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everythingne · 19 days ago

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learning curve - cs55

williams is a new territory. his co-head engineers is an interesting idea, until he meets you, and learns of why he needs someone else on the radio.

haring impaired!williams engineer reader x carlos sainz

James was far too excited to have Carlos here so god damn early. But, as Carlos knew, the racing world didn't wait for anybody. Engineers dipped in and out of rooms, hands flicking as the spoke, heads nodding or shaking along with ideas or with procedures.

"And here," James grandly gestures to the small team that's working on installing Carlos' newly fitted seat into the shell of a car, "is team fifty-five."

A few heads pop up from his new mechanics, analysts, engineers, a few waves Carlos returns before James is bringing him to the side where a large computer is set up. Two people sitting at the screen. The man turns his head, smiling warmly in greeting as the person next to him--you, keeps her head down and scribbles some notes on a drawing of the car.

"This is YN, the one writing, and Luca. Both pulled in from Ferrari, from junior Engineers to senior. Figured a fresh start would be best for all of us until we can secure more full season contracts for your team." James explains and Carlos feels entrapped by you, watching the way your tongue darts out for a moment as you think, before your head goes right back down.

"Two head engineers?" Carlos asks softly, after shaking Luca's hand in greeting. James nods to Luca, and he turns and quickly taps the desk next to you, and you perk up and unplug your airbuds... or something similar.

"YN is hard of hearing, Luca's makes sure she doesn't miss anything. YN doesn't usually, and she'll understand you well as long as she can read your lips." James explains, and you nod.

"Don't be afraid to talk to me," You say, folding your hands in your lap, "Most people just ask Luca but he hates talking to people."

"I do." Luca nods, face red, "I'd rather be hiding. YN will speak to you on the pit wall. The board connects right to her hearing aids."

"Oh, thats really nice." He says and you nod, bursting into a explanation that has your face all bright and smiley and god damnit if it doesn't make his heart skip. After a moment, James pulls Carlos away, but your looks linger a little longer after that.

Two weeks in and Carlos knows some BSL. He practices to himself most nights in the hotel, signing over and over: drag, lift, broken, okay, the alphabet, basic letters, and the signs he's noticed you do for over and understeering. He doesn't need to know BSL to communicate with you, your hearing aids and lip reading have been working just fine for two weeks before testing days, but he figures it might be easier--and a nice little secret to have, on days where the garage is swimming with noise.

Alex has picked up more than he has, and while Carlos is a little envious at Alex's ability to just absorb, it's not like he's practicing sentences.

Which Carlos has been. Simple ones so far, but he finds it so enchanting when you and Luca go off on BSL tangents, the little secret code of your hand gestures and expressions so amazing to him.

Day one of testing is by far the longest day of your and Carlos' life. You both sit there pouring over data and models, running simulation after simulation while Carlos pokes at every level of information you have and questions it. Luca watches you both silently, noting the way Carlos hangs on your suggestions and you nod at his inputs.

Neither of you break for lunch, pushing aside the catered meals to look over more data from the rear wing. By the time the mechanics came back, you had a whole new wing plan. Same with dinner plans. But you're kicked out of the track by midnight, the last two people closing up shop, still talking about designs and new plans as you both stand next to each other from the second you leave to the second you get into the lobby of the hotel.

You bid Carlos goodnight, but read his lips as the batteries on your hearing aids are dangerously low.

Day two is the same. You and Carlos wake up excessively early, are the first ones there, but mid way through the day you notice something. Your hearing aids are fucking dead.

Carlos comes into the garage with a grin, chattering to you about something exciting, but his lips move so quickly and differently from British accented words you lose him.

Carlos blinks. Pause. And then nervously signs, 'fixed the understeer.'

You blink. Pause. And then break into a grin, whacking his arms.

"Good job." You say, though you aren't sure how loud, before holding up a finger for him to wait as you rush to your purse and dig out the back-up batteries. It takes a few seconds for you to find them in the bottom corner of the bag--but you pop them in and adjust the volume a bit before rushing back over.

"Sorry! They died!" You tap the hearing aids and Carlos nods, smiling to you with a little tilt of his head, "When did you learn to sign?"

Carlos' cheeks are a little red as he shrugs, "I don't know if I did it well, but I've been practicing for a bit. It's always so loud in here, I don't know how you hear everything."

You shrug, tilt your head, "You get used to picking out the important noises, it's not that much different from you."

Over the next few months, as you and Carlos adapt to the car and to the team, you find he's picked up more and more sign language. You idly teach him some in his spare time, words slowly drifting from racing notes to everyday phrases, to names for people across the tracks, to jokes. By Monaco, you've taught him enough for semi-fluency, and you don't know how he's managed to pick up a whole new language so quickly but you're not complaining.

It happens after Monaco quali. You're sitting on the floor of his drivers room while he's being stretched out post race, your hands moving idly along with your words as you speak, Carlos watching intently. There's been a shift, you note, and when Carlos' holds hand for you to pause, you do.

'Going to dinner tonight?' his signs are a little wobbly, but you get the gist.

'At the hotel, maybe.'

Carlos hesitates for probably a whole thirty seconds before, 'Want to go out? Only us two.'

'A date?'

'Yes.'

You blink. Then slap his hands with a loud laugh--Teto leaning his head back to look at you two from the other side of the room, the other various 55 members chuckling at the exchange.

'You learned sign just to ask that didn't you?' You keep the conversation silent, but the smirk on Carlos' face probably tells everyone what you're both conversing.

'Maybe.' His smirk doubles and you flush. Somehow, Carlos has done the most thoughtful thing, by doing the most basic thing at the same time.

general tag list:

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #carlos sainz fanfiction #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 month ago

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Unexpected Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You up and leave your old life behind for a new job in a state you’ve never been to before. While on the plane, you meet a very interesting genius who has nothing but facts about almost everything. What you think is a cute date turns into something more when you see him at your new job.

Square Filled: "It's a success." for @mfbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

Never did you think you would pack up your entire life just to move across the country for a job. Yet here you are. On a plane going to a state you’ve never been to before to start a job you never thought you’d get. You applied to be the technical analyst for the FBI after being the tech girlie for the LAPD. The job was so far out of reach so when you got the job, you almost shit your pants.

They wanted you to start right away so you had to pack up whatever you could and move out there immediately. For the next few weeks, you’ll be flying back to California to get the rest of your things. There is a cute little apartment you were lucky enough to find, so you were able to get some of your things shipped over there.

During the flight, you try to calm yourself with some relaxing music but your thoughts are too loud to silence. Instead, you take out your laptop and work on some code you’ve been dabbling in for the past few months. You can create a lot of code with your skills, but you decided to focus on hacking and digging in places you shouldn’t be.

Perfect for the FBI.

Two hours pass by while you’re creating a theme for a website when you notice it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that your shoelace is untied. Your tray is down, your laptop and a snack rest upon it, and your bag is by your feet. It’s a fucking shoelace, Y/N. Ignore it. You try so hard for five minutes before you feel the urge to fix it. Maybe that’s why you’re so good at what you do. You pick at the details until what you’re left with is a pretty picture that’s easy to read.

Fixing your shoe is a need, not a want.

You keep shifting, hoping to get your foot closer to you so that you can tie your shoe, but to no avail.

“Do you need help?” You lift your eyes to look into honey-brown ones. The man on the aisle seat next to you has a kind smile on his face. “I can tie your shoe for you.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask without moving your foot.

The stranger holds up his phone which has a black screen. “My phone died, and I’m quite bored.”

“Okay,” you giggle.

You lift your foot and he rests it on his thigh. His long and nimble fingers grab both ends of your shoelace and start to tie it.

“No one quite knows the first time shoelaces were used to secure shoes. In fact, most reports indicate that shoelaces are as old as shoes themselves. Archaeologists believe that ancient peoples used shoelaces for the same reasons we currently use them, experimenting with materials to influence comfort, fit, and even style.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. They think that about five thousand years ago, during the late Neolithic and early Bronze Age periods, cavemen and women also used specific shoelace designs to distinguish between tribes. Most importantly, shoelaces kept early man’s shoes tight and fitted, accommodating their need to travel long distances for food, water, and shelter without causing severe damage to their feet.”

“You just know everything, don’t you?”

“I am a certified genius,” he grins.

“Is that so?”

“Quite. Did you know there are multiple ways to tie your shoe?”

“Please divulge that information,” you smile.

“First, you have the standard tie.” He ties your shoe using the most basic method that every adult knows how to do. “We have the famous ‘Bunny Ears’ way.” He unties your shoe just to tie it again using what children call ‘bunny ears’ since the loops look like ears. “Third, we have the better bow shoelace knot.” It’s like standard but he wraps the shoelace twice around his finger instead of once. “Finally, a classic, the double knot for extra security. See? It’s a success.”

“Who knew there were multiple ways to tie a shoe,” you smile.

“I did, and now so do you.”

“I’m Y/N.”

He smiles and sets your foot down. “Spencer Reid.”

“So, are you flying away from home or toward it?”

“Toward it. I was visiting my mom in Texas for a week. What about you?”

“Toward my new home. I’m from California, but I got a new job in Virginia. I’m kind of nervous about it. I’ve never done anything like it before.”

“What is it?”

“Tech work. I have a masters in computer science. I worked for the LAPD before, but I couldn’t pass up on this offer. I’m kind of nervous, to be honest. I’ve never even stepped foot in Virginia before. I don’t know anyone here.”

“You know me,” Spencer smiles kindly.

“That I do.”

The rest of the flight is smooth sailing once you and Spencer fall into easy conversation. You didn’t even know three hours had passed because he was that easy to talk to. Like the gentleman he is, he walks you to baggage claim and waits for you to get your bag even when he grabs his.

“When do you start your new job?” he asks.

“Monday.”

“I know this might be a bit forward, but I’d love to show you around Virginia if you’re not busy this weekend. I’m sure you have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“Not that much. Like I said before, this was sudden. All my things are still in California. I’ll be moving them in gradually for the next month or so. I can hang out tomorrow if you’d like.”

“It’s a date,” he smiles. His words suddenly register in his head and he starts stuttering and blushing. “Not like a date, date. I meant that I’ll see you tomorrow as in it’s confirmed.”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It can be a date,” you laugh.

“Okay,” he blushes more.

“You’re cute. I have to pick up my rental so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After exchanging phone numbers, you part ways. Your apartment is thirty minutes from the airport and already has the necessary furniture you had shipped over--bed, couch, dining table, and two chairs. The other things will come when you have time to bring them over. There are a few boxes you had shipped that contain kitchen and bathroom items so you don’t have to go out and buy all new things.

Before, you were nervous about starting this new job. Now, you’re nervous about your date with Spencer. He’s very cute and charming, but you don’t want to mess it up. Even if he isn’t boyfriend material, he definitely has the potential to be a really good friend. Look at you, already thinking about him as a boyfriend. You really are in over your head.

The next day, Spencer picks you up without a car. He likes using public transportation and refuses to even let you drive. You two started out in a cafe to get something to eat before he took you sightseeing around Virginia. There is a beautiful botanical garden here that is his favorite, so that’s where you two are.

“So, genius, have any facts or tidbits about this place?” you ask.

“The idea for this garden came from Thomas P. Thompson, Norfolk City Manager from 1935 to 1938, and Frederic Heutte, a young horticulturalist. Heutte had a fondness for azaleas and thought Hampton Roads had a climate uniquely suited for growing the plants. Thompson and Heutte believed that Norfolk could support an azalea garden to rival those of Charleston, SC, which even during the depression years drew thousands of tourists annually.”

“Wow, you’re just a fountain of knowledge.”

“That’s not all. Within less than a year, a section of underbrush had been cleared and readied for planting. By March of 1939, four thousand azaleas, two thousand rhododendrons, several thousand miscellaneous shrubs and trees, and one hundred bushels of daffodils had been planted.

“In August of 1939, Representative Colgate W. Darden Jr. secured an additional one hundred and thirty-eight thousand, five hundred and fifty-three dollars for the Azalea Garden, and the founding of the Old Dominion Horticultural Society provided volunteer labor to assist the Garden. By 1941, the Garden displayed nearly five thousand azaleas and seventy-five landscaped acres that were encompassed by five miles of walking trails.”

You don’t know Spencer well at all but hearing him spew facts like he has them stored in his brain for later brings a smile to your face.

“Well, they did a good job because this place looks beautiful.”

Spencer looks at you and smiles. “Yeah, it is.”

You and Spencer spend another hour walking around the garden while he tells you facts about the different flowers and plants. Afterward, he takes you to get ice cream before bringing you home. He walks up the porch steps leading to your apartment building, and you stop before you can open the door.

“Would you like to come in? I don’t have a lot of furniture, though.”

“I appreciate the offer, but no.” Before your shoulders can deflate, he quickly adds, “It’s not because I don’t want to. I do, but I want to do this right.”

“Right?” you ask.

Spencer smiles and he leans in closer to you. You stay completely still because you don’t want to mess this up. You don’t want to kiss him if that’s not his intention. He does kiss you but on your cheek. Even when he pulls away, you can still feel the skin he touches tingling.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to see how it’s going.”

With that, Spencer leaves. Thoughts of him swirl around in your head for the rest of the night, are embedded into your dreams, and even when you wake up. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. You get dressed and drive to the BAU where you’ll be working. Their current technical analyst is leaving so she’ll be training you to take her place.

After signing in at the lobby and getting your badge, you make your way to the floor where the BAU is. Penelope Garcia is waiting for you outside of the bullpen, and she smiles when she sees you.

“Y/N, right?”

“Yes, you must be Penelope Garcia, right? It’s nice to meet you. So, you’re leaving the BAU?”

“Yes, sad story. I love this team but I got a better job opportunity to work overseas. However, I trust that you will be more than happy here. I know you’ll do a great job because I picked you, and I’m never wrong. Let me introduce you to Hotch and the team.”

She takes you to Agent Hotchner’s office who is stern but welcoming. “You’ll be shadowing Garcia for a couple of weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I’ll leave you in the trusty hands of Garcia.”

“Come on, let’s find the rest of the team.”

You meet JJ, Emily, Tara, Luke, and Matt, all of them friendly and welcoming. The last person on the team is someone you never thought would be here. Spencer turns with a coffee in hand, and his eyes widen when he sees you. Not out of shock, but pleasant surprise.

“Of course, you’d work here,” you chuckle.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Kind of. We met on the plane ride over here, and he showed me around Virginia over the weekend.”

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again outside of being professional.”

Ever the gentleman, Spencer is. “Dr. Reid, are you sad about that?”

“Yes, I am. I like you, and I’d like to see you again.”

A blush creeps up your neck but you try to keep it at bay. “Well, you’re about to see a whole lot of me because I am not going anywhere.” You smirk. “I’ll see you around, Dr. Reid.”

You and Penelope walk off but you turn back and give him a flirty smile. He chuckles to himself and smiles as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I can already see it. You two will become the next Me and Derek.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I hope it’s a good thing.”

“Oh, it’s a very good thing,” she giggles.

You can’t wait.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff

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gold-onthe-inside · 5 months ago

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diplomat

who? spencer reid (s6/7) x mayor!reader summary: after a schoolbus full of kids goes missing, right near the end of your first term as mayor, an old flame is called to help, and he intends to make things right. content warnings: child abduction, politics word count: 1.2k a/n: based on req: a case takes the BAU back to Pasadena, California (Spencer’s old college town) where they encounter Spencer’s ex who also happens to be the mayor.

He hasn’t seen you in over a decade, and honestly, he hadn’t thought you’d still be here, in Pasadena of all places, in the same precinct they were going to be working out of, trying to solve a serial child abduction case, least of all talking to the captain and the police chief. To be fair, all he really knew was that you had gotten into Stanford, the leg up into politics that you had wanted all along. Spencer swallowed, deaf to anything the lead detective was saying as he watched you in the glass panelled office, acting like it was yours as you listened to both men in uniform talk to you deferentially.

“Reid?” Hotch’s voice brings him back to the conversation at hand.

“Hm?” Spencer asked, looking at his own chief, Derek looking down to hide his amused smile. “I’m sorry, just, uh… who’s that in there? With the police chief?” he asked the detective.

“That’d be the mayor,” the detective — Bryant something — replied. “There’s a lot of pressure to find these kids, and we’re already under fire for not seeing the pattern sooner.” Once again, everything falls away as he pieced that into his limited information on you. Mayor? You? He looked back over his shoulder to the glass office, the police chief leading you out of the room and over to… Crap.

“You must be Agent Hotchner,” you said, a polite smile as you raised your hand and if you’d noticed Spencer, you did a very good job of keeping yourself unmoved.

“Madam Mayor,” Hotch replied, shaking your hand, while Spencer did his utmost best to sink into the carpet.

“I’ve followed your team’s work,” you said, eyes scanning over the rest of them, briefly landing on Spencer before returning to Hotch. “I’m hoping you live up to your reputation here. If you need anything, the city’s at your disposal.”

That was 48 hours ago. You were considerably less chipper than you had been back then, while the local PD and the rest of the town was downright hostile to the team. Not a cycle went by that your face wasn’t on the local news, with JJ in the background as their liaison, asking for patience and cooperation from your city, and not for the first time, Spencer felt this pang in his chest as he watched you look at the camera, filled with a sense of failure.

“Reid?” Emily called, looking at him with concern, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t touched your food,” she reminded him, pointing at his still wrapped burger and he looked down at it.

“I’m not really hungry,” he said lamely, standing up. “I think I need to clear my head.” Emily’s brow was still creased with concern, but she nodded, letting him go without too many questions.

He might as well be burning holes in his sneakers as he walked to city hall, going through white arches, the dome towering over him, flashing his badge at the security personnel so he can go see you. Your secretary looks at him curiously, about to bar his entry until he explains his credentials, and then it’s a question of whether Spencer trumps whatever meeting you’re holed up in.

“The main problem you’re gonna face is from district 6—” You see him through the crack in the door, behind your secretary, as you lean against the back of your desk, listening to your analyst, “—seeing as a lot of the recent abductions have happened in that area. I’ve got confirmation from Chapman’s office that they’re getting calls to challenge you in the electio—”

“Mandy, can we table this for later?” you asked, interrupting the woman who seemed to finally register Spencer’s presence.

Spencer swallowed as Mandy gave him a once-over before leaving the two of you together, closing the door behind her. “You shouldn't be here,” you said, moving to turn the presentation boards around, even though it was useless — you knew Spencer had already memorised them whether he wanted to or not. A decade ago, you had marvelled at his memory, had been envious of it, but since the separation, you were thankful that time had faded the sting of it. Now, he was back, the scab that had grown over the injury torn asunder.

“You're up for re-election?” Spencer asked, watching your every move carefully, and it felt like he had crawled under your skin. It didn't matter how tough you had built it, Spencer knew you too well.

“You're in the FBI?” you asked, mirroring his tone, and when he furrowed his brow, you added, “Sorry, I thought we were asking obvious questions.”

“You haven't changed,” he said wryly and you raised a brow at him.

“You'd be surprised.” You gestured for him to take a seat. “I really hope you're here on official business.”

“I can pretend to be,” Spencer offered with a flicker of a smile. He'd missed your smile, now that he thought about it, and he hasn't seen it once since he came back.

“Spencer,” you said, pained, closing your eyes. “Can we not do this?”

“Do what?” he asked gently, innocent enough and you looked at him.

“Why are you here?” you asked softly, like someone was pulling a splinter from your hand. He'd done that for you once, reciting statistics about bacterial infections to distract you as he gently pulled the little splinter out and swabbed the wound with antiseptic. You'd asked him to kiss it better, in a way that made him forget about bacteria and germs altogether. “Spencer,” you repeated, snapping him out of the memory.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently, stepping closer.

“It's fine,” you said, dismissively, looking at the documents waiting your approval as he came closer, tentatively closing his hand around your wrist, murmuring your name.

“I'm really sorry,” he emphasised and your chest tightens, your breathing halted by his proximity. “I didn't… I didn't want you to see me as some… weird genius. I didn't want you to look at me like everyone—”

“That's your excuse?” you demanded hotly, looking at him with angry tears pricking your eyes. “You didn't want some lowly community college student to feel less than?”

“What? No!”

“Just because I didn't go to CalTech doesn't make me an idiot, Spencer,” you continued. “What, you thought I couldn’t handle knowing you were a PhD student at 18?”

“No, I couldn't,” he insisted, looking down at you. “I… You don't understand what it's like to not be like everyone else—”

“Oh, right, how traumatising it must be to be smarter than everyone—”

“Will you let me finish?” he retorted sharply. “I felt normal around you, don't you get it? Like I wasn't some weirdo or-or a freak. I know, it was selfish a-and I lied to you for months and I shouldn't have but, God, I just wanted to feel like a normal person for once!”

You said nothing, looking up at him for a long moment. “You shouldn't have lied to me,” you said eventually, quietly.

“I know,” he whispered.

“I loved you.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to hate you for so long.”

“I know.”

“I…” Still love you. “I have to get back to work.”

Spencer took a breath, nodding as he stepped back. “I get it,” he said softly. “I just uh… I wanted to explain.”

You swallowed, nodding stiffly. “You look nice, by the way,” he added, looking at you. “Your hair. Um, I'm gonna go,” he said, a blush creeping up his neck as he turned to leave and you smiled to yourself a little.

Some things never changed.

#part two is coming soon #just gotta figure out the ending #spencer reid #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr reid #reid #mayor!reader #my fics

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months ago

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Why We Pretend We Can't

Part 2 of Pretending You Can't

Requested Here!

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: Months after he realized how touch starved you are, Karadec continues helping you overcome your touch starvation and get used to touch.

Warnings: touchstarved r, emotional vulnerability, canon-divergent backstory for Karadec, minor injuries, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Lieutenant Melon asked to see you,” an officer tells you.

You look up from your desk in the Major Crimes bullpen and nod once. You’ve spoken to him a few times since you were transferred out of Robbery/Homicide, but an early-morning call can’t be anything good. Coming in early to complete reports has become a habit, but your routine is interrupted. You lock your computer screen before you stand, and when you brush your hands together, you realize that the muscles in your arms and hands have tensed.

Last night, you didn’t sleep well, thinking about your loneliness and relationships that aren’t where they should be. It’s a cycle you’re used to, but one you thought you left behind when you found a group of friends and realized that Adam Karadec’s hands feel like home. Yet, it’s been a long few months since his unexpected house call, and not every day can be good.

“Good morning,” you greet, knocking on Melon’s open door.

“Morning, traitor,” he replies. “I’ve got something I could use your help on.” You open your mouth to argue that you have a new job, but he cuts you off. “I promise it’ll only take a few hours. I need some intel and no one else seems to be able to find it.”

“What intel?” you inquire.

“String of robberies in the nicest neighborhoods of Los Angeles. The thieves seem to be targeting houses with expensive safes.”

“Marketed as impregnable?”

“Some, but not all. Most of these safes run upwards of $10,000, and they’re opening them like pocket doors. Current estimated losses from the insurance companies is around $2 million.”

“Homes have security systems?”

“They do. I’ve got a list of addresses, safe makes and models, security system information, and how much time the crew spent in each home.”

“How big is the crew? And how much time are they averaging?”

“Five people, from what we can tell, spending less than 9 minutes inside.”

You hum, somewhat impressed by the criminal crew's efficiency. “Email me the information and I’ll see what I can find.”

“You’re the best!”

“I’m not coming back,” you reply with a smile.

“It was worth a shot.”

Back at your desk, you organize Melon’s quickly-typed reports into a spreadsheet. Then, you pull up property records to look for any connection between the homeowners. You don't hear anyone enter the bullpen as you compare and analyze the information about the different security systems and safes.

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jerk away from the unexpected touch. Morgan lifts her hand when you move and sends you a close-lipped smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she offers.

“It’s fine,” you reply, smiling as you shake your head. “I just didn’t hear you come in, lost in the work. Sorry.”

“What work?” she inquires, setting her bag on Karadec’s desk. “I thought we closed the last case yesterday.”

“The last case for now,” Oz corrects as he walks to his desk.

“I’m assisting Melon with a string of safe robberies.”

“He does remember that you’re not his gopher, right?” Daphne inquires.

“Do you guys carpool?” you wonder aloud.

“No, we just get to work on time,” Karadec answers, looking between you and Morgan. “You should try it sometime.”

“If you’re not early, you’re late.”

“And you’ll sleep when you’re dead?” Karadec challenges. “Thin line between dedication, obsession, and avoidance.”

“Are we taking a break from murder and mayhem for philosophy?” Soto interjects.

“Something like that,” Daphne replies. “Have anything for us?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then we can help with the safe cracking!” Morgan announces.

“I think I found the connection,” you say. “Every one of these safes was manufactured in California, and the homeowners purchased them from West Coast Safes. The safes are installed by a five-man team.”

“You think the installation team is robbing the safes,” Karadec clarifies.

“I do.”

He nods, and Daphne calls Morgan to her desk for her opinion. Karadec moves to stand beside you, and his gaze drops to your tense shoulders, your muscles tightened from holding your shoulders back and up as if you’re guarding yourself against something.

“What are they stealing?” he asks.

“Guns, jewelry, silver, the standard safe contents.”

“Are the safes specific to those contents?”

You hum, pulling up the specs once more. “All but one. The most recent robbery was a tactical safe, but the insurance claim lists precious metals as stolen.”

“They could be looking for something specific, then.”

“I’ll pass that along to Melon,” you offer. “Thank you.”

Karadec nods, watches you email your spreadsheet and findings, and then steps toward the door with you.

“I’ll be right back,” you remind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You purse your lips, then nod. As you walk away, feeling Karadec’s eyes on you, you’re reminded of Morgan’s unexpected touch this morning. Karadec sees you past your professionalism and analytic abilities and sees the loneliness and touch deprivation you hide behind your smile. A few hugs from Karadec will help, but the emotions beneath longing for a caring touch won’t disappear if he stays close.

When you return from lunch – which you ate alone in your car because your friends are investigating an attempted assassination – there’s something in your chair. You pull it away from your desk and smile when you realize what it is. Last week, you investigated a stabbing in a neighborhood grocery store and saw a police officer Squishmallow. You couldn’t justify buying a stuffed animal for yourself, especially at a bloody scene. As you pull the soft koala into your arms, you smile. You suspect you know who may have noticed your infatuation with Detective Kirk. But there are no real clues as to which of your new friends gifted you the perfectly huggable detective. With him safe in your bag, you open a report and return to work, your heart feeling lighter with the knowledge that someone cares.

Running your finger along your opposite forearm, you attempt to soothe yourself and go to sleep. Your blankets are arranged comfortably, your new Squishmallow is cuddled against your side, and the mellifluous melody of white noise fills your room. Still, you can’t fall asleep because you feel as if you are drowning in your loneliness and sorrow. Your mind races with the idea that you’ll never be in a meaningful relationship, held just for the sake of it, or kissed breathless because someone can’t help but show you they love you.

Fighting the urge to reach for your phone, you close your eyes and try to imagine you’re somewhere else, living a different life. Your doorbell ringing interrupts that attempt to induce slumber. You ignore it, but the knocks that follow make you groan. Rather than looking at the doorbell camera, you remove yourself from your comfortable imitation of a nest, pull your robe on, and walk to the front door.

“Karadec,” you greet, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but you pulled back. I know I told you that you decide how far this goes, but if you don’t get some help, this is going to get worse.”

“I know,” you murmur. You open the door wider, tip your head inside, and close the door behind Karadec.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“I don’t want to pull away when someone I care about reaches toward me, but I can’t stop it,” you admit. “Morgan laid her hand on me this morning, and it hurt so much. I didn’t even think about it before I moved.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Why are you being so nice to me about this?” you inquire.

“Because I’ve been there,” he offers. “My old partner and I were friends, we hung out, slapped each other on the back, and then he left. I was alone, and before I even realized that I hadn’t been hugged in months, I was recoiling from every little thing.”

“How’d you make it better?”

Karadec shrugs. “I don’t think I did. I’ve always had a problem with touch-“

“The hand sanitizer,” you interject.

“Yeah… so when I started dreading people touching me, I kind of accepted it. You can’t do that.”

“You did.”

“You aren’t me. This is hurting you. It’s not just the pain of unexpected touch; there’s anxiety, stress, loneliness, and based on the fact that you opened the door, I’m betting you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“You Googled touch starvation, didn’t you?” you ask, lifting your brows.

“No,” Karadec answers, incredulous. “I asked Morgan.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you step closer to Karadec.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to become a cat person and have them to cuddle?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want any help?”

“I… I don’t know. The only time I can remember enjoying being touched was with you.”

Karadec doesn’t reply, and you close your eyes, realizing how it sounded.

“Sorry,” you offer. “I just mean- I don’t have many people in my life, and that was new. But it was different.”

Karadec nods, but your eyes are still closed. He reaches toward you, stops an inch short, and lets his warmth linger. With his eyes on your face, he doesn’t notice you lean forward until your hand bumps into his.

“Why me?” you ask, blinking your eyes open but not moving your hand.

“Why not you?” Karadec challenges.

“That’s not an answer.”

You turn your hand, pressing your palm to Karadec’s larger one. He swipes his thumb across your knuckles, and you shiver at the feeling. Your shoulders drop at his touch, your tension loosening at the physical statement that you are not alone, that someone cares about you.

“Detective Kirk,” you say.

“Who?” Karadec asks, his brows lifting.

“The Squishmallow,” you explain. “Was that from you?”

“Cuddling something can help.”

“Thank you.”

“The less touch-starved you are, the easier it will be to encounter unfamiliar touch.”

“So, you’re saying that if I want to stop overreacting to being touched, I need to be touched more. That sounds like a solid plan,” you deadpan.

“I’m saying that this isn’t 0 to 60, you’re going to have to warm up to being touched. Hold someone’s hand sometime, shake a stranger’s hand, and then ask for a hug. Little things to adjust.”

“I can’t just do that, Karadec.”

He looks pointedly at your interlaced fingers, then back up at your face. Settled on the back of your couch, he’s shorter than you, and you look over his head as you smile.

“You know what I mean.”

“Then do it with me, but don’t let yourself spiral in this.”

“We’ll have to invest in bulk hand sanitizer,” you muse.

Karadec’s gaze wanders around your home, and when he sees your fridge - and the to-do list on it - he tilts his head in thought. “You’re task-driven, analytic, right?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmur.

“Here’s your first task-“

“Are you my therapist now?”

“First task,” Karadec repeats sternly. “This week, find an opportunity to comfort someone with touch. A hand on their shoulder, tap the back of their hand during a shake, whatever it may be. It can be 2 seconds or 20 minutes, but you initiate it.”

“I… okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” Karadec lifts his free hand to your waist, and you step into his touch. “Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now,” you whisper.

Karadec smiles, then jokes, “First two visits are free of charge.”

“… doesn’t get me.”

Karadec hears Ava but hasn’t seen Morgan all morning. He walks toward the office where he thinks she is and stops when he hears another voice.

“Do you get her?”

Aware that he’s intruding, Karadec turns away, but he sees you through the blinds. Your hand rubs comforting circles on Ava’s back, and Karadec returns to the bullpen with a smile.

“Where is she?” Karadec demands as he enters the emergency room. “Now.”

“3rd door,” the nurse answers quickly, pointing down the hall.

“What was he thinking?” Karadec asks Daphne. “She’s an analyst.”

“She’s really good at more than analyzing, you know that,” Daphne reminds him. “It was an audible, and she could have said no.”

“He shouldn’t have asked!”

“Hey, you need to calm down before we go in there.”

Karadec slows, taking a deep breath as he heeds Daphne’s advice. The call that you were injured came as a surprise. You were going to look at a safe, accompanied by three police officers, yet you’re in the emergency room, and they’re unharmed back at the station.

“Hey,” Daphne greets, smiling at you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you answer. “They’re overreacting.”

“Melon said someone tried to put a drill bit through your head,” Karadec says, stepping inside the curtain. “They’re allowed to overreact.”

“He didn’t,” you reply. “I’m fine.”

Karadec looks at your face and then down your arms. You sport a few scrapes and a forming bruise or two, but otherwise, you look the same as you had at the station.

“Daph, give us a minute?” you request.

“Of course. Need anything?”

You shake your head, and she winks at you before she leaves. Morgan, Daphne, and Oz have known about your feelings for Karadec since you walked into the Major Crimes bullpen a few months ago to answer questions about a suspect you’d investigated before.

“Karadec, I’m okay,” you assure him.

“You shouldn’t have been put in a position to be injured,” he argues.

“Come here?” you ask, beckoning him closer.

He walks to the side of the hospital bed, and you push yourself to sit up before you drape your legs over the side. Karadec holds his hands toward you, ready to assist you.

“Can I please have a hug?” you request.

“Are you sure?” he checks.

You smile and nod, so Karadec leans forward, wrapping his arms lightly around your waist as you circle your arms over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you say against his shoulder.

Karadec feels you relax, and he tightens his grip on you. You’re adjusting to touch – slowly, but it’s happening – and now you’re asking for it. He knew things were improving when he saw you comforting Ava earlier. Still, he didn’t expect you to initiate a hug this quickly.

“Only for you,” you say.

“Hmm?” he hums in question.

“You’re the only person I can touch without panicking,” you repeat. “For now, at least.”

Karadec pulls back to look at your face and brushes his finger over a scrape on your temple. “Then take whatever you want,” he offers.

A week after your unfortunate encounter with the safe crackers, you accompany Melon to arrest them and accidentally abandon your team in a time of need. Repentant, you get Karadec’s address from Soto and approach his apartment a few minutes before 11 p.m.

You hesitate before you knock on Karadec’s door. His late-night visits to check in on you seemed very out of character for him and still do, despite his explanation that he has been through what you’re struggling with and wants to help. You know he’s awake, but you won’t press him to talk or knock again, you decide. A minute passes, then two, and you shift on his doorstep as you prepare to leave.

“Hey,” Karadec says, pulling his door open.

“Hi,” you greet, wringing your fingers together. “I’m sorry for just showing up, but I heard about what happened with Oz. I should’ve been there.”

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to your shoes. “None of us should have been there.”

“You got everyone home safe, though, Adam. That’s what matters.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Daphne told me you saved his life. He’s still here, focus on that.”

Karadec shakes his head again, and you step into his door, raise your hands, and cup his face. “Don’t think about what could have happened. It’s a slippery slope.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you inside before he pushes the door closed behind you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“You told me to comfort someone. I told you that I didn’t mind when you touched me.”

You move your right hand to his neck, tipping his face toward yours.

“Stay here with me,” you plead. “You’ve been helping me since we met. Let me return the favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor,” he argues, shaking his head in your hold. “You don’t have to repay it.”

“Then let me stay, just because.”

“Why?”

Your hand slides off his jaw, surprised by his question, but he catches your wrist and uses it to pull you closer.

“Why do we pretend we can’t do this? You feel it, I know you do. But we circle around each other, terrified that we’ll bring out the worst in each other.”

“Maybe the worst is all we can see in ourselves.”

Karadec presses his lips together, and you don’t hesitate this time. No more pretending, giving yourself excuses, or finding reasons it won’t work. That you won’t work together.

You press your chest to his, angle your chin toward his face, and kiss him. He freezes, flexing his hands at your sides before he holds you like he never wants to let go. Karadec is the one source of touch you can never be scared of, grow tired of, get enough of, and as you move together, you begin to see the good. You can’t regrow the trauma from before now, even if you left, because Karadec is one of a kind. You’re where you belong.

“Still think I’m your therapist?” he mumbles when you pull back for a breath.

“My place?” Morgan asks the following morning.

You hug Morgan rather than answering. She pats your back awkwardly, then returns the affection.

“Thank you,” you say against her shoulder.

“Not necessary,” she replies.

“Why don’t we all go out to dinner?” Oz suggests.

“I’m in,” you agree, pulling away from Morgan. “We’re a family, right?”

“Well, that answers that question,” Daphne muses.

“What question?” Karadec asks, pulling his eyes from you.

“The will they portion of what I told you to avoid.”

“It took my nearly dying to get you two there?” Oz deadpans.

“Don’t say it like that,” Karadec chides.

“What are we talking about?” Soto inquires.

“Family dinner,” Morgan answers, laying her hand on your shoulder.

#adam karadec #adam karadec x reader #adam karadec x fem!reader #adam karadec fluff #high potential x reader #high potential abc #adam karadec fic #adam karadec imagine #high potential #requests #fem!reader #hanna writes✯

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

Echoes Of Revenge || Part 1

Character: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Y/N, an analyst at Goldenlix Capital, discovers her promotion hopes crushed by favoritism. Seeking solace in a nightclub, she encounters her past tormentor, Bucky.

Warning: Betrayal, heartbreak, manipulation.

Part 2 : Shattered Echoes

Part 3: All The Lies

Part 4: Sweetest Dreams

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Y/N, an ambitious analyst at Goldenlix Capital, had consistently delivered profitable predictions for the hedge fund.

Despite her hard work, the promotion she longed for slipped away when the CEO's nephew, Simon, secured the portfolio manager position.

Frustrated, Y/N sought solace at a nightclub with her colleagues. As Y/N immersed herself in the pulsating beats and vibrant atmosphere of the nightclub, she was unaware of the watchful eyes observing her every move.

The rhythm of the music and the clinking of glasses provided a temporary escape from the frustrations at work.

Suddenly, a lavish display of expensive drinks arrived at her table, catching Y/N off guard. The waitress informed her that they were compliments of the house, leaving Y/N momentarily puzzled by the unexpected gesture.

Just as she wondered who might be behind this gesture, Bucky entered.

Bucky made his entrance with confidence, navigating through the crowd with a swagger that suggested a newfound maturity.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored, expensive suit, he exuded a sense of self-assuredness. His arrival was accompanied by the subtle clink of cufflinks and the rich scent of a high-end cologne.

As he approached Y/N's table, Bucky flashed a charming smile, his eyes hinting at a mixture of mischief and sophistication.

However, Y/N, ever focused and unswayed by external displays, remained unimpressed by his polished appearance. She eyed him skeptically, silently signaling that material possessions wouldn't alter her priorities or impressions.

With a smirk, he approached Y/N, confidently revealing, "I thought you could use a taste of the finer things tonight, Y/N. It's on me.”

There, she unexpectedly encountered Bucky, a college classmate with a history of teasing her. Now claiming to be the club's owner, Bucky attempted to flirt with her.

Unimpressed, Y/N looked down on his attempt to impress her. "Owning a nightclub doesn't change who you are, Bucky. I'm focused on my career," she retorted, dismissing his advances.

Undeterred, Bucky tried a different approach, acknowledging his past mistakes. "People change, Y/N. Maybe you should loosen up and enjoy the night," he suggested.

Maintaining her composure, Y/N replied, "I'll pass on the life lessons, Bucky. I have bigger goals than spending my time with someone who hasn't really grown up.”

Y/N's colleagues discreetly made their exit, leaving her alone with Bucky. He nodded appreciatively, acknowledging their departure, and sat beside her, pouring a drink into her glass.

"So, what's the problem? I never thought the nerd of my class would spend money on the expensive table," Bucky remarked teasingly.

Y/N scoffed, "This is expensive? I didn't realize."

Surprised by her nonchalant response, Bucky commented, "Where is the timid Y/N I know? She's gone.”

Y/N gulped her drink, contemplating his observation. "Money. Everything could change because of money," she admitted.

Her past, rooted in a modest upbringing, had shaped her determination to succeed. Working hard to escape financial constraints, her dream was to become a fund manager.

She looked at Bucky with a hint of disdain. She doesn't appreciate people like him who lead careless lives just because they come from wealthy families.

Bucky noticed the scattered name cards of Y/N's colleagues on the table and picked one up. Reading it, he remarked, "Goldenlix Capital? You work there? That's impressive."

Y/N responded with a nonchalant "hmm."

Bucky, perceptive, ventured, "Let me guess, you didn't get the promotion?"

Surprised, Y/N asked, "How...?"

Bucky leaned back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "I've seen many types of people come and go in this place," he said, revealing a hint of insight into the workings of the professional world they both navigated.

Bucky's casual revelation about his observations at Goldenlix Capital intrigued Y/N, prompting her to give him a scrutinizing look. As she contemplated his words, Bucky continued, "It's a tough world out there, especially when you're navigating corporate ladders."

Y/N, still guarded, responded, "You seem to have it all figured out."

Bucky chuckled, "Well, not everything, but I've learned a thing or two. Sometimes it's not just about hard work; it's about playing the game.”

Bucky leaned in, a glint of sincerity in his eyes, as he proposed, "Let me be your client."

Y/N, skeptical, questioned, "Why?"

Bucky shrugged a hint of nostalgia in his tone, "I don't know. Perhaps because of a nostalgic feeling. I want to help an old friend."

Y/N, maintaining her guard, retorted, "We were never friends. You always used me."

With a sly smile, Bucky countered, "Then, I'll use this as my apology letter."

The air between them carried tension, a mix of unresolved history and an unexpected proposal.

As Bucky got closer, the alluring scent of his elegant perfume enveloped Y/N. Their proximity seemed to amplify the tension, a subtle dance of conflicting emotions.

"I'm serious. Give me your name card," Bucky whispered, a soft murmur against the rhythmic beats of the music.

Y/N, somewhat reluctantly, handed over her name card. Bucky took it with a charming smile, his gaze lingering on hers. "Tomorrow your boss will go nuts," he predicted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With a final, lingering look, Bucky gracefully rose from his seat. "See you next time," he said, leaving Y/N in a state of contemplation, the lingering scent of his perfume and the enigmatic encounter resonating in the dimly lit ambiance of the nightclub.

Excitement mixed with intrigue surged through Y/N as she stepped into the bustling office the next day. Her boss, Ivan, beckoned her into his office with an animated expression, "Y/N, we've just landed a significant new client. The funds have been wired, and you're in charge."

Perusing the financial statement, Y/N's eyes widened at the substantial amount. "This is impressive, sir. I'll ensure it's handled with utmost precision," she assured.

Ivan leaned back in his chair, a shrewd smile on his lips. "Not just impressive, Y/N. Make it triple. We need to show our new client the prowess of Goldenlix Capital.”

Y/N nodded, her mind already racing with investment strategies. "I'll diversify the portfolio, perhaps allocate more in growth stocks, considering the current market trends. And we can leverage options to enhance returns without taking excessive risk," she suggested.

Ivan impressed with her immediate analysis, nodded in agreement. "Exactly, Y/N. Show them why you're the rising star here."

As she left his office, Y/N couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected turn of events—Bucky's proposition at the nightclub, the mysterious new client, and now the challenge to triple the investment.

Now witnessing his portfolio's profits tripling under Y/N's adept guidance, Bucky couldn't help but be impressed. As rumors circulated about Y/N potentially becoming the next portfolio manager, her boss and colleagues acknowledged her exceptional skills.

One day, Bucky approached Y/N with a mixture of admiration and amusement. "I knew I could count on you, Y/N. Looks like you're not just the 'nerd' from our college days anymore."

Y/N, maintaining her professionalism, Y/N replied with a slight smirk, "Money talks, Bucky. It's all about making the right moves in the market."

Bucky, however, seemed persistent in keeping the conversation personal. "Or maybe it's about making the right moves in life," he teased, a suggestive glint in his eyes.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unyielding. "Let's keep it professional, Bucky. This is business.”

As Y/N attempted to make a swift exit, Bucky intercepted her, his hand gently restraining her. Irritated, she shot him a sharp look, demanding, "What?!"

Bucky, undeterred, asserted, "I'll double my money."

Y/N, skeptical, retorted, "What for? You already have enough. You need to learn about limits."

With a wry smile, Bucky countered, "If I have to pay a high price just to have a date with you, then I will pay everything."

Rolling her eyes, Y/N dismissed his proposition, "Yeah, right."

Bucky leaned in, a teasing glint in his eyes. "My silly Y/N. Don't you know why I always played with you back then?”

Y/N, unamused, shot back, "You bullied me to get my attention. Are you in kindergarten?”

Y/N, after a moment of contemplation, finally relented, "Fine. One date. But no, I don't want your money. The stock market is not good this time. What if you get mad because you lose money?"

Bucky chuckled, his tone playful, "There's no way I'm going to be mad at you, silly.”

As Y/N and Bucky shared that one date, their connection deepened, weaving a thread of unexpected intimacy into their lives.

The complexities of their relationship unfolded like a carefully scripted narrative, intertwining the professional and personal in a way that left Y/N simultaneously exhilarated and hesitant.

Her life, seemingly perfect after successfully handling Bucky's portfolio, took an unforeseen turn when her Ivan dropped a bombshell – he wanted to hand over Bucky, her biggest client, to his nephew, Simon.

The news sent shockwaves through Y/N, her world suddenly tilted on its axis.

Y/N, with a mix of frustration and anxiety, found herself standing at Bucky's doorstep, the weight of her predicament evident in her eyes. Sensing her distress, Bucky welcomed her inside, "What happened, Y/N? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Taking a deep breath, Y/N explained the situation, "My boss wants to hand over your portfolio to his nephew. It's a complete mess, and I don't know what to do."

Bucky, leaning against the wall, studied her with a thoughtful gaze. "You came to me for help. Looks like our roles are reversing."

Y/N, a hint of vulnerability in her voice, admitted, "I never thought I'd need help, especially from someone like you.”

Bucky, his expression softening, replied, "We all need help sometimes. It doesn't make you weak.”

As Y/N faced the uncertain aftermath of seeking Bucky's help, she soon discovered that her most significant competitor, Simon, had mysteriously vanished from the office scene.

The absence of the rival candidate created a void that only she could fill, paving the way for Y/N to enter the role of project manager uncontested.

The news rippled through the office, and Y/N found herself at the center of surprise and admiration.

Colleagues congratulated her on the unexpected turn of events, and her boss, puzzled by his nephew's disappearance, acknowledged her as the natural choice for the project manager position.

Gratitude and curiosity again led Y/N to Bucky's door, a soft knock signaling her presence. As Bucky opened the door, a knowing smile played on his lips, "Come to thank me, Y/N?"

Y/N responded with a hint of appreciation in her eyes, "I can't deny that your mysterious touch might have played a role in my unexpected promotion. So, thank you."

Bucky, stepping closer, his gaze lingering, remarked, "I'm always here to help, especially when it comes to you.”

Three months had passed, and Bucky, in the routine of his daily activities, eagerly anticipated seeing his girlfriend. The past week had kept Y/N busy as she jetted off to Dubai to meet with a new client.

However, on this particular day, as Bucky went about his usual tasks, his assistant interrupted, a hint of apprehension in their voice, "Sir, the police are here."

Bucky, initially thinking he had misheard, questioned, "Huh?"

The police, standing with an air of authority, informed Bucky that he was accused of money laundering. Unfazed, Bucky dismissed the accusation with a roll of his eyes, stating, "Money laundering? I'm a legit businessman.”

The police countered, accusing him of using Goldenlix Capital for money laundering. Bucky scoffed, insisting the company was legitimate.

The turning point came when his assistant displayed a live news report on their phone, revealing that Goldenlix Capital was now branded as a scam company.

Bucky, disbelief written on his face, uttered, "What?!" Realizing the severity of the situation, he urgently reached for his phone, attempting to call Y/N, only to face the frustration of her unanswered calls.

As the news of Goldenlix Capital being labeled a scam investment company flooded every media outlet, Bucky was engulfed in chaos. Desperate for information about Y/N's whereabouts, he pressed the police, hoping for reassurance.

Bucky questioned, anxiety seeping into his voice, "Have you seen any news about Y/N?"

The police, maintaining an air of detachment, replied, “She went missing."

Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief, and he uttered a baffled "Huh?!" The absence of Y/N from the news coverage added another layer of mystery to an already bewildering situation.

As he grappled with the unfolding events, uncertainty and concern for Y/N's safety overshadow the chaos surrounding Goldenlix Capital.

The unfolding chaos threatened his professional empire and the stability of the connection he had built with Y/N in the past few months.

Fury burned within Bucky as the realization sunk in – he hadn't merely lost money; he had been played. The anger surged through him, a relentless fire fueled by the betrayal he felt. Determination set in, transforming his frustration into a resolute mission.

His mind raced with questions about Y/N's motives, but the lack of information only intensified his desire to uncover the truth.

Bucky, driven by a newfound resolve, vowed to track down Y/N and unravel the mystery behind her involvement, or lack thereof, in the scandal that had befallen Goldenlix Capital.

As Y/N sat on the beach, watching the chaos unfold on her tablet, a sense of satisfaction washed over her. Finally, her carefully orchestrated plan to destroy Goldenlix Capital was playing out as intended.

The roots of her vendetta can be traced back 15 years when her family, once content in their middle-class life, had fallen victim to a deceitful investment scheme.

Flashback Start

Introduced by a relative, Y/N's father had invested a small amount in Maxim Capital, enticed by the promise of a 7% monthly profit. The regular returns had built a false sense of trust.

However, driven by greed, Y/N's father had invested half of their savings into Maxim Capital. The deceptive scheme vanished six months later, leaving the company in ruins and wiping out a significant portion of Y/N's family's hard-earned money.

As Y/N's family crumbled into financial ruin after the Maxim Capital scam, her relative, who had introduced them to the fraudulent investment, callously shrugged off any responsibility. The repercussions were severe, forcing Y/N's father to take desperate measures.

Unable to secure a traditional loan due to his plummeted credit score, Y/N's father sought assistance from a loan shark. The borrowed sum might have been small, intended for crucial medicine for Y/N's ailing mother, but its interest was exorbitant.

The loan shark in question, Nicholas Barnes, was none other than Bucky's father.

Fueled by a burning anger and a thirst for revenge, Y/N channeled her emotions into her studies, delving deep into economics to comprehend the intricacies of investments.

Her pursuit of knowledge became a double-edged sword, with academic excellence as a guise for a more sinister motive.

Even as she immersed herself in her studies, Y/N never lost sight of her plan for retribution. Every lesson about investments and financial strategies became a tool in her arsenal to orchestrate the downfall of those who had once exploited her family's vulnerabilities.

As Y/N navigated the complexities of her revenge plan, an unexpected twist unfolded in the form of Bucky. Fortune seemed to favor her, and she couldn't quite comprehend why the "Goddess of luck" appeared on her side. Bucky's growing interest in her became a peculiar element in her carefully crafted narrative.

While Y/N couldn't fathom the reasons behind Bucky's fascination, she saw it as a stroke of luck.

Y/N, cleverly using her position at Goldenlix, exploited the opportunity to gather information about the victims of the investment scams discreetly.

The guise of her role gave her access to crucial details, names, and backgrounds that would later become instrumental in executing her revenge.

In the case of Bucky, her intentions were more straightforward – to pilfer his wealth. The intricate dance of trust and vulnerability between them served as a cover for her ulterior motives.

Y/N, driven by a desire for retribution, saw Bucky's financial downfall as a key component of her revenge plan.

Their shared history of friendship only fueled Y/N's determination to make Bucky understand the anguish of misplaced trust.

Just as Nicholas had played with her father's trust, she intended to manipulate Bucky's emotions, leading him down a path of betrayal that mirrored her family's pain years ago.

Flashback End

As Y/N settled into her seat, her fingers danced across the keyboard with purpose. Each keystroke represented a meticulous calculation, determining the amount of money – with the accrued interest over 15 years – that Goldenlix Capital had pilfered from their unsuspecting victims.

With a determined click of the 'Send' button, Y/N initiated a digital cascade that would return the ill-gotten gains to those who had fallen prey to the investment scams.

Despite the years that had elapsed since their losses, she hoped this restitution would bring peace to the victims.

As Y/N gazed up at the sky, a quiet moment of reflection enveloped her. The weight of her actions, the meticulous plan for revenge, and the redemption she had sought for her family hung in the air.

She hoped, somewhere beyond the vast expanse above, that her parents would be proud of her unconventional method of reclaiming their lost money.

One year later, in the quiet embrace of a small town, a remarkable female teacher had become a beacon of inspiration at the local elementary school.

Known for her exceptional skills in teaching mathematics, she cultivated a passion for numbers among her students. She led them to triumph at the Olympic level, earning gold medals for their achievements.

The echoes of her dedication resonated through the halls of the school, leaving an indelible mark on the young minds she nurtured.

The once-sleepy town now boasted a newfound pride in its educational achievements, thanks to the remarkable teacher whose commitment and expertise had transformed the academic landscape.

The routine exchange of greetings became a familiar melody in the small town's elementary school. Every morning, as students hurried through the hallways, they would greet their beloved teacher with a cheerful, "Morning, Miss Y/N."

Y/N, now a beacon of knowledge and guidance for these young minds, responded with a warm smile, echoing, "Morning, don't run in the hallway."

"Okay."

The simple yet affectionate interactions spoke volumes about the transformation Y/N had undergone – from a seeker of revenge to a nurturing educator shaping the future

As Y/N reflected on the passing year, a bittersweet smile played on her lips. Justice had been served as the boss of Goldenlix, and Ivan faced the consequences, forced to part with his ill-gotten wealth to cover legal expenses.

However, when it came to Bucky, a twinge of regret and sadness lingered in her heart. The connection they had forged amidst the intricate dance of revenge carried a weight of impossibility. The revelation that he was the son of the loan shark, Nicholas Barnes, cast a shadow over what could have been.

Y/N, despite the passage of time, Y/N found herself haunted by a lingering fear that Bucky might seek revenge. The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she wished she could overcome the apprehension that one day, the consequences of her calculated actions might come knocking at her door.

As Y/N returned to her small home, an unsettling feeling crept over her. The once familiar space now emanated an unusual coldness. A sense of foreboding settled in, causing her to hesitate before stepping further into the house.

When she decided to leave, her hand reaching for the doorknob, she discovered a chilling truth – the door was locked outside. Panic set in as the realization dawned that she was trapped within her own home.

Fear gripped Y/N's heart as she grappled with the possibility that her past actions might be catching up to her.

A chill ran down her spine as Y/N stood trapped in her own house when the front door creaked open. The atmosphere shifted as an unwelcome presence entered, and the smile that once held warmth now appeared cold and calculated.

Bucky, who had stepped into her sanctuary, greeted her with an unsettling calmness, "Hello, sweetie. You have some explaining to do.”

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

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Hey everyone! 🌟 Your input means the world to me.

If you've got any cool ideas or prompts, whether for this fluff series or any other series, feel free to share them with me!

Just drop them in my ASK/SEND REQUEST box.

Can't wait to hear your awesome suggestions! 🚀💬

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swisccfinds · 1 year ago

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50 ONE LEVEL CAREERS: Storytelling careers megapack by isy's the snake

Here is yet another career mod pack, but this one has no promotions, you just work and your job level stays at 1. As the title say this mod is best for story telling!

creator's notes-

This mod requires XML Injector by Scumbumbo. You can find it here. Pay attention if you don't already have it for another mod! In that case, you do not need to re-install it. Be sure it is updated for the last patch.

XML Injector is a mod required for some mods to work. So, you install it as any other mod in your Mods folder, no more than one subfolder deep.

This mod has been updated for the version 1.99.305 of the game (second update after Horse Ranch).

It doesn't required any DLC to work. Base game compatible

I've adopted this mod from the amazing ItsKatato who, due to her hiring at EA, couldn't continue to mod. I have made some changes: • I have changes all the pics of the careers — now they all show Sims (please check the credits paragraph at the end to see who was the amazing raccoon who helped me); • I have updated the mod for the Horse Ranch patch; • I have cleared ALL the tuning errors; • Fixed the description of some careers who appeared to be missing.

Now, here we go with the explanation of the mod (originally written by ItsKatato, edited by me):

Katato said: "Have you ever had a story planned out for your sims but you can't find the perfect career for them? Most of the time when I find the career it ends up being a complicated career with a bunch of promotion tasks and extra stuff. Well, I've made a pack of a bunch of single-level careers. All your sim has to do is go to work, that's it. This is perfect for the non-important sims in your life, like the forgotten children of your legacy challenge." In short: those are 50 careers you can use for NPCs Sims or random Sims you do not want to care about. As Amethyst said: "Go to work, make money, leave me alone". Your Sims won't need any task to perform to upgrade and get a promotion, as well as they do not really need an ideal mood to go to work since it won't change their performance. They just go and do their job. And now the list of all careers:

1. Anesthetiologist 2. Cartographer 3. Chiropractor 4. Compliance Officer 5. Data Scientist 6. Dental Hygienist 7. Dentist 8. Diagnostic Medical Sonographer 9. Financial Advisor 10. Financial Manager 11. Genereal Surgeon 12. Genetic Counselor 13. Home Health Aide 14. Information Security Analyst 15. IT Manager 16. Interpreter And Translator 17. Lawyer 18. Marriage And Family Therapist 19. Massage Therapist 20. Mathematician 21. Mechanical Engineer 22. Medical And Health Services Manager 23. Nurse Anesthetist 24. Nurse Practitioner 25. Obstetrician And Gynecologist 26. Occupational Therapist 27. Operations Reasearch Analyst 28. Optometrist 29. Oral And Maxillofacial Surgeon 30. Orthodontist 31. Orthotist And Prosthetist 32. Paralegal 33. Pediatrician 34. Personal Care Aide 35. Phlebotomist 36. Physical Therapist 37. Physical Therapist Assistant 38. Physician 39. Physician Assistant 40. Pilot 41. Podiatrist 42. Prosthodontist 43. Psychiatrist 44. Registered Nurse 45. Respiratory Therapist 46. Software Developer 47. Speech-Language Pathologist 48. Statician 49. Substance Abuse And Behavioral Disorder Counselor 50. Veterinarian 51. Web Developer 52. Wind Turbine Technician

lets give some of our love and support to isy!

download

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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A prominent computer scientist who has spent 20 years publishing academic papers on cryptography, privacy, and cybersecurity has gone incommunicado, had his professor profile, email account, and phone number removed by his employer, Indiana University, and had his homes raided by the FBI. No one knows why.

Xiaofeng Wang has a long list of prestigious titles. He was the associate dean for research at Indiana University's Luddy School of Informatics, Computing and Engineering, a fellow at the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers and the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and a tenured professor at Indiana University at Bloomington. According to his employer, he has served as principal investigator on research projects totaling nearly $23 million over his 21 years there.

He has also coauthored scores of academic papers on a diverse range of research fields, including cryptography, systems security, and data privacy, including the protection of human genomic data. I have personally spoken to him on three occasions for articles here, here, and here.

“None of This Is in Any Way Normal”

In recent weeks, Wang's email account, phone number, and profile page at the Luddy School were quietly erased by his employer. Over the same time, Indiana University also removed a profile for his wife, Nianli Ma, who was listed as a lead systems analyst and programmer at the university's Library Technologies division.

As reported by The Bloomingtonian and later the The Herald-Times in Bloomington, a small fleet of unmarked cars driven by government agents descended on the Bloomington home of Wang and Ma on Friday. They spent most of the day going in and out of the house and occasionally transferred boxes from their vehicles. TV station WTHR, meanwhile, reported that a second home owned by Wang and Ma, located in Carmel, Indiana, was also searched. The station said that both a resident and an attorney for the resident were on scene during at least part of the search.

Attempts to locate Wang and Ma have so far been unsuccessful. An Indiana University spokesman didn't answer emailed questions asking if the couple was still employed by the university and why their profile pages, email addresses, and phone numbers had been removed. The spokesman provided the contact information for a spokeswoman at the FBI's field office in Indianapolis. In an email, the spokeswoman wrote: “The FBI conducted court authorized law enforcement activity at homes in Bloomington and Carmel Friday. We have no further comment at this time.”

Searches of federal court dockets turned up no documents related to Wang, Ma, or any searches of their residences. The FBI spokeswoman didn't answer questions seeking which US district court issued the warrant and when, and whether either Wang or Ma is being detained by authorities. Justice Department representatives didn't return an email seeking the same information. An email sent to a personal email address belonging to Wang went unanswered at the time this post went live. Their resident status (e.g., US citizens or green card holders) is currently unknown.

Fellow researchers took to social media over the weekend to register their concern over the series of events.

“None of this is in any way normal,” Matthew Green, a professor specializing in cryptography at Johns Hopkins University, wrote on Mastodon. He continued: “Has anyone been in contact? I hear he’s been missing for two weeks and his students can’t reach him. How does this not get noticed for two weeks???”

In the same thread, Matt Blaze, a McDevitt professor of computer science and law at Georgetown University, said, “It's hard to imagine what reason there could be for the university to scrub its website as if he never worked there. And while there's a process for removing tenured faculty, it takes more than an afternoon to do it.”

Local news outlets reported the agents spent several hours moving boxes in an out of the residences. WTHR provided the following details about the raid on the Carmel home:

Neighbors say the agents announced "FBI, come out!" over a megaphone.

A woman came out of the house holding a phone. A video from a neighbor shows an agent taking that phone from her. She was then questioned in the driveway before agents began searching the home, collecting evidence and taking photos.

A car was pulled out of the garage slightly to allow investigators to access the attic.

The woman left the house before 13News arrived. She returned just after noon accompanied by a lawyer. The group of 10 or so investigators left a few minutes later.

The FBI would not say what they were looking for or who is under investigation. A bureau spokesperson issued a statement: “I can confirm we conducted court-authorized activity at the address in Carmel today. We have no further comment at this time.”

Investigators were at the house for about four hours before leaving with several boxes of evidence. 13News rang the doorbell when the agents were gone. A lawyer representing the family who answered the door told us they're not sure yet what the investigation is about.

This post will be updated if new details become available. Anyone with firsthand knowledge of events involving Wang, Ma, or the investigation into either is encouraged to contact me, preferably over Signal at DanArs.82. The email address is: [email protected].

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widowromanova · 4 months ago

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Sniper (Final Part) - Natasha x Female Reader

warnings: violence, death

word count: 4841

The S.H.I.E.L.D. transport came to a smooth stop in front of headquarters, but you barely registered it. The weight in your chest hasn’t lifted since the moment they hauled Natasha away.

The door unlocks with a soft click, and you stepped out into the cool night air, inhaling deep like it might steady you. It doesn’t.

Your legs feel heavy as you walk toward the entrance, each step pressing the guilt further into your gut.

You did this.

She trusted you enough to let her guard down, and you called them in.

Inside, the building hums with quiet efficiency - agents moving with purpose, monitors casting cold blue light, voices murmuring over comms. The escort assigned to you says nothing, just leads you down a long corridor, deeper into the heart of the facility. Every step echoes.

Eventually, they stop at a door and gesture for you to enter.

You step inside the dimly lit observation room, and your stomach clenches at the sight beyond the two-way glass.

Natasha stands in the center of the interrogation chamber, her hands bound above her head, wrists secured to a rope hanging from the ceiling. Her red hair falls messily over her face, but she’s still. Too still.

The door on the other side of the glass opens. Two agents walk in. One of them, broad-shouldered and smirking, steps closer.

"Romanoff," he says casually, as if this is just another conversation. "You know how this works. Talk, and we make this easy."

She doesn’t react. Doesn’t even lift her head.

The agent sighs, then drives a fist into her ribs. A sharp, sickening sound fills the room.

You stiffen. Another hit. This time to her face. Her head jerks to the side, hair whipping across her cheek, but she barely flinches. She only looks back at them, gaze sharp, calculating.

Your pulse spikes, this wasn’t part of the plan. Your breath quickened as the agent winds up again.

Before he can land the next blow, you turned and shoved open the door. You don’t think, you just move. You have to find Fury now.

You stormed through the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cold fluorescent lights overhead seem harsher now, their sterile glow making the walls feel even more suffocating. Your breath is short, your hands clenched and you barely register the agents you pass, some throwing you confused glances as you push forward.

You reach the right corridor, nearly knocking into an analyst carrying a stack of files. They stumble, muttering something under their breath, but you don’t have time for apologies.

The agents outside Fury’s office straighten as you approach, blocking your path.

"I need to see him," you say, voice sharp.

"He’s busy," one of them says, unmoving.

You reach for the door handle before either of them can react and the door swings open from the inside.

Fury stands there, his one good eye locking onto you instantly. He doesn’t look surprised - just vaguely annoyed.

"You better have a damn good reason for barging in here," he says, arms crossed.

You step inside, voice tight with barely restrained frustration. "They’re beating her."

Fury watches you for a long moment, unreadable. "And?"

Your stomach twists. "What do you mean, and? This was not part of the plan."

Fury exhales through his nose, stepping aside to let you in before shutting the door. "You wanted her brought in. We brought her in. You wanted information. We’re getting it. That’s how this works."

You shake your head, the image of Natasha’s body jerking with every hit burned into your mind. "No. This - this isn’t interrogation. This is torture."

Fury leans against his desk, arms still crossed. "She’s not going to talk willingly."

You glare at him. "So that justifies this?"

"It’s not about justification. It’s about results."

You shake your head. "No. No. This is wrong. You need to stop." Fury watches you carefully, then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his temple like you’re giving him a headache. "You feeling guilty?"

The words hit harder than you expect.

You swallow. Because yes - you do. Because no matter how dangerous Natasha is, no matter what she’s done, you can’t shake the image of her standing there, hands bound, taking the hits like she expected nothing else. Like she’s been through worse. And you put her there.

Fury exhales, standing up straighter. "You knew what you were signing up for."

"Not this."

"Then maybe you should’ve thought twice before making the call," he says, his voice calm but firm. "It’s too late for regrets now."

Your jaw tightens. "Stop it."

Fury raises an eyebrow. "Stop what?"

"The interrogation. Stop it. Right now."

Fury stares at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he picks up his comm and mutters something into it - a short, clipped command.

A beat of silence. Then he looks back at you. "Happy now?" he asks.

You don’t answer. Because you won’t be until you see it for yourself.

Without waiting for permission, you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

Your footsteps are loud in the otherwise quiet building as you make your way back to the observation room. When you reach the door, you barely pause. You open it quickly, stepping inside before the agent stationed there can even acknowledge you.

Natasha is still in the center of the interrogation room. The rope pulls her arms upward, and though she’s still, you can see the tension in her shoulders. The agents are talking amongst themselves, too focused on their mission to notice you standing in the doorway.

The agent who had been hitting her earlier stands by her side, staring at her with a look that doesn’t quite meet the standard of professional. You can see the frustration in his posture - he wants something from her, and she’s not giving it."Romanoff," he sneers, his voice cutting through the silence. "Still not talking?"

She doesn’t answer.

Another agent approaches, his face impassive. "Maybe we should intensify the pressure. She’s a tough one."

Your breath catches in your throat. "You will not lay another hand on her." The words spill out before you can stop them.

The agents freeze, surprised by your presence, and the one closest to Natasha looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "And who the hell are you to give orders?"

Before you can answer, Natasha speaks for the first time. "Let them do what they want," she says, her voice low, but strong. "It won’t make me talk."

You take a step forward, eyes locked on her, ignoring the agents now visibly tensing in the room. "Stop," you say again, voice quieter but no less firm. "Now."

One of the agents narrows his eyes, about to challenge you. But just before he can speak, Fury’s voice cuts through the tension.

"You heard her," Fury says from the doorway, his tone unamused. "Release her."

The agent looks between you and Fury, clearly weighing the situation, then reluctantly steps back. Natasha’s hands drop slightly from the rope, and the tension in her body eases, if only a little.

You stare at her for a long moment, watching her breath slow. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t look at anyone. But for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of something softer in her eyes - something that wasn’t there earlier when you saw her through the glass. You don’t know what that means, but it gnaws at you.

Fury steps past you, his eye hardening as he looks at the agent who had been interrogating Natasha. turns to you."Get out of here," he says, his voice a low growl. "You’ve done enough for one day."

The next day arrives quietly, the cold grey light filtering through the windows of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters doing little to ease the tension that’s still tight in your chest.

When you arrive at the interrogation room later that morning, the air feels heavier. The agents you pass are more tense, but the usual buzz of activity feels muted today. You don't acknowledge anyone as you make your way down the corridor.

The door to the interrogation room opens with a soft click. Inside, Natasha is already seated, her posture as controlled as ever, but there’s something different in the way she’s watching you.

She’s free of the rope now, but the physical marks of last night’s treatment are still visible - bruises, swelling.

She looks at you as you enter with only a faint acknowledgment of what’s happened, of what you did.

You step inside and close the door behind you, letting the silence stretch out for a moment. The room feels smaller than it did yesterday, the glass reflecting your strained expression back at you. The events of last night, Fury’s indifference, the desperation in Natasha’s eyes - they all flood back, making your chest tighten again.

“I need to talk to you.” She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond. She’s waiting. For you to explain, or perhaps, for you to break the silence first.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the rush of thoughts swirling in your mind. “I... I shouldn’t have let it get that far. The way they treated you. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes - something almost unreadable, but she doesn’t interrupt you. She just watches, her face impassive.

“I made the call,” you continue, your voice tight. Natasha leans back slightly in her chair, considering your words. She exhales slowly through her nose, as if weighing her response. “You think I haven’t been through worse?” Her tone is calm, too calm, like she’s been numbed to the world. “You think I don’t know what happens when you make deals with people like this?”

You open your mouth to reply, but she cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” she says, the words quiet but cutting. “You did what you had to do. I get it.” Her gaze shifts slightly, a flicker of something softer in her eyes. “I knew what I was getting into when I trusted you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a wave of guilt rushing over you. You want to say something, anything, to make this right, but what could you possibly say? The damage has been done.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence fills the room again. Finally, you find your voice again. “I need you to tell me what your plan is, Nat.” You pause, meeting her eyes. “You’re not the only one with a past." She stares at you for a long moment, her face unreadable. “You think I trust anyone here?” she asks softly, her voice a bit sharper than before.

Your chest tightens, but you hold her gaze. “I’m not them,” you say firmly. “You know that.”

Her eyes narrow, as if she’s trying to gauge whether or not your words are true. For a moment, the room feels charged, as if everything hangs in the balance, waiting for a shift that will come from either one of you.

Finally, Natasha exhales, her posture shifting slightly as she leans forward. “Fine. I’ll talk,” she says, her voice low but unwavering. “But not like this. Not with them watching me.”

You nod slowly, understanding. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

She gives you a wry smile, the kind that feels both familiar and unsettling. “You’re the one who brought me in, remember?” You take a step closer, your resolve hardening. “You’re going to get me what I need. I’ll protect you, Natasha. You know that, right?”

Her gaze softens, but only for a brief moment. Then, it’s gone, replaced by that calculating look she wears so well. “We’ll see,” she murmurs. “But you’d better make sure no one else gets in my way.”

For now, this feels like a start.

After a few minutes of tense silence, an agent enters the room and gestures for both you and Natasha to follow. There’s no hesitation from either of you; the reality of the situation has settled in, and you know that you can’t afford to waste time here.

You walk side by side, your footsteps echoing softly. Natasha doesn’t speak, but you can feel the shift in her - she’s preparing herself for something.

Eventually, you arrive at a plain, unassuming door. The agent holding the keys unlocks it, and inside is a stark, simple room with a heavy metal table, two chairs, and a single window near the ceiling. The only lighting is a harsh, overhead bulb.

The agent motions for you both to sit. Natasha moves without protest, her usual defiance hidden behind a mask of calculated calm. You sit across from her and the door clicks shut behind you. Then, Natasha speaks, her voice low. "You should know what you’re up against."

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "What are you talking about?"

She meets your gaze, her eyes intense, like she's measuring you, like she's testing how much you're willing to accept. "The bio-weapon I’ve been building for years," she says, and the words send a chill down your spine. "It’s not just some lab experiment. It’s not even a weapon - it’s a message."

You blink, trying to process what she's saying, but Natasha isn’t giving you time to form questions. "I’ve been building it underground, in the warehouse..." she looks at you teasingly.

"The one thing that can break SHIELD." You feel your pulse quicken. "You’ve been building a weapon under SHIELD's nose."

She nods. "It’s a virus. One that targets specific DNA of those highest-ranking in SHIELD, but it’s designed to be adaptable. It can spread. It could cripple the entire organisation in a matter of days if released properly."

Your mind races to piece together the implications. You’re torn - between the woman you once knew, the woman who loved you, and this stranger sitting across from you, determined to bring the world to its knees.

In the silence that follows, you realize one harsh truth: Natasha has already made her choice. And now, you’ll have to decide where you stand... whether you’ll try to stop her, or if you’ll let her tear everything apart.

You sit there, the room feels colder now, the stark metal walls closing in as you process everything Natasha just revealed. She’s already so far down this path, and you realise the task of stopping her is far more complicated than you ever imagined.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but your words catch in your throat. She’s right about one thing - SHIELD is corrupt, twisted in its own way. But what Natasha’s planning… it’s on another level. This isn’t just about taking down a few bad actors - it’s about destroying an entire institution, and countless lives in the process.

A part of you wonders if there’s a way to stop this without turning on her, but another part of you is already beginning to see the futility in trying to reason with her. She’s made her choice.

"Do you think I’m doing this out of some twisted need for revenge?" she asks suddenly, as if reading your thoughts. "I’ve seen what SHIELD has done. The lives it’s ruined. They’ll never stop. The virus is just a way to make sure they never have the chance to do it again."

You stand, pacing restlessly around the room, struggling to hold onto any semblance of control over your emotions. You want to believe there’s a way to fix things, to somehow find a middle ground. But Natasha’s cold conviction is shaking the very foundation of your beliefs.

She watches you, her gaze unwavering. "You’re going to have to choose, you know."

A slight, almost imperceptible smile tugs at Natasha’s lips, but it’s not one of victory. "You’re not in control anymore," she whispers. "You never were."

The sound of footsteps outside the room breaks the tense moment. You hear the lock on the door click, signaling that an agent is about to enter. You instinctively move toward Natasha, your hand gripping the edge of the table as if trying to make a final decision in the span of a breath. But just as the door opens, something happens.

The lights flicker once. Twice. Then the entire room goes dark.

A voice echoes in the distance - a faint, almost eerie sound. "You thought this would be easy?"

Before you can react, you hear the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor, followed by the sharp sound of metal snapping.

The room plunges into near-complete darkness, and for a brief second, you’re disoriented, your heart racing. Then, you hear the sound of something - or someone - moving quickly, footsteps padding along the floor. You turn toward the sound, only to realize it’s too late. Natasha is gone.

The door to the room slams open, agents pouring in, flashing their lights around. They begin shouting, their voices frantic, but you’re already sprinting for the exit. You throw the door open, and in the chaos, you catch a glimpse of Natasha slipping into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

"Where the hell is she?!" an agent yells. You watch as she turns her gaze back to you, softly smiling before disappearing down the side of a building.

You hear the frantic voices of the agents around you, but they feel distant. Your mind is fixed on her, on that smile. And then, the bitter realization that she’s out there, still playing the game - only now, the stakes are higher. The bio-weapon she’s been building, the plan to bring down SHIELD, all of it still in motion, and you’re left standing in the aftermath of your choices.

The agents are shouting, scrambling for answers, but you’re already moving. You barely register the words they’re saying, too focused on what you need to do next. Fury will want answers, and SHIELD will be in full-blown pursuit mode, but deep down, you know that’s not enough.

A couple of days have passed since Natasha’s escape, but the world still feels like it’s holding its breath. SHIELD has been working around the clock, trying to track her down, but so far, no luck. Every lead, every attempt to intercept her, has been futile. You’ve been involved in planning, trying to predict her next move, but it feels like you’re chasing a shadow.

You sit at a long, rectangular table in a high-security meeting room. The air is thick with tension, agents and high-ranking officers murmuring amongst themselves, trying to piece together what’s left of the mess Natasha has left in her wake. They’re still focused on the bio-weapon, still trying to figure out how she got it, where it might be, and what she plans to do with it.

You’re half-listening to the reports, your mind elsewhere. Fury is across from you, his face grim, every line of his body taut. A few agents present more potential leads, but you can’t shake the feeling of impending dread that’s settled in your gut. You keep glancing at the clock, wondering if it’s just a matter of time before everything falls apart.

Then, it happens.

A man at the far end of the table - a high-ranking agent - suddenly slumps forward, his head hitting the table with a sickening thud. There’s a collective gasp as everyone jumps to their feet.

"Agent Carr! Agent Carr!" someone yells.

You’re frozen for a split second, unsure if what you’re seeing is real, if the panic in the room is just a byproduct of too many sleepless nights. But then you see it - the man’s face is pale, his breathing shallow. His eyes are wide open but glassy, vacant. It’s clear he’s not just unconscious.

"Someone call medical!" Fury shouts, standing up, his face turning to stone. He turns to you, his eyes hard and piercing. "Do you know what this is?"

You don’t answer.

The bio-weapon Natasha had been working on had been set into motion. The room starts to buzz with frantic chatter, but it’s all muffled in your ears.

"How long until we know more?" you ask, your voice sounding distant, even to your own ears.

"It’s too soon to say," Fury replies, his voice tight with frustration. "But I need answers. Now."

The room falls into disarray, agents rushing to assess the situation, calling for containment measures, working to stop whatever has been released. But in the back of your mind, you know this is only the beginning. Natasha’s plan is unfolding.

The door bursts open as more agents rush in, but all you can think about is Natasha. You stand up abruptly, the chaos around you blurring into the background. With every passing second, the stakes are getting higher.

The chaos in the room intensifies as you watch, helpless, as more and more high-ranking agents begin to cough violently. It starts with one, then another, and soon, it’s a cascade of agents, each of them clutching their throats, their faces contorting in pain. They stumble, crashing against the walls, collapsing to the floor.

The scene is surreal. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as the room fills with muffled coughs, choked gasps for air. The air feels thicker, heavier, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Fury stands at the end of the table, his sharp eye scanning the room with quick precision, as always, but even he can’t escape the inevitable. You watch him for a moment longer, the tension in his features tightening as he steps back, the first signs of panic crossing his face. His hand grips the side of the table, and then, with a sudden, painful gasp, he doubles over.

"No,” you whisper, barely daring to believe it, as Fury falls to his knees.

He gasps for breath, his chest heaving, his face turning pale as the same violent coughs wrack his body. His one good eye, wide with confusion, meets yours as he stumbles to his feet, but it’s clear. He’s not in control.

You don’t wait another second to push past the chaos and rush toward him, your legs heavy but moving on instinct.

“Fury!” you shout, but your voice is drowned by the cacophony of coughing and screaming from around you. It’s as though the room has turned into a battlefield.

You reach him just as he’s about to fall. His hand shoots out, grabbing your arm, his grip weak but desperate. “It’s... it’s too late...” he rasps, his voice barely audible over the violent coughing that now wracks his body.

“No, Fury. You can’t—” You reach for his face, trying to steady him, but he’s already crumbling.

His grip loosens. He falls against you, and in that moment, you realize it’s not just him. It’s everyone. Every high-ranking agent in the room is succumbing to the virus Natasha unleashed. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

You’re frozen. Fury’s eyes begin to glaze over, and you realize the unthinkable: the one person who might have been able to stop this has fallen too.

You glance around frantically. The room is descending into utter chaos. Some agents are still conscious, but their movements are slow, labored. Others are completely unresponsive, coughing up blood. The bio-weapon is spreading faster than you could have imagined.

“Fury, no…” You try again, but he can’t answer. His body is shaking now, barely holding onto consciousness.

But even as you watch, something else shifts. A door bursts open, and you catch sight of more agents rushing in, trying to help, trying to contain the damage. But it’s clear - everyone in the room is infected.

And in the midst of it all, one thought claws its way to the front of your mind: Natasha’s weapon has succeeded. It’s working faster than you anticipated. It’s a biological nightmare, and there’s no antidote. No plan B.

You slam the door of your car, the sound of it echoing in the empty parking lot. The engine roars to life. You barely know what to think anymore, but the one thing you do know is that Natasha is somewhere out there, and you need to find her.

You speed through the streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur as your hands grip the wheel tighter. The vision of Natasha’s face - those moments of quiet intimacy between you, the way she disappeared - haunts you. What has she done?

You focus on the road as it stretches before you, the rooftop gala looming in your mind’s eye.

You reach the familiar building, parking your car at the base of the structure. Without a second thought, you climb out, your feet moving quickly, but your mind racing even faster. You can’t seem to escape the weight in your chest. Every step you take feels heavy, like the ground beneath you is pulling you down into something darker, something inevitable.

You reach the rooftop door, pushing it open, and the night air hits you, cool and sharp. You scan the area, but there’s no sign of Natasha. Your heart skips a beat. The rooftop feels empty, distant, like an echo of the chaos that brought you here.

And then, you see her.

She’s sitting on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the side, her gaze directed downward, seemingly lost in thought. The sight of her hits you like a physical blow, a sharp pang of recognition. She looks as calm as ever, like this is just another night for her, even though everything is falling apart.

You step forward, hesitant. Your voice catches in your throat, unsure of what to say, unsure of where to even begin.

“Natasha…” you call softly, but she doesn’t react. Her eyes remain fixed on the distance, and you can’t read her expression.

The silence stretches between you, and you take another step closer, until you’re standing just a few feet away from her. You reach out, but hesitate, unsure if she’ll pull away again.

Your heart tightens, but before you can respond, something shifts. You feel it - like a sudden weight on your chest, a tightness.

You stumble, trying to catch your balance as a sharp, unexpected pain jolts through you. Your breath catches in your throat.

You try to steady yourself, but your body feels heavy, sluggish, like something is seeping into your veins, paralysing you. Your vision blurs. The world tilts. You stagger forward, barely catching yourself on the ledge of the rooftop.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps now, and you struggle to focus, to stay upright. But the dizziness is consuming you, clouding your thoughts. Panic sets in as you realize: this isn’t normal. This isn’t just fatigue. Something is wrong.

“Wha - what’s happening?” You choke out, your voice barely a whisper. The pain is spreading, your chest tightening with every breath.Natasha finally turns to face you, her eyes widening in shock as she takes in your condition. She starts to move toward you, but something in her face changes. A flicker of realization crosses her features.

“No…” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You try to speak again, but your throat is constricting, each breath coming harder than the last. Your vision fades in and out, your legs buckling beneath you. You collapse to the ground, gasping for air, your heart racing.

You hear Natasha’s voice, but it’s distant now, almost as if it’s echoing in a faraway place. “No, no, no…” she murmurs to herself, her hands trembling as she approaches you. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You reach out, but it feels like your body is betraying you. You’re shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop it. The world is slipping away, and all you can do is watch as she falls to her knees beside you, her face twisted in guilt.

“I didn’t mean it… I didn’t know...” Natasha’s words are broken now, her hands hovering near you, unsure of what to do.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, but you can’t make sense of it. Your body is shutting down, your skin feeling like it’s on fire. You can feel it now - the virus, spreading through your body, and Natasha’s voice rings in your ears: I didn't realise it spreads by touch.

You try to hold on, but the pain is too much. Your vision fades to black, and you’re left with nothing but the sound of Natasha’s broken voice, whispering your name.

In those last moments, you feel the warmth of Natasha’s lips against yours for the final time, and the desperation with which she clutches your hand as the virus begins to seize her too. Your eyes fade over with a black, the last colour of her red streaks fading.

And then... nothing.

a/n: whew, i am almost crying at my own story. sorry guys..

thank you to all the support you guys have given to this story, this is definitely not my last ever but this is where this story ends. looking forward to more in the future (sorry for the sad ending lol) :)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #black widow #black widow x reader #mcu #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #wlw #lgbt #lesbian

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hunipeye · 22 days ago

Text

What Remains of Winter

Read on Ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/66008359

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A little bit of housekeeping; You take the role of Mel Gold. Assume you did all she did in “Thunderbolts*”. However, y/n doesn’t have a personality entirely consistent with that of Mel, she’s not intended to be the same character.

I might interject with the odd Bucky POV chapter but it won’t be every second one and they’ll probably be shorter.

I also don’t intend to include a lot of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine, at least no more than is necessary. I’m too lazy to write about her complex relationships with each character so let’s just consider her an angel investor/spokesperson of sorts! Good? Great! I’m also not American so I don’t have a clue about how the government and shit works, I’m writing horny Bucky fic, not some “House of Cards”, “Succession” in-depth, masterful political drama lol.

While writing this I got so genuinely, unironically depressed over the fact that I couldn’t have Sebastian Stan that I had to stop writing it for a week. I was straight-up bedridden from lust.

This is my first time writing anything so it might not be good but I hope it’s not bad lol

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It’s been 2 months since the formation of the New Avengers under your boss, Valentina Allegra De Fontaine, months before the beginnings of a momentous space crisis.

The blackmail you have against Ms De Fontaine has benefited you immensely, resulting in an unprecedented rise in rank and salary. Gone are the days of fetching coffees. With Valentina being nothing more than the money of the operation, you now act as a tactical field analyst and a liaison officer between the New Avengers and the public. Frankly, it’s all very new to you, but it’s better than grovelling at the feet of a woman who’d sooner have you killed than fire you. At least you have the guidance of a veteran (quite literally).

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Chapter 1

“I understand your frustration, Senator, this change is as sudden for us as it is for you. We’re all moving at the same pace, here.”

My voice had become different after the attack on Manhattan, more stern perhaps. In my new position a change like that was necessary. My face was new, my reputation nonexistent. Due to my role in the attack - my revealing of confidential information to ex-senator Barnes - being kept on an entirely need-to-know basis I needed to make an example of myself and prove that I was more than Valentina’s old personal assistant. A goal like that is significantly harder in a world craving superheros when you only have vaguely moral assassins in your ranks.

The senator continued, “I don’t think you grasp the collective trauma the city feels. They need to feel secure. You need to get those Thunderbolts-”

“That is not their name, Senator, and we have established that,” I snapped, growing tired of having to explain our troubled naming conventions.

A huff sounded on the other end of the call, “I don’t give a damn what you’re calling your little band of merry men. What I do give a shit about is getting them out in the public eye and getting them formally associated with the American government.”

I could feel the crease forming in my brow as I retorted, “I’ll ask you once more to mind your language with me, Senator. You had no need for the Avengers to be in league with the Government, why is it different with us? Do you think you can frighten me and back me into a corner? Our group will follow the same outline as the Avengers; we aim to protect global stability, not just within the United States.”

His laugh was cruel, laced with hatred and arrogance, “But will you live up to their legacy? You don’t even have a name, in fact, you barely have a team. What was it I heard about that Bob guy? Can’t seem to keep it up, can he? Shame that your best asset has fallen flat-”

“Senator, I appreciate your interest in our new group but I really don’t see this conversation benefitting either of us.”

I didn’t wait to hear his parting words before I hung up.

My office was located on the top floor of the Watchtower, the floor-to-ceiling window behind me boasted a clear view of the setting sun over the New York skyline. Picture perfect, like one of those insufferable souvenir postcards. My desk was nearly overwhelmed with paperwork on everything from ‘Avengers’ copyright to surveys on what people wanted stocked in the vending machines littered throughout the Watchtower offices. Certainly below my rank. I had just begun organising everything when a telltale heavy knock sounded on my door. I didn’t need to lift my head to see who it was, “Come in.”

Bucky’s footsteps were steady as he entered and shut the door behind him without having to be asked. He was dressed casually, in dark cargo pants and a slim-fit, slate grey t-shirt that stretched ever so slightly over his upper-arms. I noted that his hair was still in that jaw length, wolf-ish cut. I secretly hoped he had no intention to crop it anytime soon.

“Busy?” He murmured, his eyes darting to the stack of papers I tried to put order on.

“Exceptionally Mr. Barnes,” My tone was flat and humorless, “What is it you need?”

He seated himself in the dark leather armchair in front of my desk without invitation, cocking his head to the side as he spoke, “I need clarification on our intentions here.”

My skin grew goosebumps under my satin blouse, the back of my neck grew hot and cold all at once. Intentions? Our relationship was nothing more than business, with the odd flirtation, we had no need to discuss intentions-

He continued, “Everyone’s growing impatient, you know? They need order, so we need to know your intentions.”

I suddenly realised I had been holding my breath and tried to exhale as steadily as possible. Bucky’s eyes seemed to bore into me, tracking every movement like a true marksman.

“I understand your frustration-”

He waved that bionic arm dismissively, “I don’t want your press statement. I don’t want to hear what you’re telling every media outlet. What are your plans? Real tangible plans.”

I bit my lip, forcing down the urge to shout back at him about how maybe this was easy to him but it was all new to me and that I felt like a mule with all the workload I was carrying. His blue eyes followed my bottom lip as it slowly slipped out from between my teeth.

“I’m working on it, Mr. Barnes. I am learning the ropes as I go and ask that you, and everyone else, stay patient as we move forward.”

He didn’t try to mask his scoff, “Fucking P.R.”

My nails dug into my thighs, I barely noticed the ladder that formed as a result, my mind in a haze of stress and frustration, “If you’re so damn eager to get your feet on the ground, what do you recommend we do, Winter Soldier?”

I stood up, my heels clacking against the polished black tile floor as I strode over to him, standing over his seated body. I forced my eyes on his face, not on how the soft, warm light above us revealed the shadows and contours of his muscled torso, or on how his forearm twitched as I moved closer, and not on how his trousers stretched over his thighs and hips, giving a faint outline of his crotch.

Yes, I would keep my eyes on his face.

“I’m working as best I can, Mr. Barnes. If you want to be helpful, by all means assist me. But if you’re going to come into my office and tell me how to behave, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

The soldier held my gaze, his face as serious as cancer as he retorted, “You didn’t mind being told what to do at the fundraiser party. What did you call it? ‘Working you’? All I had to do was give you a business card and you ratted on Val,” His face barely shifted as he continued, “You want my advice? Actually try to work with us. You’re not some higher up executive who doesn’t need to mingle with the talent. Like it or not, you’re in this business now, and that makes you the talent too.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Is it some veiled threat? You want me to fall in line and just take it?”

The unintentional innuendo hung in air for a heavy, silent moment before Bucky responded, “You’re a public figure now. You’re not some faceless assistant or a glorified waitress. People know what you look like, they know what college you went to, your allergies, your mom’s maiden name.”

I bristled at the mention of my mother, trying to remain composed. My back straightened as he rose from the chair, he was over a head taller than me.

“My point is, you’re the same as us. You might not have blood on your hands and you might be new, but we’re all in the same damn boat. You can’t run this shit on your own, you have no experience. So maybe you could stand to be with the workhorses and get out of this ivory tower.”

His tone was dripping with venomous distaste and the soldier slipped past me, making his way towards the door.

“Mr. Barnes,” I didn’t move as he turned back to face me, I kept my gaze stubborn and hard, “You should know I don’t view you all the way you seem to think. That’s in no way conducive to a successful working environment.”

His laugh was gruff and tired, “It’s all business to you. You want to turn a profit and make us some media sensation-”

“That is not me, Bucky, and you fucking know it,” I snapped back, striding toward him and pressing a manicured finger into his chest, “That’s Val. Don’t you dare make me out to be like that woman.”

I watched as his eyes scanned down my body to the long hole in my stockings that ran from my upper thigh to just below my knee, revealing a strip of bare skin. Bucky seemed to smirk as a cold, metallic finger ran along my leg, “You’re already falling apart”. The touch ended as quickly as it started. He paused a moment before continuing, ”So what is it you want?”

The question stumped me and its double meaning forced me to think about my response.

“I trust you,” My breath caught in my throat, “I trust you and Yelena and Alexei and Ava and Walker. And I trust you all to help advise me on how to move forward with this. But I need you to work with me, I won’t sit by and be a fucking secretary”. I threw my arm back and gestured to all the paperwork left untouched on my desk.

“I never expected you to be. I’ve already explained that.”

Now I was taking my frustration out on him, I sighed at my actions. “Alright, Mr. Barnes, I appreciate your help. I won’t keep you any longer.

“I’m the one who came here.”

I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face any longer, ”And I’m sure you’ve got all the answers you need, so good evening to you, Mr. Barnes.”

He wordlessly turned away from me, exiting my office and striding down the hallway. I let myself observe the tight muscles in his broad back before the door clicked closed and left me alone in my ‘ivory tower’ once again.

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