no warnings ; she/her pronouns for reader and wearing lipstick mentioned, 3rd pov (of adler's)
note: i love,,, down bad adler,,, i hc him to be an utter loser. god he gets put in his place i just know it
—
Lipstick.
That’s all he can stare at.
A new girl in the office. Rounds are making of her rumored nepotism baby status. She’s dressed like some dainty
doll — curled blonde curls, painted lips, pretty eyes. And she’s stealing the show, strutting around in that pencil skirt
that barely passes HR’s dress codes, in an…accentuating blouse.
The type to giggle when her colleagues’ minds short circuit and they take a few moments unable to tear their gazes from her. Each click of her heels is another detonation of some metaphorical hormone-filled landmine going off in someone’s pants. Bating her eyelashes to signal in the forthcoming butterfly effect of some poor future victim getting played.
She tries. Oh, she tries.
Adler never quite cared about office politics.
And to his own credit, he thinks, he doesn’t exactly care now either. Too messy. He doesn’t give a crap about most of the pencil-pushers stuck in Langley other than absolutely necessary. He’s barely around to talk to those who stay,
even if he does notice new faces or absences. His cubicle is collecting dust at this point, neglected beyond the
shifting and changing of new folders, dossiers, etc.
Does it bother him? Absolutely not.
The girl is fancy, to say the least. Flaunting around her superiors like it’s some short white-picket fence you can jump over. He thinks her hands rested against his arms once or twice. He might give her a glance or two, just to help
soothe that fragile little ego in that young head of hers.
Might.
(He doesn’t.)
He’s too busy staring across his designated cubicle, really.
Thank God for the shades, he thinks. His colleagues have learned to accept the abundance of aviators (if anyone asks, he just redirects them to Hudson), and he celebrates daily for its perks. But even with the tint of his aviators, he gives a side glance at the darker shade of lips on a particular brunette leaning against the walls of his cubicle.
She changed her lipstick color.
It’s matte, not glossy. Nothing too strongly painted on, from what he can see. Just enough to add a hue of color. A slight sneak when he walks by is enough to make his chest swell slightly with something akin to boyish pride.
The new girl? He can’t exactly give a damn if her lipstick is red, orange, pink. It isn’t long until she soon grows
bored with his lack of reaction and wanders off.
He internally celebrates.
“Busy?” He tries to sound as casual as he can, as he walks up to her and Jane, pointedly (and subconsciously) standing next to her. Casual, yet he has this air of restlessness even he can sense from himself. The two’s chatter die
down, as she turns to him, and Gods, it is the lipstick he helped her choose.
Thank God for shades.
He can’t stop staring.
She raises a brow. “Jane was talking about some potential leads. Why?”
“Hm? Oh. Nothing. Was just checking in.”
“Just checking in, he says,” she drawls, clicking her tongue sardonically.
It isn’t until Jane quickly excuses herself and leaves that he finally speaks up, unable to hide the smugness in his
voice. “Changed your lipstick?”
A glare from her is enough to make his lips curl. Slightly.
“Did you really just come here to talk about that?” She folds her arms, and he can’t help but notice how, despite her
protests, she doesn’t hide her own amusement.
He likes how she looks too. As he tries to subtly seem like he’s glancing down, he can’t help but notice how she’s
rolled up her black button up’s sleeves, or how her high-waisted slacks suit her well. And the watch— It’s his watch.
He huffs, as if offended she thinks so lowly of him. “I’m just surprised. You rarely change your routine.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t.”
A pause. Adler stares down at her, at her defiant sharp gaze. With a small sigh, he finally says, in a quieter tone. “It suits you.”
“And?”
“...You should use it more often.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another. He adds, with a hint of that pride, “Didn’t expect you to wear my watch either.”
It’s that little, knowing look of hers that feels like the true reward. God, he should feel pathetic, trying to get scraps
of her approval, like some dog desperate for a treat. But when she gives him that smirk, like she’s won something
from him, there’s a nagging need in the back of his mind for more. Everything else can change, he doesn’t give a
damn. But when something about her changes, he’s clinging onto it, wary and alert.
Russell Adler doesn’t care about office politics at all. Or the trivial shifts that are deemed required by his office’s
social interactions.
But he just can’t stop staring. And he doesn’t think he wants to.
God, he’s so utterly fucked.
— — —
fin. | do not plagarise, steal, modify or translate my works without my explicit permission.
my dad.got me a monster im feeling. sogood today and yeah i already drank one earlier but i deserve another one as a treat because i literally didny do ANYTHING rash or impulsive while i was ina mood so like im badically rh most perfect little angel???? also the monster is.light pink ❤️ yay ❤️
{Flash&Sonic from Opm. Drawn on Ibis paint in 12 hours!}
FINALLY, AFTER MORE THEN A MONTH THIS ARTWORK IS COMPLETE!!!!!! i mostly have this one french homework i had to take 6 ish days for and school in general to blame for my lateness. BUT AT LAST IT IS DONE.
Close ups because im very proud of how i rendered this tbh.
Notice how Flash is looking at Sonic who's looking away? Haha
Also to put things in perspective about Naadja's relationship with Zafyna. They were together for 50 years, but Naadja left for school at 25. Which means she's known Zafyna longer than her own mother
