"Motherfucker. If I hear you tell Coulson one more time that I'm gay, I swear on my last working eye—I'm coming for your ass. And I won't come alone," Fury's hologram barked, his single eye burning with the fury of ten thousand snow bunnies wronged.
"I'm talkin' me, Luke Cage, and fucking Captain America. It'll be Snowbunny in the Hood, except you are the snow bunny, and we ain't bringing any lube."
I took an instinctive half-step back and casually placed a hand behind me, guarding the goods.
"See?" I said to Natasha without breaking eye contact with the furious floating hologram. "Told you he had a thing for guys. Man says 'homies' like it's a mating call."
Then, facing Fury with mock sincerity, I added. "No homo, bestie. I respect your lifestyle. But I just don't swing that way."
From the sofa, Natasha let out a low, slow laugh. She was stretched out like a queen on vacation, legs crossed, popcorn in her lap, eyes twinkling with vicious delight.
"She's enjoying this." I muttered. "You're fueling her sadistic side, Nick."
Fury's glare didn't budge.
"Bitch." Fury snapped. "Now the whole goddamn division walks with their asses clenched tighter than Thor's biceps. No one turns their back on me in the elevator anymore. Maria gives me the stink eye like I stole her damn boyfriend."
I nudged Natasha's leg with my foot, not even trying to hide the grin.
"See? What did I say? Out of every metaphor in the known universe, he goes straight for Thor's muscles. Man's got options—Stark Tower security, Wakandan force fields, hell, even the original Cap's moral compass—but no. Big muscles. Blonde god. He must be a regular at P.Diddy home."
Natasha sipped her drink with infuriating grace.
"Now all we need is Fury showing up in a miniskirt and a crop top with a pizza box in hand."
She tilted her head toward the screen.
"Preferably saying, 'I heard someone ordered extra sausage.'"
I snorted. "Don't tempt him. That man's got rage and no shame. Dangerous combo. And stop putting that cursed image in my mind."
Fury's hologram flickered slightly, either from static or sheer fury.
"Motherfucker! One more gay joke and I will personally nuke your little lovebirds' nest from orbit. No hesitation."
I leaned back and put my feet up like I was settling into a lounge chair at the end of the world.
"Bitch, please. You wouldn't dare. Not until you figure out what I can actually do. You like playing chess, right? Ask yourself who's playing black and who's playing white."
"Try me, bitch." Fury's voice went low, the kind of threat that could make satellites blink twice.
Before I could fire back, Natasha raised a hand, voice dry as ever.
"Boys. Boys. There's no need to compare dicks like you're in a middle school locker room."
She flicked her gaze between us, unimpressed yet smirking.
"It's honestly kind of adorable. Like watching a married couple argue over the thermostat."
We both snapped back in sync:
"Fuck no."
"Hell no."
That made her smile—sharp, smug, and victorious.
"See? You're in sync already. Next step is coordinated outfits and matching mugs."
Fury groaned. Loud. The kind of groan that could shatter patience and possibly glass.
"I'm so close to installing a kill switch in both of your necks."
"Too late." I replied. "Already removed mine. Natasha swapped hers for espresso access."
"Priorities." she said, lifting her cup.
Fury rubbed his temple like a man who hadn't slept in twenty years and suddenly remembered why.
"Look. I came here to yell and maybe threaten legal action. I didn't come to watch you two flirt like emotionally repressed teenagers in a high school anime."
"Hey." I said, offended. "We're far more dysfunctional than teenagers."
Natasha raised her hand.
"And much hotter."
Fury looked like he aged five more years.
"You know what? I'm done. I've got real work to do. And none of it includes imagining myself in a skirt or watching you two emotionally dry hump over popcorn."
Fury's hologram flared back to life mid-rant, his one good eye glowing with righteous paranoia.
"Tell me—where the hell did you get movies with my face in them? I've scoured the net, cracked Hydra vaults, gone through Stark's corrupted backups, and I haven't found one clue these damn things exist. And I goddamn as hell don't remember starring in anything—especially not as a slave in the 1860s or a Jedi Master fighting cyborgs!"
He took a digital breath.
"So unless I was drugged and directed by Spielberg while hopping one dimension to another, I'm gonna need the truth. Do you have parallel-earth access tech? Dimensional gateway? Some Inter-dimensional Cable I don't know about?"
I raised my hands calmly, popcorn bowl still in my lap like this was a casual Q&A and not a director-level interrogation.
"First of all—rude." I said, tilting my head. "We weren't dry-humping over popcorn. We save that for the bed. Later."
"And that got wet pretty quick." A wink.
From the couch, Natasha snorted like she'd nearly choked on her drink.
"Patience, honey." I added smoothly. "Foreplay's still running."
Fury twitched. You could tell he regretted waking up this morning.
"Second of all." I continued. "how would I know? It's your library. I just got bored, hacked your private SHIELD media account, and dove into what I assumed was your curated selection of entertainment."
His eye narrowed.
"Bitch, I would know what's in my library. And it most definitely doesn't include me playing every Hollywood archetype and a full catalog of snow bunny porn. What the hell do you think this is, some kind of—"
"—Genre appreciation?" I offered helpfully. "Hey, it's fine, Fury. We're all adults here. Everyone's got a favorite category. I like redheads."
I tossed a wink at Natasha. She rolled her eyes but didn't disagree.
"You?" I gestured to the hologram. "You clearly have a thing for snow bunnies and… BBCs. And hey, no shame. It's the internet. You're not alone."
Fury's virtual face twitched like his soul needed a reboot.
"And the movie star thing?" I went on. "My guy—there are twenty high-definition, well-produced, high-budget flicks in your vault. You've played a Jedi. A 19th-century slave. An FBI negotiator. A retired hitman with a vendetta. You even starred in a mockumentary called 'Director on the Edge: The Furry Files.'"
He said nothing, but the look he gave me could've cracked a satellite.
"Then." I added with emphasis. "there's the other three hundred and eighty entries. All snow bunny. All labeled. All categorized by 'plot quality,' 'camera work,' and 'best angles.' Fury, my man, you are disturbingly organized."
I paused.
"Also? A little narcissistic. You bookmarked all your own scenes."
The hologram blinked slowly.
"You are so fucking lucky I'm busy right now," Fury growled, "because if I wasn't—"
"—It would be my ass." I finished for him, deadpan. "Yes, I know. You've said that several times. Honestly, at this point, I think you just like talking about my ass."
Fury said nothing.
Then the hologram flickered… and vanished.
Silence.
Natasha let out a quiet, smug breath through her nose and sipped her coffee like a queen watching two jesters fight over her attention.
I leaned back and folded my arms.
"See? Even going off, the last thing he talks about is my ass. It's like he wants the world to know that he is gay."
She chuckled softly, still not looking at me.
"You're impossible."
"And Fury is definitely in denial."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Not thinking of why he cut his call short?"
"Oh please. He can handle it. If he couldn't he would have called for you. Beside I am not letting you go away." I clung to her like a koala.
"Where did your mysterious aura go when we first met?" She didn't let go.
"A red hair girl stole it. Staying with her I could be mysterious no more." I grinned. "So movie?" We both looked at each other and she nodded.
"Not until your head rests on my shoulder."
She sighed and smiled but did what I asked.
We returned to the movie queue, Snakes on a Plane still paused.
Onscreen, a younger, angrier Fury stared into the camera, ready to scream about snakes.
I glanced at Natasha.
"Wanna rewatch the one where he plays a vampire hunter next? Or some of the plot based movie?"
She gave a slow, dangerous smile.
"Only if you promise not to dry-hump me during the plot."
"No promises during the climax."
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Got an interview. So early post.
Next Chapter It's gonna go from 10 to 40 real quick cause why not.