she has to stay focused.

focus on the mission, hazal, fade tells herself, glancing at her phone every so often in case any important information gets sent her way. she flicks the volume up on her earpiece— maybe jett’s comms would help her focus more.

to no avail.

fade can’t help her gaze— her eyes travelling up and down your pretty body until they reach your eyes again. and oh, your eyes are so pretty, fade could fucking drown in them. even under the flickering, vivid lights of the bar, she can still count every mole on your body and every scar. scars so flawless and perfect, that fade wants to kiss every one of them.

and god, fade doesn’t even know your name.

she sips the glass in her hand (soda, she can’t drink on the job shift… brimstone would kill her) while her gaze rakes appreciatively down your body. along the pretty, soft barely-there curves under your silky dress and the slight part of your legs when you take a step back, or forwards.

fade is so mesmerised, someone could snatch the concealed gun from her hip and point it at her and she wouldn’t bat a fucking eye.

she lets out an audible sigh, downing the rest of the soda and rubbing her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. she wants you so bad. she—

no, i can’t, fade interrupts herself bitterly.

the job comes first. she’s supposed to be scouting… monitoring… analysing any information and gathering intelligence—

oh, but you look at her. you see her, sitting there on the couch alone with one leg propped up so her ankle leans on her knee. you see her with her messy hair and dark mismatched eyes and attire that is not at all appropriate for a bar— rather an inconspicuous work outfit that… looks really, really good.

fade can’t help but want.

fade can’t help but play with the idea that maybe… maybe you want, too.

she doesn’t notice her prowler slinking to you, curling around your ankles lovingly— the smoky, dark tendrils snaking up your legs and around your body softly.

when she sees the look of surprise on your face, and the gears turning in your head when the radianite trail of nightmare leads back to her… well, fade goes a little red in the face. it’s barely concealed under her dark and smoky make-up, but she knows you know.

she clears her throat. turns her head to the side. shows off her assortment of ear piercings and sharp jawline.

oh, fade wants you… valorant protocol be damned.