physical touch, not necessarily love 0.0: The mutual contact.
Author: @buriedhatchetcominguplavender
Pairings: Sharon Carter x reader
Series summary: In the world of crime, the most useful currency is secrets, and you just so happen to trade in them. Sharon Carter is one of your frequent patrons at Momo’s Cabaret, the front you use to trade in such delicate knowledge, so when she proposes a collaborative opportunity to make money together, albeit dangerously, you agree. After all, what could go wrong?
A/N: So this is going to be a series with anywhere between 10-15 chapters. It’s not gonna be out for a while, because I’ve decided I’m going to write it all bts, then post it, so no 3 month long unintentional hiatuses will happen (I’m sorry, and I’m working on it, I promise). So for the meantime, this is just a little prologue/teaser to see whoever’s interested. If you are, then click the link in my bio and fill out the google form to get tagged.
series masterlist
You glance at the clock - 60 seconds until the cameras turn back on.
“Better wrap it up, AJ. 60 seconds and counting,” you take a last swig of your whiskey, before stalking over to the balding man, and clambering back onto his lap. His hands resting lightly on your sides for the pretences only - even a total idiot like AJ knew better than to try and cop a feel.
He sighed, “Fine. I want St. James, by Friday. Seven, final offer.”
“Ten, or no deal,” the man considered for a moment, biting his chapped and dried lip, you hummed, shrugging, “or... I guess it’s just not that important to you.”
He fixed you with a glare.
“Need I remind you that my services have not yet failed you once. In fact, I believe I’ve over delivered for you, on multiple occasions.”
“Yes, but you’ve also stabbed me in the back, on multiple occasions,” he mocked, parroting your earlier words.
There was a faint whirr behind you. The camera. You sighed, and began to push your chest into his face for show. It was funny to think that such an act used to mortify you; now it was second nature, like breathing, like survival, or like betrayal.
“Oh, darling,” you airily huffed, “this is Madripoor. No one trusts anyone. Anyone betrays everyone. I’m loyal to no one except for the highest bidder, something I made very clear to you when you became my client. If you can’t accept my policies, then the door is right there.”
You knew you had cornered him by the way his body relaxed beneath yours in a sigh of reluctant defeat.
“Fine, ten it is. But I expect a discount next time.”
“Whatever for?”
“A newbie in town, I referred her to you. An ex-civil servant, easy for someone like you to swindle,” he grumbled, spitting out the unspoken insult. You placed your hand on his shoulder, and squeezed hard, digging in your acrylic nails.
No business is stable, but a business built on crime is like trying to stand in an earthquake. And the only way to ensure your survival is to not make yourself expendable, and not to let fuckers like AJ walk all over you.
“I’d suggest you treat me with a little more respect, lest you desire your pathetic little plans to rob the new arms shipment be mysteriously, and oh-so inconveniently leaked to Carmichael.” Carmichael was AJ’s biggest rival, the two were constantly at one another's throats, and they were both part of your clientele, and you often found yourself stabbing both in the back simultaneously.
“You little-”
You don’t let him finish his sentence before you’re embedding your nails deeper into his expensive suit, hard enough for him to wince.
You tut, “Big brother’s watching.”
The reminder of the lurking presence of surveillance was enough to shut AJ up.
You watched his eyes flick up to the clock, where no doubt, he would realize his time is almost up.
“Fine. The ten for Friday.”
“Then it’s a deal.”
The buzz sounded, and the door sprang open to reveal Casey, the club bodyguard, who was there to take care of any possible disturbances.
You deftly climbed off of AJ’s lap, and stuck out an expectant hand. Even your time was valuable, so it was worth a lot of money. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, and slapped it into your palm, making his way to the exit.
His steps halted, and he turned.
“So, I take it, that's a no on the discount.”
You looked up from counting the cash.
“Well, Mr. Silversmith, that depends on how useful the client is.”
Little did either of you know that this new client would be more important to you than any other bidder, no matter how high the price.
***
tagging some people who might me interested: @slytherinbarnes @i-am-a-smol-sweet-potato
