English. "We are in Italy, we are an Italian team, everyone in this room speaks and understands Italian."

No one dared to answer. Looks were shared.

"Matilde understands Italian to a certain level," Mario backed Matilde up. "She is still learning it, and it's going well, but the racing terms are still difficult. We are practising every now and then, but we like to keep it accessible to everyone in this team."

Narciso took a deep, disappointing breath and looked around the room; everyone seemed to agree with Mario by the looks on their faces. "Now it makes sense why every document is in English, even the internal documents that used to be Italian," he mentioned. "Anyway, let's continue in English then."

The meeting continued in English, but the tension lingered. Narciso's entry had disrupted the harmonious atmosphere that Matilde had cultivated within the team. Slowly, some members began to see what kind of culture Ferrari had before Matilde joined; old, traditional, stiff, a hierarchical culture, barely open communication. It worked for a couple of years, but... It wasn't something for now. When Matilde joined the team, the communication became open and modern; she had an open-door policy, and the lines slightly faded in the hierarchy. Of course, there were boundaries, but the culture became open. And just the way Matilde approached things; she smiled a lot, wasn't afraid to make a joke and allowed funny and light moments. Matilde had an influence on the team, and people have begun to notice it.

You know what you're missing when you don't have it anymore.

* * *

"Matilde, don't stress and don't get overhyped. It's not good for your recovery," her father mentioned. "Don't wind yourself up."

Matilde looked at her father and rolled her eyes, ignoring the comment. The pre-race show just ended, and they were ready to watch the race in Budapest, Hungary. It had been two weeks since the surgery, and Matilde had recovered well; however, she still wasn't allowed to work for another week - or travel, so she was still in the cottage in England. It didn't take her away from the Grand Prix because she lived for it. It was weird to watch the pre-race show, weird because people discussed Matilde's team, the changes and her performances so far. Plus, she hadn't watched a pre-race show in years.

"Matilde and not winding herself up over F1?" Linnea, Matilde's best friend, smirked.

"It's not possible, but we will still try it, don't we?" her father said strictly.

"Yes," Matilde briefly said and smiled, running her hand through her blown-out hair. "If they don't fuck it up."

Sven, also a good friend of Matilde, sat next to Matilde on the couch and padded her shoulder. "Don't be negative. If they fuck it up, it is not your fault."

"Instead, everybody will see how great of a team principal you are," Kai added, another friend.

"Yes, and if everything goes flawless, I am the failure," Matilde shot back. "And if they fuck it up, if Narciso fucks it up, I have to fix it all over again."

"No stress," Dagmar said, and she smiled.

The friends Matilde had over for the Hungarian Grand Prix were friends from England. Long story short: they met over Facebook while looking for Danish people in England. They all lived in the same area, and they became close friends. One of the advantages now Matilde was stuck in England to recover, was that she could see her friends more than once. The disadvantage: no Grand Prix. But in this case: she preferred the advantage.

"Alright, the predictions. Linnea," Sven said. "We're just going to do like we used to do." He pointed at Linnea.

Linnea took a deep breath. "It's not fair. Matilde can predict these things much more easily. She literally is F1," she whined.

Laughter filled the living room.

"One bad start or yellow flag, and things are changing," Matilde replied and smiled.

"Fine. Verstappen, Russell, Perez."

Matilde huffed.

Linnea looked at Matilde. "See!"

"Matilde, shut up. Ferrari is rubbish this weekend, I'm sorry," Sven rubbed the reality in Matilde's face; Charles managed to qualify in P6 and Carlos P7 after some terrible sessions. "Kai?"

"Same as Linnea," Kai answered.

"Dagmar?"

"I think Verstappen, Perez, Alonso."

"Viggo?"

"I don't think Verstappen will win. I think Perez, Verstappen, Leclerc," Matilde's father replied.

Matilde nodded. "Thank you," she said. She made eye contact with Sven, who was waiting for her prediction. "Max, Checo, Hamilton." Everybody began to laugh. "I don't know what Narciso is doing, but he can't lead a team. And Sven, what about you?"

"Verstappen, Checo, Piastri," he replied.

"Bold prediction," everyone said.

"That's F1," Sven proudly said.

Matilde's father moved to the kitchen to prepare some snacks.

"Did you wish your team good luck, or are you throwing it on the I'm-not-working treatment," Sven asked Matilde.

"I'm on medical leave, not literal leave," Matilde replied with a smirk. "I need to let them know that I'm thinking of them, I've got to keep up appearances-"

"Like poison," Dagmar concluded.

"Leave that girl alone," Linnea said. "Being part of Ferrari and being forced to be at home and see your team fail is... Meh, not so fun."

The formation lap began. Even though Matilde wanted to watch the show without any data, she opened her laptop and put the statistics on F1TV. Cheers filled the living room; they had a small bet about when Matilde would pull out the data for this race. After a few minutes, all the cars lined up.

Matilde couldn't ignore the subtle racing heartbeat within her chest. The familiar roar of the engines was hearable through the speakers, creating a symphony of sound that enveloped the room. Matilde's eyes were fixed on the screen, but her mind was also on the grid, imagining the strategic discussions. She straightened her back and sat on the edge of the couch.

The lights went out, and away they went.

"I swear, the first thirty seconds after the start are just nerve-wracking," Dagmar said and observed all the cars.

"Shh," Kai and Sven hushed.

Matilde got up, stood in front of the TV, and watched the start carefully. She was just hoping for a decent start. Initially, she didn't want this to be a good race because then it meant she didn't do a good job at Ferrari—or she did, because then it meant she led the team well. But she wanted a good race for the team, for them, so they could enjoy the good performances.

"Hey, hey, you pushed him off the track!" Matilde said when Stroll pushed Carlos off the track. "Jeez, man. Calm down." Carlos dropped back to P18. Her eyes searched for Charles, who gained two positions. "What the fuck," she responded to the incident and placed her hands on her hips.

"It's gonna be a racing incident," Sven reminded everyone.

"No, shit, Sherlock," Kai responded.

Matilde gave Sven a side eye but kept her mouth shut. She sat down on the couch again and scanned the data on the laptop. So far, so good—well, semi-good.

Snacks were passed around, and the living room was filled with the sounds of laughter, cheers and analyses. It felt like they were ten years back in time; watching F1 and just spending the Sunday together. 

Next chapter

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u

[mwinor]

Flower shop in Florence

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

⌗ comfort, almost strangers, a little flirting

word count: 766

note: my favorite flowers, btw

M works in a flower shop in the center of Florence, making bouquets from the pure heart and soul. It brought her joy and the feeling that she was creating beauty in the life of every customer.

For a year, every week, on Sunday, the same man came to her. Soon she met him and found out that his name was Theodore. He lives here and works as "someone serious."

Today's Sunday was no different. Nott entered a cozy building filled with a floral scent and his gaze immediately darted to M. A warm smile touched his lips.

"Good morning, miss. How are you?" he said, coming up to the counter. The girl looked up at the brunette and smiled warmly. "Theodore, buenos días, what do you need this time?" She said amiably, looking at the showcase of ready-made bouquets, "Lilies? Peonies? Or maybe you want simple daisies?" He chuckled, his smile widening at her words. His eyes scanned the showcase before settling on it again.

"You already know about my choice, cutie," he teased, "The best you have."

"Wonderful white tulips were delivered today!" M took out a ready-made bouquet of white tulips, there were about 17 of them. "Do you like it?"

His eyes widened slightly as he looked at the beautiful bouquet in her hands. He took it from her hands, gently stroking the stems with his fingertips.

"They are beautiful." He spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Theo looked up at her again, "How do you know these are my favorites?"

The girl was a little surprised. "I also love white tulips. They remind me of the purity of romance. I don't know why..."

He continued to stare at her without taking his eyes off her.

"They are indeed a symbol of innocence and pure love. And I like the love they symbolize... I find it quite rare."

The guy tilted his head slightly to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"These flowers remind me of you."

M was slightly embarrassed and blushed. She smiled a little shyly, and the dimples on her cheeks became more noticeable. "Thank you, Theodore. I am pleased with such compliments."

He grinned at her reaction. He liked how easily she reacted to his words. This made him want to tease her even more.

"You're blushing, honey. Do my compliments really have that effect on you?" he asked, exclaiming cheerfully.

The girl rolled her eyes and grinned. "It's not funny." She went to the cash register, looking at the postcards. He returned the warm smile, following her to the cash register and placing the bouquet on the table with his hands in his pockets. "I've always wanted to ask, who are the flowers for? Maybe attach a postcard to the bouquet..." the girl said in a thoughtful tone, sorting through the options in her hands.

"Actually, no one," the guy replied, watching her closely. "I just like it when there are flowers at home. It allows the house not to feel like that... empty."

The florist lifted her head and looked at him in confusion. "Really?" She smiled slightly again, folding her hands in front of her. "Then I'm glad that my flowers bring joy to you and your home."

Nott nodded, not taking his eyes off her. He could get lost in her smile. He liked the way it dimpled her cheeks and made her whole face glow. Theo couldn't resist wanting to stay in this store forever.

"They bring more than just joy." He replied in a low and husky voice.

Mary smiled brightly as she uploaded the data to the computer. He was standing next to her, watching her work. Her smile was infectious, stretching the corners of his own lips. He could barely focus on anything else, her presence seemed to consume all his senses."Be careful on the road, Mr. Nott, and good luck to you today. I have charged your credit card. Come again." said M, holding out the bouquet.

He chuckled slightly.

"You don't have to tell me that, I'll come anyway."

The girl nodded. "I know. Therefore, as always, I will leave the freshest and most beautiful flowers for you in the morning. Have a nice day."

Theodore watched her for another moment, his eyes taking in her once more, as if he was trying to capture her appearance in his memory.

"See you in a week, M. Don't forget to take care of yourself."

He smiled goodbye, a hidden meaning flashing in his eyes before turning around and walking out the door with a bouquet in his hand.

[othernaut]

Character Creation Challenge 2025, Day 6: Lancer

"Hey, Temp, can you get that fucking Everest out of the launch bay? We've got the pattern saved if you really need to -"

"Hey, Shred. Hey. Back off, she's drunk. Not okay kind of drunk."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You remember that data bundle we pulled? The dropship?"

"Oh."

"Wound up with a full profile on Serapis, including what happened to the Cause after she went offworld."

"... Oh. Oh, shit. Do you need me to -"

"Nah, it's all right. Just give it time. She's a tough old girl. She'll pull through."

"Okay. Yeah, sure. Hey, do you want to... get a... thing? That isn't here?"

"Sure, Shred. Let's go do that."

And then the doors hissed closed, the low light faded, and Harriet was left alone with her misery and nostalgia.

//ailure of the Unified Body of Serapis to come to a resolution on the issue of Central Nations independence, a stalling action was performed in UB caucus. During that time, several failed assassination attempts at Central leading figures escalated the internal violence to an all-out war that swiftly spilled across the borders. The Dominion of Regis, for purposes of professed morality, pulled out of the discussions, and no further resol//

Fuckheads. The UB lasted five years, enough time for everyone to get comfortable with the idea of a moderated world government - enough time for it to sting when the rug was pulled. People are going to act like people, no matter how noble or responsible they profess to be. They fall to infighting for no reason and then it's the communities, the little people, her, her friends - they're the ones with their water cut off, with no medical supplies inbound, with nothing but the bare matter of the world and themselves.

Idiots. Everyone. Her especially. She scrolled quickly past the political lead-up; the memories it evoked weren't ones she wanted to relive. Another pull of clear brandy. It didn't burn anymore. Probably a good thing.

There we are. Port Harrow. Dockside steel ramping into the black bay. Old stone-brick buildings encased in scaffolds of exostructure. Orange sodium lights in long lines in the sky, making every season into autumn. Kids chasing fluffy gulls along the Char River outlet. Four bad bars within a two-block walking distance of each other along the Hyde Park strip, so if you got kicked out of one you could stumble to another before your buzz even dreamt of wearing off. A stiff bed and a paycheck and a night full of people arguing outside.

//racturing of communities in Regis as the supply shortages continued, leading to tacitly independent, anarchist city-states as it became clear the people had no one to rely on but each other. In Port Harrow, the history of heavy industry in the city led to a wealth of industrial equipment that could be repurposed for war, agriculture, reconstruction, and mobile community support. As the government shutdown entered its third year, Port Harrow was one of the more successful of these communes, successfully managing both a mass agriculture and self-defense project by retrofitting industrial frames into multipurpose, proto-mech units//

The years coming in like a flood, dulled by both alcohol and time to a prosaic wash of color. She'd been in an agbot at first, but even the agbots needed some self-defense capability, as the raiders neither cared about growing seasons nor common sense; they just took whatever was to hand and fuck everyone else. At time went on, the attacks ramped up - but the people back home in the factories managed even more inventive fuckery in response. God, the thump of the rivet gun, how it'd hiss on a miss in the wet dirt of the fields. Petrochaff'd fuck up the old-school oil bikes they were using, leave them baking on the asphalt with the smell of a spilled deep fryer. The damn things came with caution paint on the legs, but the kids still climbed her anyway. They liked to sit on her head as she scanned the hills.

Then she read a name and it all soured instantly. More brandy. A wretched turn in her stomach.

//Union Far-Field Teams arrived just after the burning of Concord Square, when it became clear that the remnants of Unified Body governance could no longer hold even a suggestion of power. Crisis management NHPs were deployed in places of deepest anarchy to prepare the ground for reclamation and reconnection squadrons, which arrived later that year. Even deeply independent-city states, like Rouge Mountain and Port Harrow, capitulated after a brief exchange, bringing an end to the crisis before the next yea//

I mean, how could they resist? They had agbots and heavy industrial frames; Union had fucking mechs. They had rivet launchers and digging tools and junk-data ewar modules taped together from pornbots and netmail viruses; Union had AIs, for fuck's sake. Even if they blew a mech with a lucky shot, fuckers just printed another that same night. It was unwinnable. That beautiful thing they made, that open garden where everyone was for everyone else, where everyone had enough and the only thing you answered to was your neighbors...

It was unwinnable.

//sequent years saw a formal capitulation by autonomous zones, a return to Union-led Unified Body governance and entry into the embrace of galactic civilization. Reconstruction efforts began immedia//

They had pictures. She couldn't even recognize the streets.

//iolent holdouts retired to on-world educational facilities and, for the more extreme ideologies and antisocial dispositions, off-world contain//

What the fuck's so extreme about it? Help out your neighbor, you don't need anything else.

//ishment of permanently stationed Serapis Coordination Force to track down and pacify remaining violent bands and promote the ideology of unifica//

They held a gun to her head and asked her what she believed. Of course she lied.

//dless, a managed diaspora in subsequent years//

And no matter how you love something, there's a time, always a time, when it's not worth it anymore.

Harriet leaned back. Her head swam. The hangar blurred in front of her eyes, more than usual - she didn't fucking need glasses, not yet, she wasn't that old. Upside down, the team's mechs hung like rainbow stalactites, a row of independence splashed in bright colors and bristling weapons and anime boobie-girl decals. Why shouldn't she leave a place that didn't need her anymore? Fuck, she had enough experience for any lancer squadron. Anyone. Best of the bunch, this, and yet. It was like the carnival sideshow version of home, some punk-fuck pageantry of the anarchy she fucking lived for years, for years -

But it was better than what was left for her on a home now staffed with strangers.

Lurched forward. Stomach definitely did a thing there. Maybe call it a night. Finger wiggling to the little red X.

//spite media management discouraging public displays supporting 'non-standard political philosophies', shows of support for community leaders and organizers during the crisis remain standing in areas most strongly affected by the supply disruption, including Steeltown, Port Harrow, Perrbroke, Rou//

She squinted into the blown-up, artifacted image. Unfamiliar street, but that was a fucking agbot. Held up, scaffolded in steel. Sodium lighting. Big rock in front of it, sanded down, pocked with names. No laser etching, all hand-carved. Blurry, but she thought she could recognize some of them. That smear of shadow might have been a friend, a lover, a co-worker. Might've been her.

Stomach lurched like a sick generator. One little tear, big as a lost world, tracked its way down her cheek and died in the collar of her jumpsuit.

Yeah. Time to call it a night.

*****

Harriet Spall Callsign: Temperance Background: Worker (heavy machine operator) License Level: 3 Licenses: Nelson III Grit: +2

Pilot Skill Triggers: +2 Assault, +2 Hack or Fix, +2 Invent or Create, +4 Read a Situation, +4 Take Control Pilot Stats: Size 1/2, 10 Evasion, 10 E-Defense, Speed 4, HP 6 Mech Skills: Agility 2, Engineering 3 Core Bonuses: IPS-Northstar (Sloped Plating)

Talents: Juggernaut: Momentum (when I Boost, the next Ram I make gains +1 Accuracy and knocks the target back an additional 2 spaces), Kinetic Mass Transfer (when I ram a target into another target, the other must save Hull or be knocked prone; when I ram a target into an object or structure, they take 1d6 kinetic damage), Unstoppable Force (1/round and for 1d3+3 heat, I can supercharge a Boost to ram through people and objects). Nuclear Cavalier: Aggressive Heat Bleed (first attack I make on my turn in the Danger Zone deals +2 additional Heat), Fusion Hemmorhage (first attack I make on my turn in the Danger Zone is Energy damage and deals +1d6), Here, Catch! (gain the Fuel Rod Gun integrated weapon).

Mech: Goodbye Paradise Frame: IPS-Northstar Nelson Frame Traits: Momentum (1/round, when I Boost, gain +1d6 bonus damage next melee hit), Skirmisher (may move 1 space after attacking, ignoring engagement and not provoking). Frame Core System: Perpetual Motion Drive (Active - for the rest of the scene, Skirmisher allows me to move 4 spaces instead of 1)

Mech Attributes: Size: 1 Structure: 4; HP: 12, Armor: 1 Stress: 4, Heat Cap: 9, Repair Cap: 5 Attack Bonus: +2, Tech Attack: +0, Limited System Bonus: +1 Speed: 6, Evasion: 13, E-Defense: 7, Sensor Range: 5, Save Target: 12

Equipment Loadout: Main/Aux Mount: Tactical Melee Hammer (Threat 1, 1d6+2 kinetic +1d6 explosive damage), Mod: Thermal Charge (Limited 4, expend a charge to activate its detonator, dealing +1d6 explosive damage) Main/Aux Mount: Pistol (Range 5, Threat 3, 1d3 kinetic damage) Flex Mount: Power Knuckles x2 (Threat 1, 1d3+1 explosive damage, knocks prone opponents on a crit if they fail a Hull save) Integrated Mount: Fuel Rod Gun (Limited 4, Range 3, Threat 3, 1d3+2 energy damage, clears 4 heat)

Systems: Thermal Charge Mod (included in Tactical Melee Hammer attack) Ramjet (activate as a protocol, apply 2 heat, until the start of my next turn gain move +2 spaces when I Boost in a straight line with melee attacks gaining Knockback 2) Armor-Lock Plating (can Brace while Grappling, applying 2 Heat and ending the grapple; until the end of my next turn, attacks against me receive +1 difficulty, I can't fail contested Agility or Hull saves, and I'm immune to Knockback, Grapple, Prone, or being moved by any external force smaller than Size 5) Personalizations (+2 HP: safety signs and up-to-date hazardous materials notices) Custom Paint Job (when taking structure damage, roll 1d6, ignoring damage and returning to 1HP on a 6: caution yellow-black patterning)

*****

I got lucky. This isn't my first brush with Lancer, nor my second. Like a lot of the games I'm making characters for this year, I got Lancer some time ago and bounced off of it for reasons I couldn't really articulate. I think, at the time, it was a clash between expectations and reality. I had been pitched Lancer as a system where you could tell any of a variety of mech stories, a wide universe where conflicts could take any shape and theme and, at the time, I had a real taste for scrungy, scavenger-ass mechs scrapped together out of car batteries and nuclear paperclips. Lancer, apparently, doesn't tell that kind of mech story, and with the system's native complexity and its major favoritism for tactical combat over personal stories and gritty campaign play, I bounced.

But I got lucky. Later, during a lull in my weekly role-playing, a friend offered to run a one-shot, two-person session of Lancer with pre-built mechs, and it was a god damn hoot. Having someone there to walk me through how the systems interacted, through the joy in building complex machinery and then bashing it against one another - that very much helped. Any system, no matter how much it might not appeal to me specifically, is improved with the spice of enthusiasm. I went home and immediately, badly tried to put together a Kidd dronebot before learning of this challenge and saving my enthusiasm. And now here I am, and here's my machine. It wants to run into your shins and hit you with an exploding hammer.

Lancer's one of the few systems I've run into on this journey to which I can't really say, "It's good, but." Lancer does precisely what it intends to do, and if that's a thing you also want to do, then you're going to have a fantastic time. It doesn't fully stay in its lane - there's enough storygame swerving to allow a full Shinji Evangelion arc, if that's the thing that floats your artillery platform - but it puts a hell of a polish on the thing it wants to do well. Each little bit is comprehensible at first glance and clicks together satisfyingly. The machine it creates is beautiful and deadly, though you have to want it in order to run it at peak efficiency. Also, shoutout to COMP/CON, the free online character-building tool, for being way more organized than me hanging out with an open notepad file and a PDF.

Next up: The laughter of thirsting gods.