#Secrets to Getting Hired at Google | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellsbedroom · 1 month ago

Text

call out my name

pairing: winter soldier!bucky x f!reader

word count: 4k

summary: as an assassin for hire, you often worked alongside the Winter Soldier. immediately after the events of CA:TWS, that soldier shows up at your doorstep needing help. and he thanks you in a very particular way

warnings: 18+, nsfw, brief mentions of violence, mild alcohol consumption, heavy petting, hair pulling (m receiving), p in v, porn with actually a lot of plot, angsty ending because i couldn't help myself, google-translated romanian

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The frantic knocking at your front door shouldn’t be happening. Even though Hydra’s secrets had been blown open a couple days ago, your name wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Mercenaries’ names never are. So how could anyone find you?

You slow your breathing to counter the adrenaline as the knocking rattles the hinges again. Clutching your gun tighter, you throw the door open and aim into the night.

The barrel lands against a man’s chest and takes you both by surprise. You pull the gun away when a familiar pair of blue eyes blinks back at you from underneath a ballcap. His face isn’t one you ever expected to see again, especially after the carnage in DC.

“Soldier?” You’d never known him by any real name.

“Can I come in?”

“Am I gonna get killed for it?”

He glances behind him and tugs his backpack tighter. “Not if I’ve done my job.”

That’s enough of an answer. You wave him in with the gun still cocked in case it’s a trap. But after you lock the door, you turn to find him staring at you and all at once the gun is no longer necessary.

His eyes are different. You’d seen them empty, you’d seen them focused, you’d seen them angry, you’d even seen them lust-blown as he thrusted into you in some alleyway after a mission. But you’d never seen them scared.

And he is terrified.

“I need your help. I have to get away.” Vigilance strings his shoulders taut and you wonder how many sleepless nights had led up to this.

“Okay, my cover’s not blown and I’ve still got my contacts. Is the west coast far enough? Canada?”

“No. Farther.”

“London’s pretty big.”

He grips your forearms in a flash, gruffly pleading an inch from your face. “Somewhere they can’t find me.”

The intensity freezes you for a few moments before you nod. Wordlessly you cross the room and rummage through papers strewn across your desk. Identities, informants, any connections you still have. Anybody they can’t get to.

“Does Romania work?” You proudly hold up some papers with illegible scrawls. “I can get you out at dawn.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.”

His sigh of relief leaves you comfortable enough to grab a couple beers from the fridge. Might as well drink when it’s clear that he’ll stay the night. But when you try to hand him one, he’s staring off into space and doesn’t seem to notice. You aren’t the best at comforting people, especially not Hydra’s former war dog, but you clasp a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be okay.”

He snaps back into the moment, nodding in thanks as he takes the beer and opens it with a simple flick of a metal finger. He rubs the other hand down his face, dragging away the last of whatever thoughts had distracted him.

“Yeah.” He still stands resolute in the center of the room, even as you sling yourself into a chair. “Sorry for grabbing you. I just—”

“It’s alright, Soldier. I’ve been roughhoused before.”

“It’s actually Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name is Bucky. I didn’t know that for a long time. Hydra’s doing.” He sinks onto your couch, still weighed down by the revelation.

You immediately sit up straighter, the gears in your head trying to make sense of it. The whole story comes out with just a bit of prodding. World War Two, his capture, his fall, Hydra’s brainwashing, all of it. You sit in stunned silence through it, nodding in support every now and then. He finishes after the second round of beers and checks the magazine of his gun from force of habit. You do the same, then venture with a question itching to be answered.

“Do you remember anything you did?”

“Some of it. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t...I didn’t want to stop it.” A guilty silence follows and you hear the distinctive whirring of his metal arm as he clenches his fist.

You laugh to lighten the mood. “Hey, that’s better than me. I chose to do this shit and got paid for it.”

Bucky nods solemnly, staring down his empty bottle. Then he flicks his gaze back up to you. “I also remember you.”

“On a mission? Marrakesh was pretty memorable.”

“Yeah. But I remember us doing some other stuff, too.” A smile ghosts his lips for the first time that night.

Memories of him sucking angry marks into your neck as you writhe on his cock come flooding back, making you cross your legs. You clear your throat and try to seem nonchalant.

“I hope that’s not something the brainwashing made you do,” you joke.

Bucky’s eyes are sharp as knives as they cut across the room. “It wasn’t. And I didn’t want to stop that either.”

“Oh. Good.”

The next silence thunders with anticipation but you don’t push your luck. Instead you focus on clearing away stray dishes and papers, flitting back and forth and trying to remember how to play hostess. You cross in front of Bucky and easily lift the bottle out of his hand. But before you can step out of reach again, he takes your arm.

This time his grip is gentle, nothing like the way he’d ever touched you before. You swallow thickly and dare to meet his gaze.

“Yes, Soldier?”

The gentleness is abandoned as his mouth crashes into yours. You knock off his ballcap in a rush to card your hands through his hair, desperate to have him closer. It’s all practiced and familiar, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

His scruff burns against your jaw and then he’s kissing in its wake, lips and teeth devouring down your neck as his hands dive under your clothes to brush at your waist and hips. The skin-to-skin contact lights you on fire and you help him lift off your shirt in a flurry that’s followed by his own jacket and shirt. The fleeting moment spent apart is enough for you to catch your breath and shiver at the desire swirling in his eyes.

You collide into his chest again, wasting no time in dragging him backward with you toward somewhere, anywhere sturdy enough for support. It’s like you’re back in Mumbai or São Paulo or Kosovo, desperate to find a pleasurable release at the closest available location where he could grind his hips into you. This time it happens to be your kitchen island, a throne of granite onto which Bucky lifts you and your legs easily split, letting him settle between them and pull you so that his bulge presses just so against your core.

You're grabbing his shoulders — clutching flesh and metal — and that familiar coolness of his titanium arm curving around your back brings heat pooling between your legs. He captures your lips in an eager, fluid motion, tongue darting out to graze yours. Expert at killing, expert at kissing. The tendrils of his long hair tickle your forehead just like you remember.

With the usual haste and fervor, you grind against his solid hips in search of friction and he obliges by slipping his hand down to rub through your pants.

Soldier...you nearly moan, but stop short. You don’t have to settle for this kind of quickie. He isn’t just Soldier anymore, and you aren’t under the pressure of a mission.

“Bucky,” you murmur against his lips, grounding him to something besides what you both once were. “Bucky, wait…”

He slows down, his grip moving to your thighs, two heavy palms weighing down on you. Then he looks up slowly — his gaze could crack you in half. There’s a vulnerable tenderness in his eyes, clouded over by the bewilderment of what being Bucky once was.

“Bedroom,” you order gently.

“What?”

“Let’s do this in the bedroom.”

He has a lot of unlearning to do after so many years of Hydra control, so maybe you can help him with this one thing. You aren’t sure why you want this extra layer of intimacy, but it feels right.

Your insistence makes him wary. His eyes dart around, calculating whether or not this, too, is an attempt to capture him. Anyone could be in on it.

“It’s not a trap, I promise,” you coax, holding your hands up. “It’ll be better like this. I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t move as you slide off the island, brushing against him and letting the moment linger. You leave your eyes locked on his as you turn and take a few inviting steps down the hall, not abandoning the gaze until his doubts subside and he follows you.

The sparse bedroom is suddenly alive with electricity as you kiss him again to pick up right where you left off. Your grip dives into his hair, pulling in the way you remember makes even the stoic soldier moan. The liplock is blinding and his hands mold to your waist and hips and everywhere, keeping you close as the last of the clothes are haphazardly tossed away. Once you’re bare it’s a short stumble onto the bed and he falls on top of you with his metal arm braced in the unmade sheets.

Somehow Bucky looming over you, sinking down with every delectable muscle, is more breathtaking than the Winter Soldier fucking you senseless against a brick wall that digs into your back.

You don’t get a chance to catch that breath before his hand snakes down to toy with your clit, expertly coating it with your slick with a particular brush of his finger that he knows works so well. The gasp wracks your chest — you’d been ready for this since he admitted remembering every salacious encounter — and you almost give in then and there.

But where’s the fun in that?

Your thighs are locked around his hips and you swiftly flip on top, sitting up to settle on his lap. You’re naked, with no chance of hiding weapons, so he quickly relaxes and focuses on how new this is. Studying your form, from draped legs to raised brow. His hand lifts and you catch it in sync, bringing it up to your breast where he rolls your nipple instantly, carefully watching the arch of your back in response. Bucky is nothing if not a quick learner.

He’s hard, aching underneath you, and the tug in your core calls for the same thing. He helps lift your hips and you brace on his chest and then you’re slowly sinking down on his length to draw out the sensation.

It’s a pretty thing to watch his lips curl as he hisses out your name — your real name, not just one of your aliases — and your own sigh flies out when you reach the hilt. You take a few moments to adjust and then start rocking to an inaudible beat. Or maybe that’s your heart thrumming with pride.

It’s different this time. Everything is still eager and strong and deliciously satisfying but this isn’t just a convenient tryst. That has its time and place, like a muggy Havana afternoon after a vicious shootout. This time there’s something in the way Bucky rubs along your thighs while you lean in close, the rhythm of the thrusts keeping you just out of reach of his lips and yet leaving you anchored to those blue eyes.

He cradles the nape of your neck, watching your face morph in pleasure while the tension builds. You can’t help kissing him then and there and everything winds tighter and tighter until the climax takes you, your open mouth grazing against his as bliss washes all over. His name is a whispered prayer from your lips.

Your stuttering hips drag him into the throes a moment later and his gasp rushes past your cheek. A moan rumbles through his chest and you collapse on it, daring to smile as you breathe him in.

God that was good. The two of you still have it.

You unceremoniously roll off and into the sheets before another thought strikes. You’d never had to deal with Bucky in the moments after a good fuck. You always went your separate ways down dimly-lit alleys or out of a jungle. But here he is, stretched out beside you, with no prerogative to leave until morning.

Apparently the same thing was on his mind because he suddenly sits up and tugs a weary hand through his hair. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No.” You catch his wrist before you know what’s happening. “It’s alright, stay. You need a good night’s sleep. Getting to Romania is gonna be a hell of a ride.”

His eyes sweep over you but there’s no wariness this time. Instead he blinks slowly, giving a half-smile as he settles back down and pulls the covers up. It’s quiet for a few moments, comfortably so, and his arm brushes yours without pulling away.

“You should come with me,” he finally says, voice raspy with sleep and sex. “You need to get out, too.”

It isn’t the first time that thought has crossed your mind but it suddenly feels much more serious. A real chance to escape. Your fingers trace the sheets and mattress below, a place to lay your head that you had never really called home. Of course you have a bag packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, every good mercenary does — but are you ready to be on the run? To live your life at the whim of whoever finds you in every city?

Bucky has already dozed off beside you, his gentle breathing interrupted by furrowed brows and an occasional shake of his head. He has no choice but to run, though you doubt he’ll outrun the nightmares anytime soon.

Sleep does its job of lulling you, too, and you decide to make your choice in the morning.

***

Two Years Later Bucharest, Romania

The rusted faucet gives a weak stream of water but you still rinse off the dishes, watching stray peelings and seeds whirl down the drain. Big bowls of fruit are your staple breakfast now that you have the time to enjoy them.

The apartment is silent except for the gentle ceramic clinks, with Bucky having stepped out to the market next door to pick up more plums — the favorite household snack.

As ex-assassins, calling your arrangement “dating” feels childish. You and Bucky sleep in the same bed, fuck regularly, cook each other meals, watch each other’s backs, and take turns cleaning the arsenal of weapons. So whatever the term for that relationship is, that’s what you have. You need each other.

With the dishes clear and reading to catch up on, you step into the bathroom in the back of the apartment to grab a clip for your hair. Can’t have the locks in your way when novels await.

You hear the front door open and a smile tugs at your lips. “Ce mai faci?” you call. (How are you?)

The Romanian greeting is part of yours and Bucky’s precautions — a code for when one of you reenters the apartment, just in case. You expect to hear the coded answer: Voi fi mai bine mâine (I will be better tomorrow).

But there’s no reply. Only muted footsteps toward your kitchen.

Your heart slams into overdrive. There’s a handgun hidden under the bathroom sink and it’s cold in your grip as you level it at the door, cautiously stepping into the small hallway. No one is immediately visible but your senses don’t fail you. Someone’s there.

“Reieşi!” you spit. “Come out!”

Still no answer but a careful shuffling of feet just out of sight. You hunker at the wall for only a moment and then fling yourself around the corner, barrel first.

Standing by your refrigerator with arms warily raised is Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. You recognize him from both the news and Bucky’s attempts to piece his life together. He cocks his head in surprise — whatever intel had let him here, it hadn’t mentioned you.

But he keeps his voice steady as he breaks the silence. “Where’s Bucky?”

You don’t answer. It’s pointless to lie, since he somehow found the apartment, but you know better than to tell the truth. You can’t claim ignorance anyway — the unwavering handgun in your grasp says otherwise.

You stare back in silence and take a couple calculated steps forward while trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Despite the proximity Steve lowers his arms, correctly guessing that if you haven’t shot yet, you won’t do so without warning. Killing Captain America isn’t exactly the best way to keep people out of your life anyway.

“I just need Bucky. People are coming for him.”

That raises goosebumps along your arms. It makes sense, Steve only finding him when someone worse is on the way. You’re about to demand more answers when footsteps reach the outside of your apartment and pause, no doubt noticing the door slightly ajar.

“Ce mai faci?” It’s Bucky’s strained voice trying the code. Then he more urgently adds, “Esti in siguranta?” (Are you safe?)

“Da,” you call quietly, keeping your eyes trained on Steve. “I’m alright, Bucky. We have a visitor.”

Bucky carefully treads in, his eyes darting between you and Steve and the gun in your hand. The air stings with confusion. But eventually he crosses to you and closes his hand over the barrel to make you lower the gun, and not even your incredulous gaze changes his mind. He simply nods and runs his hand down your back. Trust me.

He pushes a newspaper into your lowered hands and you look down at the words plastered across the top: ‘Winter Soldier Bombs UN Headquarters’. The newspaper crinkles in your tightening grip. Underneath the headline sits a photo of Bucky’s face, clear as day, when it isn’t possible for him to have been there. You’d come out of hiding to vouch for it yourself.

But that wouldn’t matter, you know better. The little world that you and Bucky carved out is caving in fast.

“Do you know me?” It’s the intruder, his gaze no longer fixed on you or your weapon but on his long-lost friend.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

A pause. Steve clenches his jaw. “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

He pauses again as the comms unit crackles in his ear, probably warning of the distant commotion now rumbling up the building from many floors down. You sneak a glance at Bucky and the grim set of his mouth.

“I’ve got him here,” Steve says into his radio. “He’s with someone. Unclear whether she’s a hostile.”

He clips that last part at you, demanding your intentions as you still bristle at him. But you don’t get a chance to threaten him again before Bucky steps in front of you.

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore. Neither does she.”

“Well the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planning on taking you alive,” Steve adds, the gravity in his voice sinking deep into your chest.

“That’s smart, good strategy.”

Bucky’s right. Special forces are always taught to eliminate a threat, not wait for heroic negotiating. That doesn’t happen in the real world when real consequences are at stake. A rattling shakes the staircase outside your apartment door, the telltale sign of heavy men and heavy guns on their way. You quickly realize that whether or not Steve is on your side, he’s a better option than what’s waiting out there.

Steve softens. “It doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

Bucky takes off the glove concealing his titanium hand, flexing the joints and heaving a sigh. He looks at you and tips another nod. Get ready. You grab another magazine of bullets for your gun.

“It always ends in a fight,” Bucky murmurs.

“That’s why we ran, you know. To try and stay away from the fight.” You cock the gun, staring Steve down. Blaming him for this situation is wrong but damn it feels right. “But when it comes to our door we have no choice.”

Steve gets agitated, glancing between you and Bucky and trying to piece it all together. “Bucky, you pulled me from the river. Why?”

Bucky stays still. “I don’t know.”

The thundering footsteps get closer, louder and louder like in every nightmare you’d had about being found. You walk to the windows, looking for any trace of the enemies no doubt rappelling down the building at that instant. There are more weapons hidden on that side of the room anyway, and you gather what you can.

“I hate to break this up,” you quip at the men behind you, “but we can’t keep standing here playing high school reunion.”

“She’s right, Buck. We have to go.”

“She’s coming with us.”

You spare Bucky a grin over your shoulder. Of course you’re going with them, but it’s good to hear him say it.

Steve steps closer, faint warnings still being yelled into his comms unit. “They aren’t looking for her. She’ll be safer away from us for now.”

That makes your breath catch. Arguing with Steve will make the oncoming fight that much more difficult. You turn, a sneer already waiting on your lips, but Bucky once again interjects. He catches your shoulders and his gaze sinks deep into yours.

“Steve’s right.”

“What?”

“They’re after me for the stuff in Vienna. You need to get out.”

“Bucky, I’m not —”

Crash! Grenades come flying through the windows, shattering the tension with shards of glass. You knock one right back out and Bucky kicks the other to Steve, who covers the blast with his shield. Bucky is two seconds ahead of you and lifts the mattress to cover you both from a third grenade tossed in. The explosion is hot against your back and your muscles tremble. With his free hand Bucky throws the steel table at the door, blocking it and buying a few minutes before the tac team can bust through.

Rappelers burst through the windows and Steve kicks one down, his gunfire raining into the ceiling instead of your flesh. You return fire to another, clipping his knee and shoulder, while Bucky yanks the third and knocks him against the wall. Two more come swinging in — your adrenaline kicks up another notch — and a scream grates your throat as you land a few good punches on the closest one. You hadn’t fought for your life like this in a long time, but it’s a skill that comes back quick as lightning.

Bucky dashes over to Steve, forcing the other rappeler out of his grip and onto the balcony with a swift knee to the chest.

“Buck, stop!” Steve calls. “You’re gonna kill someone.”

“I’m not gonna kill anyone,” Bucky grunts. Floorboards splinter under the force of his punch and he pulls out his backpack before tossing it onto the roof of the adjacent building.

You take a respite from watching for more assailants and step over downed bodies to reach him. The other backpack lands heavily in your hands and despite the chaos, the rest of the world briefly fades when Bucky drags you closer.

“Go, you have to get out!”

All air vanishes. “No. I’m not leaving —”

“Please.” Bucky’s voice is small against the rushing of blood in your ears. His iron grip pulls you toward the windows and he hands you a rappelling rope. “I’ll find you later.”

You know there’s no choice. And arguing further will put everyone in danger. You attach the rope to yourself and the balcony, still pulling Bucky with you as you back onto the ledge. Shotgun blasts at the hinges of the door across the room draw Steve away and you know this is your last blessed moment alone.

Whatever version of Bucky Barnes this is — the man out of time, the assassin, the shell of a vintage hero — you don’t care. This version is yours, and you love him.

You kiss him, hard. He returns it with fire, his hand tangling in your unkempt hair. A sad smile creeps onto your lips when you pull away and Bucky nods solemnly. One gentle push later and you drop from view.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier!bucky #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes imagine #am i insinuating that the winter soldier didn't properly touch a t*ddy for 70 years? maybe #and yes i namedropped as many cities as possible #because the winter soldier is truly mr worldwide when it comes to klling and fcking

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months ago

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"Ah, the digimals," I lied. "I know exactly what you are talking about."

It was the start of my tumultuous three-week employment at Google. Google, who was once the most powerful company on Earth, had in recent years become enmeshed with bullshit-generating text engines to the point where they could no longer tell truth from fiction. Perhaps the greatest evidence of this fact was that they hired me to head up the new Digital Transformation division. Remember, kids, don't get high on your own supply.

Here's a secret about California: cars don't rust there. It's real dry, and really nice, and you can even drive dented cars around without them instantly turning into a pile of iron filings and swear words. So of course I jumped on the job. I could not believe my luck that they had decided the resume I was required to make in order to pass Reintegration With Society 101 class was good enough to offer me an executive-level position.

Now, all of you are fully aware that the average Silicon Valley management job involves showing up for one to two hours a week, doing nothing except making everyone's job harder, and then buying two vintage Porsches off eBay while taking a shit in your private executive bathroom. We accept it because, well, starting a whole revolution about it sounds a little bit "too much," and we got bigger fish to fry. For instance, a whole lot of people at Google were very concerned about Digital Transformation, which sounds either good or bad (I never figured out which.)

When they finally came to my spacious skull-emblazoned office and canned me, it wasn't because I was incompetent. No, my absolute lack of attention to any of my subordinates had led to immense success in Digital Transformation (again, either for or against – if you know, write in.) What they were mad about was that Facilities had filed a complaint. You see, I had cottoned on in my first day of work that I didn't actually have to buy an expensive California house. Google's parking lots were copious enough that I could simply leave my dozens of vintage Porsches there, without fear of rust, and sleep in a different race car bed each night.

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emotionoitme · 1 year ago

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safe in your skin

part two of about a girl

carmy berzatto x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: friends with benefits, bdsm dom/sub undertones, age gap, alcohol & tobacco use, lots of dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (use condoms!!), choking, mutual pining

wc: 7.5k

a/n: thank you so much for the support on the last chapter! i was literally kicking my legs twirling my hair reading through the replies. please enjoy some more nastiness!! and lots of yearning ofc <3

title fight - safe in your skin

job hunting was a grueling task, no matter how lucky you get— the girl could feel this physically, shoulders slumped and feet aching. she had dropped off applications at 4 different places that day, eager to start a new job as soon as possible. what she didn’t expect was places seemingly desperate for help saying they’d up to a week to get back to her. she dejectedly checked the time on her phone, strolling down the relatively empty sidewalk. it was a little after 3, meaning she’d have time to check out a few more options before heading home. she wasn’t necessarily enthusiastic about the task, either, searching up bars in her vicinity to take an application to. she finds a smaller looking club on google maps 2 miles away and pulls up walking directions. she was looking for a change of pace, but a club was familiar and she catches a second wind as her steps slow in pace, smelling a delicious aroma heavy in the sunny afternoon air. she raises her head from the phone, looking around to locate the source of the smell. she continues forward, looking in the window of a small business. a makeshift sign taped on the glass reads, “the bear”, name underlined, and “help wanted”. she puts her phone back into her pocket, no longer curious about the club she had found. she opens the front door, entering the small establishment and letting her senses be overtaken by the mouth watering scent emanating from the kitchen. the push of the door rings a small bell, and after being inside alone for a few moments, a tall man comes from the kitchen to stand behind the counter.

“hey, sweetheart, we’re closed for dinner prep. you can come back in an hour.” he tells her, voice booming. she offers him a smile, approaching the counter.

“i’m actually here for the help wanted sign. are you guys taking applications?” she asks, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

the man lets out a hardy laugh, “you wanna work here? what, victoria’s secret isn’t hiring?” he asks her, scanning her up and down. her small smile drops, rolling her eyes.

“never mind,” she goes to turn, leave, and take her chances with the club nearby.

“ah, hey, hey, hey, wait,” he calls after her, “i’m sorry, i’m being an asshole.”

she shrugs, not entirely disagreeing. he puts a hand out, gesturing to stay, “wait right here and i’ll get carmy.” the tall man disappears behind the kitchen doors, and she takes a quick opportunity to look around, noting the old fashioned decor, a few parts of the restaurant seemingly in renovation. it was noticeably smaller than her old workplace, but harbored a cozy feel, the bustle of the kitchen softly filtering throughout the lobby. she took a copy of her resume out of the small tote bag she was carrying, setting it on the island in front of her. she hears motion, the kitchen doors swinging open and a man clad in a white shirt and blue apron emerges. he approaches her, separated by the counter.

“hey,” he calls, taking her in, slightly, “you, uh, here to apply?”

holy shit, she feels her throat tighten up, studying his face, strong stature, golden brown curls, “hi, yes i am! my name is -,” she introduces, sticking a hand out.

he takes it, momentarily noticing how cold her hands are.

“carmy,” he returns, “it’s nice to meet you. you, uh, got a resume?” and lets go of her hand.

she hands it to him, “here,” feeling slightly self conscious as he glances over it, thinking, is this supposed to be my boss?

“you have a lot of service experience,” he notes, glancing up at her.

“yeah,” she hesitates, “i’m not sure if that’s what you’re looking for, but i’m a fast learner.”

“no, no, that’s actually what we would need, another front of house,” he responds, “we only have richie right now.”

she feels a light flutter of hope in her chest, encouraged by the reassurance of their lack of competence in the front.

“are you working now? this last job dates back six months,” he asks, eyes double checking the paper. there was the dreaded question. she was hoping he wouldn’t notice, heat growing in her cheeks a bit.

“um, yeah…i actually work over at ricky’s,” she admits, hesitantly. his eyes widen a bit, eyebrows raising.

“i don’t dance, though,” she rushedly clarifies, “i bartend.”

his eyebrows relax, and a smile creeps at his mouth in realization.

“yeah, uh, that’s why i didn’t put it on there,” she says, gesturing to the resume he held, “everyone always thinks i’m a dancer.”

he clears his throat, busying himself with the piece of paper in front of him for a moment before speaking.

“you a student?” he asks, glancing up to see her nod, bright smile adorning her face.

“i’m only taking what i can afford right now, which is like two classes, but yeah,” she explains. he doesn’t have reason for why his tongue feels tied, and the back of his neck hot. he shoves it away.

“well, um, i probably can’t give you more than about 30 hours a week, at least to start. tips are yours to take home but they, uh, probably won’t compare to the tips at ricky’s,” he brings a finger up to his nose, scratching a phantom itch. the girl tilts her head a bit, smiling, “i’ll take that as a challenge,” she quips. a grin breaks his face, not doubting the personable girl.

“so, uh, when can you start?” he asks.

“as soon as possible,” she answers, increasingly eager to quit her bartending job. he looks to the side and behind him, towards the kitchen.

“if you want, i can get you set up today,” he turns back to her, “i think we have some extra aprons in the back.”

“wait, really?” she reassures, him nodding in response. she lets out a small squeak, clapping her hands, big smile on her face.

she’s cute, he thinks to himself, watching her enthusiasm, very quickly trying to shake the thought away. don’t be weird, she’s working for you now. off limits. not to mention he knew he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material, emotionally speaking.

“is this okay to wear?” she asks, gesturing to her outfit and effectively breaking him out of his thoughts. he rakes his eyes downwards over her form, shamefully grateful for the opportunity. hugged by a tight white shirt and baggy jeans that hung to expose a long strip of her lower hips, connecting at her front and lower back. he tears his eyes back up to meet hers.

“yeah, should be fine,” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, “you won’t be working in the kitchen too much at first, so you don’t have to wear a uniform,” he tells her, putting his hands onto the counter, leaning into them slightly.

“and just regular work clothes for my next shift?” she asks, finding herself also leaning forward to press her weight against the edge of the counter. he nods, “yeah,” a smirk creeps at the edges of his lips, “just uh, maybe not ricky’s attire,” glancing at the girl. she giggles. he thinks it sounds like bells chiming.

“what?” she tries to sound surprised, “how am i supposed to make the same tips then?” a smile plays on her lips, meeting his eyes. he lets out a laugh, studying her face.

“i think you’ll find a way,” he responds. the counter space between the two seemed much smaller than earlier, as now he could see her face in much finer detail. he studies it, briefly, then tears his eyes away, forcing himself to step back. he clears his throat,

“follow me,” and begins walking towards the kitchen, “we’ll try and find you an apron. and introduce you to everyone.”

a slight feeling of nervousness as she trails behind, unsure what “everyone” will entail.

“okay,” she replies, and steps behind the counter.

—

he finds himself in his apartment that night, halfheartedly watching a rerun of an old sitcom on his small tv, his mind wandering back to her time again. he was oddly intrigued by her, wanting to get to know her better. it wasn’t just a physical thing—although she was easy on the eyes— it was her demeanor, sweet and gentle, that somehow immediately smoothed his edges. the staff all took an instant liking to her, welcoming her into the kitchen enthusiastically. sydney seemed happy to have another young woman in the restaurant, tina asking her about her university, richie making the occasional snide comment, but undeniably taking a liking to the new colleague. she made her way around the register system surprisingly fast without training, seamlessly taking orders with the exception of a few brief pauses. carmy kept an eye on the girl throughout the rest of the evening in case she needed him, watching her quickly adapt to the shift of environment. the dinner rush moved shockingly smooth, the large tip jar, empty while richie was manning the front, was halfway full at closing time. he was admittedly impressed with the young woman, trying hard to mentally discern between admiring and enamoring. it was almost as if a bright light had graced the restaurant that evening, leaving carmen with a lingering warm tingle throughout his body.

he looks around his dark apartment, messy and congested, cigarettes overflowing the ashtray, dishes piling the sink. letting out a deep sigh and running his hand through his curls, he stands, shutting off the tv and making his way to the bedroom. he could clean everything up tomorrow, not that it would make much of a difference, he thinks. although the booming launch of the bear was incredibly uplifting to the chef, reassuring him of the sacrifices he made to keep mikey’s restaurant running, there was still a void carmen felt deep in his heart, growing increasingly apparent in his solitude. he often felt trapped inside of himself, wondering if this was just something he would have to learn to deal with, destined to be defined by his profession, wishing there there was a way he could give into his personal desires while maintaining his professional growth. he crawls into bed and shuts off his lamp light.

you can’t have your cake and eat it too, a saying he heard from his mom as a kid. he shuts his eyes.

—

fuck. she takes an uneasy breath, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. turning on the faucet, wetting her palms in cold water and bringing the shaky hands to both sides of her face.

why am i so nervous?

she wondered if everyone felt this way before a hookup, focusing on deep breaths to calm her nerves. she wasn’t used to this. she had only ever been intimate within relationships, not having experience with casual encounters, nevertheless ones involving her boss. she knew it was a risky pursuit, especially for being a girl with an easily breakable heart, having shed many tears over lovers prior. nevertheless, something about the pull she felt to carmen was magnetic. he was strong, dominant, confident in his work, yet deeply complicated, a dull sadness within his striking eyes. he seemed the type of person to consistently be bearing the heaviest load on his back, and she had an inexplicable urge to relieve him of this, even if only for a moment. she wanted to watch him in bliss at her own control. just have to make sure it doesn’t go too far, she consistently reminds herself. she studies herself in the mirror, skinny straps of a short white sundress peak out from underneath her hair. a dress she specifically chose for him, adorning her exposed chest with a simple gold necklace. she ultimately was aiming to be comfortable for the night, yet each item was intentionally selected with a certain set of eyes in mind.

i can do it. i’m going to have fun tonight, she tells herself, and potentially fuck my incredibly hot boss, warming at the thought, then i’m never ever gonna think about him again, she internalizes, having had enough with wasted energy on dead end flings.

she smoothes out the white dress, satisfied with how it hugs her figure, then exits the small bathroom, making her way into her living room. the clock in the adjacent kitchen reads 11:13, and she makes her way to the large window to watch for carmy’s car. she felt erratic, heart palpitating in her chest at each set of headlights that drove by. she opens the window a few inches, breathing in the warm summer night to try and calm her increasing nervousness. it does work, a bit, and she’s able to even out her breathing before leaving. after a moment, a car slowly drives up to the pavement in front of her apartment and stops, engine idling. her phone vibrates on the counter, and she picks it up.

carmy: i’m here.

her heart does a leap in her chest, grabbing her keys and turning off the light before opening her front door and walking outside, locking it behind her. she feels slightly self conscious in the headlights while approaching his car, hearing the click of the passenger’s door being pushed open for her. she grabs the door, pulling it all the way open.

“hi,” she greets, a bit shy.

“hey,” he replies warmly, silently taking her image in. she climbs into the car and shuts the door behind her, noticing the clean car’s lack of trash and empty ashtray, differing from the previous night. she meets his eyes, a fluttering in her chest. he looks tired, lids low and white shirt wrinkled, but still has a spark in his eyes, clearly admiring the girl’s presentation. he turns his head back in front of him, breaking the eye contact and putting the car into drive.

“how was close?” she breaks the silence with, noticing the way his eyes flicker back over to her.

“long,” he admits, “harder without you there.”

her heart jumps against her ribs, face growing warm at the slight praise.

“what? you mean richie isn’t the best front of house closer ever?” she feigns surprise, smiling at the thought.

he lets out a scoff, shaking his head, and she softly giggles at this. the lull of the tires against the road fills her ears, noting the limited cars out at this time. her nerves have significantly calmed from before, but she still feels a knot in her stomach, amplified by the light smell of his cologne within the confined space.

“are you, uh… are you hungry?” he asks her, eyes trained front. she pauses a moment, debating whether she is hungry or the gnawing feeling in her stomach is from nerves alone.

“yeah,” she replies, “i am.” she wasn’t going to turn down a personal meal from a world class chef, and the thought of him cooking for her before anything else spreads a warmth throughout her chest.

“good,” a small smile on his face, “i’ll make us somethin’.”

carmen couldn’t help but feel excitement bloom in his chest at the prospect of spending time alone with the young woman, having spent the day at the restaurant mentally preparing for the night. he had been chopping onions before the dinner rush when she closely brushed behind him in the confined space. he was able to smell her sweet perfume, triggering an image of her to flash across his mind— kneeled, lips parted, face flushed, chest bare, leaning into his hands— the knife slipped and he sliced the side of his finger, cursing an obscenity as soon as it happened. he dropped the knife on the cutting board, walking over to the sink, mentally cursing himself for allowing the to perverse thoughts to bleed over into his work, as he promised himself many times they wouldn’t. the bleeding of his finger had stopped quickly under the cool stream of water to reveal a small nick. he was able to put a bandaid on it and get directly back to work, but it plagued him a bit. he wondered if would he be able to maintain the professional kitchen environment in the long run, once the two were satisfied with the fun they’d had. it had proved difficult so far, thoughts of her swarming his head uncontrollably since she had stepped foot into his restaurant.

the car slows, pulling up to the curb outside carmen’s apartment complex. he pushes the gear shift into park, turning off the engine.

“this is you?” she asks, to which he nods. “you live closer than i thought you did,” she chimes, opening the door to step out of the car. she smooths the white dress, glancing around the complex. he comes up behind the girl, pressing a hand to the small of her back.

“this way,” he says, ushering her forward. she can’t help but focus on the warmth of his hand, large and encompassing against her thinly clothed skin. they enter the building, taking the long flight of stairs up to his home, carmy desperately trying to look anywhere else besides the length of her legs leading up to the soft skin of her ass, fully visible as she climbs in front of him. they speedily make it to the top, carmen rustling in his front pocket for the keys. he swings the door open to a dark room, stepping in and flicking on a lamp switch. she follows him in, eyes scanning her surroundings. it was clean and tidy, with piles of various cook books stacked on side tables and a knitted green blanket draped over the old couch. the place smelled like him, and she feels her muscles relax.

“i know it’s not much, but uh,” he shuts the door, “make yourself at home, please.”

she gives him a big smile, “it’s cute. just what i imagined,” and puts her belongings on a side table, walking around to examine the space. he feels the edges of his lips twitch at her response, watching her look at the scarcity of the place. she spins around, facing him, “you’re really clean, too.” she sounds impressed.

he smiles at this, appreciating the assumption.

“it’s not always like this,” he responds truthfully. she lets out a soft laugh and saunters over towards the kitchen island, pushing herself up to sit on the stool he had. he walks to the opposite side of the counter, opening the fridge to gather various ingredients for their dinner.

“what are you gonna make?” she curiously asks.

“just uh,” he pauses, looking for an item, “something quick.” he straightens, carrying the ingredients to the counter. he meets her eyes, the two separated by a few feet of laminate, and he feels his chest constrict under her gaze. “some roasted chicken and veggies, with a garlic herb butter,” he turns back to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine, beginning to look for a corkscrew.

“fuck,” she breathes out, “that sounds so good.”

carmy tenses, stilling for a moment. he loved the way her voice sounded, wanted to hear more. it was apparent he was tightly strung from the grueling week, feeling reactive to everything she said. he pulls the corkscrew out from a drawer, opening the fresh bottle and grabbing two glasses.

“you want some?” he asks her, holding it up.

she nods, “yes, please,” eager for a bit of liquid encouragement. he fills the two glasses halfway, handing her one and bringing the side of his glass to clink against hers.

“cheers for making it through the week,” he toasts, earning a giggle from her.

“cheers! and,” she continues, tilting her head, “cheers for richie not seeing my tits when i was in your office,” she grins and takes a slow sip of the wine, maintaining their eye contact. he lets out a breathy laugh, raising his wine glass to his lips, “yeah, i’ll cheers to that,” and drinks, the red wine dry on his lips.

with both of their plates empty and the girl’s warm praise still lingering in the room, carmen drinks the remaining wine from his third glass, feeling calm and airy. the apartment is hot and fragrant from the cooking, and the young man notices a pinch of want in the back of his mind, wondering where he had put his cigarettes.

“do you mind if i go smoke?” he asks her, wine weighing on his tongue. she smiles a bit, shaking her head.

“i’ll go with you,” her voice a bit lower and more drawn out than he would regularly hear it. he nods, standing and walking towards the bedroom to look for a pack of cigarettes.

“i don’t have a balcony,” he calls from his room, opening his nightstand drawer, “but we can step out onto the fire escape for a bit,” he grabs his carton out of the dresser. carmy walks back into the room to find the girl standing, peering out his window at the black grated fire escape structure. he leans beside her to unlock the window, pushing it open. he puts one leg through, ducks, then steps out, offering a hand for the girl. she takes it, hand small in his, and repeats his actions, noticing a definitive impairment as she joins him outside.

the night was warm and humid, chicago air damp with the summer monsoon. it smelled good outside, though, air fresh with recent rain, a mellow hum of cicada sounding throughout the trees. carmy flips the carton open, placing a filter between his lips and illuminating his face with the orange of the lighter’s flame. she runs her eyes over his features while they’re briefly lit up, finding herself in a close proximity to him, the two leaning up against the iron railing. she brushes her hair back behind her shoulders, watching the man smoke. the few glasses of wine she had clouded her previous anxieties. she genuinely couldn’t remember what she was worried about now, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the man in front of her. she leans into him, pressing the side of her hip into his thigh, arm flush against his.

“can i have some?” she asks, staring up at him, glancing down at the cigarette. she didn’t know exactly what it was, the alcohol or him looking so attractive with a cancer stick in his mouth, but she felt compelled to give it another try, having a distaste from previous experience. he turns to face her, gazes locking, a glint of surprise behind his eyes.

“sure,” he answers, remaining still, pointer and middle finger loosely grasping the cigarette. he glances at her expectantly and she leans over, bringing her mouth to the filter, lips brushing the tips of his fingers. she sucks, carmen watching, completely entranced, then stands upright again, exhaling the smoke with a slight furrow in her brow. the man lets a slight smirk break his face, bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth and inhaling. he studies the dark street behind his building, sporadically illuminated by the soft glow of a street lamp, tiredness catching up with him. she keeps her eyes trained on the man, trailing from his face down his body. she stops at his arms, admiring the sheer strength of them, tracing her sights over his various tattoos. she almost felt overtaken by want in that moment, darting her eyes back up to his lips wrapped around the cigarette. the young woman leans into him further, more of her body touching his and now facing him directly, tipsiness slightly clouding her rationality.

“carm,” she breathes out, immediately catching his attention. he gazes down at her, cognisant of her breasts pushed against his side, studying her face to find desire written across her features. she brings a hand to his chest, leaning up and gently kissing his neck. she feels his sharp intake of breath under her body, and she smirks at this, placing a few more gentle kisses around the side of his neck. the two had a strict rule about kissing on the lips, but never made the clear distinction to forbid all types of kissing, carmy not daring to protest. his eyes fall closed, focused on the heat of her lips against his neck, the weight of her body on his. he throws the cigarette to the ground, wrapping an arm around her, sliding his fingers up her back and to the base of her skull, carding his fingers through her hair. she nips his neck suddenly, causing him to instinctively tighten his grip, pulling the hair, emanating a breathy moan from the girl. his mouth falls open, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. wrapping his other arm around her back, hand grabbing her hip, he pulls their bodies closer together. carmen’s tight grip doesn’t falter, pulling her head back to see her face, her eyes trailing upwards to meet his. she studies his blown pupils, him drinking her in as if she were a desert oasis. her face is flushed, lids heavy, eyes locked onto his. he leans in and pulls her simultaneously, lightly putting his forehead against hers, noses touching, lips twitching. she can smell the smoke on his breath combined with his fresh deodorant. she finds herself completely intoxicated by this, tightly shutting her eyes, unsure of what she’ll do if she continues to stare. she feels his breath, warm on her lips, so desperate for contact.

“you like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice a low rumble.

she gently nods, nose brushing against his, not trusting her voice. a slight tug makes her softly gasp, eyes snapping open. he pulls away, but only slightly. “answer me,” the sound of his voice weakening her knees. he scans his eyes over her face.

“yes,” she breathes out, sounding far more sultry than she intended, “i really like it, carm,” she admits, tone needy. he pulls away from her completely, the girl missing the warmth from his face almost instantly.

“get inside,” he growls, releasing her hair and removing his arm, leaning over and shoving the window open.

she takes a second to collect herself, almost dizzy from the eye contact and the growing heat under her dress. she puts her hand on the window ledge, climbing back into the apartment as quickly as she could. carmy follows behind, shutting the window halfway. he eyes the girl, standing by the edge of the counter, then walks past her to the couch, sitting in the middle, leaning back. she shifts, unsure of what to do, her hazed courage of earlier fading.

“c’mere,” he gestures her over.

she slowly walks towards him, coming to stand in front of him in between his seated legs, front of her shins bumping into the sofa. he leans forward, bringing his strong hands to caress the back of her thighs, admiring the silkiness of her skin, trailing his palms up and towards the curve of her ass, softly kneading the skin, then stopping.

“take this off,” he commands, squeezing. her face reddens, inching her hands down to the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it up her thighs. she pauses, before flipping the edge up over her head, taking the dress off completely. he softly groans at the sight, fabric removed to reveal her bare body, clothed only by a pair of skinny black panties. she drops it on the floor, shyly bringing her arms up to cover her breasts. he leans closer to her, pressing a kiss to her navel, bringing his hands up to grab her hips. he marvels at her exposed skin, feeling close to primal with desire, tempted to pull her onto his lap and shove the panties to the side.

should i?

he glances upwards at her, a smile creeping at the edges of his lips. he slides his left hand down to her the back of her lower thigh, then quickly pulls her body towards him, the girl letting out a sound of surprise, straddling his lap. he pushes her knees open more, hand trailing towards her inner thigh, stroking the soft skin, moving closer to kiss her neck. she lets out a quiet, “yes,” as she leans into the man’s touch, hoping for some release. his fingers brush against the fabric of her clothed mound, making her buck her hips forward a bit.

“want me to touch you?” he asks her, voice low in tone. she quickly nods her head, biting down on her lip to prevent any escaping noise. he brings his pointer finger to her clothed slit, dragging it up and down over the sensitive area a few times, noticing the abundant slickness beneath the fabric. her eyes flutter closed, cherishing the delicate contact, craving far more. carmen watches her closely, pulling his hand away. her brow furrows, to which he smiles. bringing his left hand from her thigh, he grabs the black panties and pulls them to the side, exposing her glistening core. he groans at the sight, the girls face flushing, bringing his thumb to rest on her swollen clit, unmoving. she whimpers at the sensitivity, bucking her hips forward once more, to which he tightens his grip on her thigh in response. he starts rubbing small, torturous circles with his thumb, thoroughly enjoying the reaction of her body, heat eminating from between her legs, juices dripping down the insides of her thighs and down onto his pants.

“you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he tells her, cock straining against his pants. she’s too embarrassed to respond, closing her eyes and throwing her arms over carmen’s shoulders, resting her face in the crevice of his neck as he continues his circles at a faster pace, dipping his middle finger down to rest against her opening. she kisses his neck, needy for more and tired of waiting, giving a thrust of her hips to sink herself onto his finger. she releases a drawn out moan, clenching around the soaked digit.

“fuck,” he curses.

a sharp smack lands on her thigh, the girl softly whimpering in response, coming back up to meet carmen’s eyes. he has a stern look on his face, a glint of enjoyment present.

“you want me inside of you that bad?” he questions, beginning a soft curling motion with his finger, loving the way she begins to fall apart.

“yesss,” she pleads, breathing heavily, trying to get closer to him, her hand coming up to the base of his neck to anchor herself. he increases the pace, bringing his thumb back to circle the bundle of nerves. feeling her relax at the pleasure, he pushes a second finger into her, marveling at the hot constriction of her walls. his pulses become rhythmic, middle and ring finger fucking into her, a wet squelching sound beginning to fill the room. her panting moans uncontrollably increase in crescendo, quickly clamping her teeth down to bite her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. he studies her face, closely— eyes screwed shut and head thrown back, trying to seem less affected by his fingers than she obviously is.

his eyes trail down to her bare chest, nipples perked.

jesus christ

carmy slows the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper now. he shifts, bringing his lips to brush against her right breast, trailing upwards to her nipple, gently sucking the bud into his mouth.

her teeth release from her lips, letting out a whimper from the pleasure.

he smirks a little, motivated from the noise, taking his fingers almost completely out and easing them back in entirely. his thumb continues its feather like circles around her clit, carmy teasing a gentle bite to her nipple. obscene sounds plentifully spill from her mouth, leaning forward into him as he comes up from her breast. her eyes open and lock with his,

“oh my god, yes,” she cries, breath increasingly heavy, his slow fingers bringing her to the edge. a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as he continues the same movements, watching her approach her climax, eyes shutting tightly, head leaning back.

“please don’t stop,” her words come rushed, “i’m-“

he withdraws his fingers from inside of her, removing his hand from her warmth completely. she lifts her head immediately and looks to the man, confusion and frustration apparent on her face. he lets his smirk grow.

“what?” he asks, watching her brows furrow further, “did you think i was gonna let you cum?” he asks as he grips her thighs.

“you’re cruel,” she whines, head falling against his shoulder.

“yeah?” the smirk on his face was prevalent in his tone. she shifts the placement of her head and comes to gently kiss the bottom of his neck, the hand resting on his chest slowly inching down his stomach and caressing the skin that meets the edge of his pants.

“yeah,” she responds. another kiss to his neck, this one higher up. she sits up slightly to move her hands lower, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. she goes to greedily pull the waist band of his underwear, and he stops her, grabbing her wrist.

“get down on your knees,” he commands, voice rough. she feels a surge of excitement run through her, easing herself to the ground between his legs, eager to inflict on him the pleasure she endured moments earlier, a dull ache residing in her core. she helps him pull his jeans down around his ankles, him kicking them off completely. she runs her hands over the tops of his strong thighs, then bringing her lips to trail kisses from his lower to upper thigh, teasing closer and closer to his clothed bulge, straining against the fabric. he sits up, slightly, pulling his shirt off over his head. she could swear her mouth watered at the sight, shamelessly gawking at his broad muscles completely exposed, along with tattoos she’s never had the pleasure of seeing. she rubs the palm of her hand over the solid bulge, inching towards the waistband of his briefs. in a fluid motion she quickly peels them towards her, carmy’s cock springing from the confinement and slapping against his stomach. she can’t help but let out a soft moan at the sight, bringing a hand up to grasp the base of his cock, thick and heavy in her hand. the young woman marvels, a bit.

“it’s big,” she observes, glancing up at him, then back down. she slowly jerks her hand up and down a few times, nervously eyeing the length. she leans forward, placing a hand on his thigh, and licking a long stripe up the side of his cock, then softly kisses the tip, brushing the head against her plumped lips. she looks up at the man’s face, jaw clenched and eyes completely fixated on her. she flattens her tongue and licks the head of his penis, swirling it around the tip. when she locks eyes with him and grins at him, tongue on his cock, he nearly explodes, throwing his head back against the couch and groaning. she presses her bare breasts against his thighs, now engulfing his length in her mouth, slowly moving up and down, hand wrapping around to stroke what she can’t fit. he grunts, bringing his hand up to his mouth, biting his knuckles for composure. she falls into a pace, saliva coating his cock, dripping onto his stomach. she forces her mouth down deeper onto him, gagging, tears brimming her eyes.

“fuck!” he exclaims, jolting forward. he grabs her hair, gathering it with his hands to keep it out of the way, using every ounce of resistance he has to keep from pushing her head down further onto him. she sinks her mouth lower, bobbing her head and quickening her pace. he tightens his grip on her hair and says her name. she looks up in inquiry, releasing him from her mouth with a wet pop. she continues to stroke his length, meeting his eyes.

“stand up,” he tells the girl, her immediately complying and getting up, wiping the spit away from her mouth. he comes to lean forward, eye level with her stomach, hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties and removing them altogether. he looks up to her.

“go get on the bed,” watching her quickly nod and turn towards his bedroom, standing and following the girl, both of them stark in their nudity. his eyes fall to her round ass, bringing a hand up to give it a small smack. she lets out a little yelp in surprise, turning over her shoulder to find a grin on his face. upon entering the dark room, carmy walks to the end of the bed, switching on a lamp on his dresser. the girl crawls onto the bed, flipping to lay on her back, resting her head on his pillow. she watches him from across the room, raising a knee to stack and bringing her hand up to her chest. she runs her thumb over her perked nipple, tracing her free hand down her navel to the crease of her thigh, staring at the man. he turns to her, raking his eyes over her laying form. her hand shifts lower, fingers brushing over her slickened clit, letting out a soft gasp. she arches her back slightly, rubbing small, soft circles over her sensitivity, locking eyes with the man.

jesus fuck, he internalizes, praying to god this image would remain forever burned into his brain, cock twitching.

there was something about the man that completely diminished her inhibitions, allowing her to fully submit to her desires and finding her brain instantly numb at his control. she tweaks her nipple, letting out a moan, face flushing, lips parting to speak.

“come fuck me already, carmy,” she breathes out, movements faltering. he immediately reacts, getting onto the bed, hands hooking under her thighs and pulling her lower body flush to his, his cock laying over her pelvis.

“can’t wait anymore?” he asks lowly, fully knowing his own desire is immeasurable, desperate to be inside of her.

“no,” she whines, bucking her hips and unintentionally spreading her slickness over the bottom of his length. he lets out a strained breath, running his thumb over her hipbones, grip tightening. he pulls back, then slowly thrusts forward to glide through her folds, feeling her grow increasingly wet. he moves back slightly, now gripping his cock and giving it a stroke, pressing it against her opening. he shifts his hips, slowly inserting the head. he looks to her, meeting her eyes.

“this ok?” he asks, scanning her face, watching her nod enthusiastically.

“put it in, please,” she pleads.

he pushes his hips forward, sinking inside of her inch by inch. the two watch the sight, entranced, a harmonious moan ripping through the both of them. buried to the hilt, carmy pauses, coming forward to lean over her— resting his right forearm by her head, his left arm wrapping around her leg and hoisting it up over his lower back. she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in further. his thrusts start slow and shallow, face buried in her neck, almost in disbelief of the pleasure, so much better than those dreams. he bottoms out, hearing her gasp.

“you feel,” she breathes out, “so good,” her eyes screwing shut. he thrusts, again, slowly, moving his hand to grip her ass.

“fuck, baby” he groans into her neck, hips working at a delicate pace. she clenches involuntarily at the name, eager for more, urging him closer with her leg. he recognizes the cue, bringing his leg in closer, pulling out almost completely then plunging back into her. she pants, bringing a shaky hand up to grab his sturdy bicep for stability, feeling his strong muscles ripple underneath her grip. he bites down on his bottom lip, face and chest flushed as he pulls his cock back out of her tightness, thoroughly enjoying the view. he snaps his hips forward, the girl crying out, squeezing his arm tightly. carmen settles into a heightened pace, the depth of his cock igniting a fire within the girl. she moves a hand down and circles her sensitive clit with two fingers, feeling her orgasm already rapidly building as he lifts her lower back slightly off the mattress, driving into her harder. breaths grow heavy, the room gets hotter, skin slaps against skin. he brings his hand up to the side of her face, coming to hover above her, locking eyes. her whole face is flush, baby hairs sticking up, a wild lust in her gaze. carmy snaps his hips harder.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he tells her in pace with his thrusts, the girl letting out a moan in response, ripping her hand away from her clit as to not fall over the peak. everything is almost too much as the man relentlessly fucks her, savoring every sound, feeling, sight, not knowing if this would ever happen again. her climax approaches closer with each strong thrust of his hips, and she feels compelled to ask permission.

“carmy,” she whimpers, “can i please cum?”

he groans, moving his hand to rest on her throat.

“hold on baby, almost,” he grits through his clenched jaw, driving his cock deeply into her, slick juices spreading everywhere. she brings her hand to the back of his neck, grabbing his curly brown locks and tugging. he lets out a sharp breath at the action, hammering his hips against her, hoisting her leg a bit higher. his thrusts stutter, feeling himself grow impossibly closer to the edge. her moans become a chorus of “please, please, please,” desperate to cum around his cock. he grins slightly at her anticipation, lightly putting pressure against her throat.

“you gonna cum for me?” he growls, feeling himself approaching his own orgasm. she nods, tears brimming her eyes, face contorted in pleasure. his simple words snap the final string holding her together, and she comes undone with a loud cry, digging her nails into his back. the pleasure feels white hot throughout her body, waves of euphoria overtaking her. her body shivers, the clenching of her heat around carmen is enough to push him over his edge as he lets out a strangled moan, hot cum shooting into her, cock pulsing against her walls. they both lay there still, riding out the aftershocks together, bodies flush. they both catch their breaths for a moment, basking in the warmth of each other. carmy pushes himself up onto his forearm, grabbing her face with a strong hand and planting a kiss on her cheek, then one on her forehead. she tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt inside of her. he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a few tissues, then slowly pulls out of her, his cum spilling down the curve of her ass. he gently cleans her up with the tissue, walking to the bathroom to throw them away once she’s dry. he returns to his room to see her sprawled onto her side, laying over his pillows. he joins in, laying next to her, scooting his strong arm under her head. she scoots closer to him, hand on his chest. he’s warm, smells good, feels safe, and she finds her eyes close for a moment.

“i’ll leave in just a sec,” she tells him softly, “i’m just so comfy.”

he wraps his other arm around her, kissing her forehead once more.

“stay the night,” he suggests, knowing it’s for a selfish reason, currently unable to fathom sleeping in a cold and empty bed without her presence. she happily hums in response, snuggling closer, already feeling herself drifting off. he closely watches the girl laying in his arms, eyes flickering over her face. he admires her features up close, examining what he’s usually too far away to see, running his eyes over a few faded freckles, the light peach fuzz on her cheek, the glimmer of a golden nose ring. he feels a twinge in his chest, resting his forehead against the sleeping girl’s, her deep breathing melodic to his tired ears. carmy knew deep down he wouldn’t be able to entertain this forever, opting to cherish the feeling of her against him while it lasts. he reaches to the foot of the bed, pulling a throw blanket up over the two of them, not bothering to shut off the lamp. he feels a sweet relief once he pulls her into him once more, nuzzling his nose into her hair. he shuts his eyes, the events from the day catching up to him.

he finds the last thing he thinks about before drifting into sleep is her, sweet and airy, breathing in her scent closely. he hears a dreamlike giggle, reminiscent of bells chiming, and smiles softly.

—

i hope you enjoyed! writing for these two gives me the butterflies fr

chapter 3 hopefully in the works! <33 if you enjoy please let me know :)

part 3 - human, for a minute

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

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so-sures-blog · 2 months ago

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Teenage Mercenary Headcanons

(Most of these are of Dayeon Yu because she's my fave character, but the Numbers are thrown in, too!)

☆☆☆

— Dayeon absolutely knows Ijin's secret, but she isn't confronting him because she wants him to trust her and come forward himself. Dayeon is sweet, not oblivious.

Who do you think sews the clothes whenever he gets slashed? Washed out the blood? Takes out the trash that has all his bloody bandages? She's literally seen him try to stab someone's eye out with a chopstick. Fight against experienced killers when she was kidnapped with Yeona. It only takes a quick google search to find out Dushik Cha is the biggest gangster in Seoul, Korea — and Ijin has him on speed dial. When the Congressman and his childrens' crimes broke the news, you think Dayeon didn't see it — didn't notice that with all the videos posted on the internet, only hers wasn't shown?

Ijin got a job at SW, the most prestigious company in the entire world, as a bodyguard. You have to have an extreme amount of fighting talent and skill to be able to become a bodyguard there, even as a part-timer. Normally, that would take months, years to be accepted. Nobody knew how he was scouted, not even the higher-ups. Which would mean Ijin was personally hired and got the job through connections with the CEO of SW.

The point is that Ijin is the most unsubtle person on the planet, and Dayeon is ready.

— The Numbers have tattoos! After they got initiated, they all got tattoos of their numbers. It serves as a reminder that they belong to The Camp and have no identity beyond that.

— I feel like Dayeon would be really into psychology. Being bullied by Huijin for years, I think that Dayeon would pick up behavioral cues from her as a coping mechanism. She is very observant, so I imagine she psychoanalyzes those around her to determine whether or not they are good people. I also see her use her psychology skills to translate into being a detective for learning about Ijin and the Numbers. I can picture her basically backing the Numbers into a corner and forcing them to talk about their feelings. She has a lot of impromptu therapy sessions.

— Ijin and Dayeon go to a rich kid school but live in a bad neighborhood. Yeona Sin, granddaughter of the SW CEO, goes to their school, and so did the Congressman's children, so it has to be a rich kid school. I headcannon that Grandpa Yu worked hard to send Dayeon to a good school, so that's why she goes there even though they don't have money. Also, they live in a bad neighborhood because how else would Ijin beat up high-school assholes and live within motorcycle-riding distance from Dushik Cha, Seoul's #1 gangster?

— The Numbers speak multiple languages! Being sent on multiple assignments in different continents, I feel like they would pick up different languages in order to blend in.

— Dayeon is good with first aid! It's not through want, but when she was being bullied, she had to patch up her own injuries by herself, so she became well practiced in it. And, when she was younger and first learning how to cook, she kept on getting cuts on her hands from the knife. But she didn't want her grandpa to worry and send her to the hospital for stitches, so she learned to do it herself!

(Inspired by my mother, who cut herself with a knife and promptly sewed herself up with a needle and thread with no tears or medical experience whatsoever.)

She helps heal her brother's injuries. She's not as good at stitches as Ijin is, but she insists she has to when he comes home with injuries, and it's the thought that counts, right? Also, she took it upon herself to learn CPR for her grandpa when she was really young in case he had a heart attack from his weak heart ;(

— Dayeon steals her brother's jackets and wears them around. At first, it was merely coincidence — her just grabbing the first thing when she's in a rush — but soon it becomes a habit to reach for Ijin's jacket instead of her own. They're comfy and oversized, and she loves it. Her favorite is the grey one with white armbands Ijin often wears. Ijin doesn't mind. Her wearing his jackets actually protects her more even when he is not around. He goes out and takes care of high school jerks often so that they start to recognize the clothing he beat them up in.

High-School Gangster: (sees Dayeon walking home alone innocently) Ooh, cute girl!

Gang: (goes up to harass her before pausing when they see her jacket.) Wait ...

(Recognizing Ijin's jacket, paling, and realizing that he with absolutely fuck them up if they mess with his little sister.)

Gang: (jumping the guy who pointed out Dayeon, beating him up.) You piece of shit! Don't you drag us into your goddamn death wish!

Ijin traumatized all the gangs in the area, and it's beautiful.

— Ijin and Dayeon have dimples! At first, it was only Dayeon because I researched and found dimples represent a sign of beauty and cheerfulness in many cultures, which I thought suited her perfectly. But then I wanted Ijin and Dayeon to have something in common due to resemblance, and the dimples appeared. Also, I wanted the Numbers to have that extra wow factor when they see Ijin's smile and realize he has dimples.

— Grian is a melting pot filled with orphaned children of all ethnicities. I imagined that missionaries from all countries came to Grian to try and "fix it up" before having children with the locals. Maybe the parents were killed, or they abandoned them, but the point is that most of the children there grew up orphaned before they were inducted into military camps.

— Besides Ijin and 032, all of the other Numbers are in their mid-to-late twenties. Think about it — it's been 10 years since the plane crash, and they were all teenagers when they were in the Camp. And none of them look especially older or younger.

— Ijin takes after his parents in looks. He has his mom's hair and his dad's face. You can tell he was their son just by looking at him. That's why Grandpa Yu was so emotional when Ijin came back. It was like seeing his son and daughter-in-law come alive again within his grandson. But Dayeon?

Dayeon looks exactly like her grandma, so much that sometimes it literally hurts Grandpa Yu to look at her. It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate — to leave him with the little girl that looked exactly like his wife to raise when he should've been left with Ijin, so Grandpa can still have some part of his son and daughter-in-law with him (Dayeon internalized these thoughts when she was younger).

— Dayeon knows how to do makeup! Again, this was mostly out of necessity — she had to learn how to cover up the bruises when she was being bullied. The bullies were smart enough to not go for her face, but sometimes when she fought back she'd catch a blow across the cheek — hence, she was forced to learn how to cover it up with makeup and over the years has perfected the art of hiding bruises. Sometimes, when Ijin comes home with bruises, she drags him to her room and helps him cover it up with makeup.

— Ijin and Dayeon actually have a lot of similarities and neither of them realize it. They have the same habits and quirks, and subconsciously hold the same fears of revealing their past traumas. It's honestly a bit ironic and hilarious, seeing as physically Ijin and Dayeon look nothing alike for siblings. For example, Ijin works out and goes on runs when something is weighing on his mind while Dayeon paces the floor until it is practically worn and tries to busy herself with chores.

It always makes Dayeon petulant when one of her friends or the Numbers point it out because she knows firsthand how frustrating her brother can be.

— When Yeona gets drunk she has the habit of buying an excessive amount of things for her friends. Dayeon's cold? Watch her buy a full set of expensive winter gear for her. The guys are feeling hungry? She'll clear out the entire convenience store. She has zero recollection of what she bought the next day and Hyeokjin and Jaehyeong find it hysterical when they see all of the absurd, random things she's bought. The whole group makes fun of how much money she wracked up in a single night. Seokju always has to take away her wallet beforehand whenever they go out.

— After the whole kidnapping arc with Dayeon and Yeona, Seokju took it upon himself to teach the girls some basic self defense. Mostly it's dodging and escaping holds, and they've both gotten pretty good! When they first started out, Ijin would be staring lasers at Seokju on the sidelines whenever he would handle his sister, which he felt he could personally do without. Now, Ijin helps out with the training while Yeongchan, Jaehyeong, and Hyeokjin spectate and cheer. While it irks him, the girls love it and take the opportunity to show off what they've learned.

— Jaehyeong says that he doesn’t know what he wants to be in the future, but secretly he wants to be a race car driver. He loves cars. As soon as this guy gets his hands on a license, he’ll be driving everywhere. Constantly gets pulled over for speeding tickets. If the friend group was ever in an apocalypse, Jaehyeong would be their getaway driver simply because he’s crazy behind the wheel, and can probably pull off all those stunts you see in the movies. His grandpa is the chairman of Gihyeon Motors, so you bet he’ll have access to the best vehicles there is. He’s the guy who’ll pull up to school or a McDonald’s in a sports car just to brag (he’d get it in orange, simply because it’s his signature color and he likes to be obnoxious).

Keeps his dream of being a race car driver private because he doesn’t want his family to take that away from him (which they could). So far, his plan is to complete his military requirement after high school to stall his way from the family business — because unlike Hyeokjin, he hates business — but after that he’s got nothing. However, after seeing Yeongchan pursue a career in streaming, he found he can become much more courageous in voicing his opinion of his future.

— The funniest thing about 004 is that he actually has a resting pretty face but chooses to look like a straight up sewer demon on a regular basis. 005 said once in passing that “004 can actually look good if he just shuts his mouth” and instead of taking it as a challenge of being attractive while talking like a normal person, he chose to twist his facial features into the most horrific expressions possible while spewing nonsense. Still, in the rare moments when he is calm, his face softens and you can properly see the ‘pretty boy’ face he hides behind his ‘bad boy’ exterior.

#teenage mercenary #mercenary enrollment #yu dayeon #yu ijin #sin yeona #ko seokju #lee jaehyeong #park yeongchan #ju hyeokjin #the numbers #The LOL Bandwagon Squad #headcanons #this is my dump for now ill add more later xp

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olderthannetfic · 9 months ago

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Apropos of world building.

No one is this whole wide world is allowed to say Harry Potter has good world building.

Always hated how people are super fascinated by this parallel society, but the only reason it works is because "Magic fuck you" until it apparently doesn't. It's so cheap and wishy washy. If literally every issue is just waved away with "magic" that's just cheap, because even problems that can't or shouldn't be fixed with magic, get fixed with magic. But then we still constantly hear about rules and that magic isn't a fix all, but only when it's convenient. It works for children's books maybe, but the moment it went beyond that, and then the entire "Extra lore" that happened later, it just started getting real stupid.

How do they keep their secret? -Magic.

Ok but obviously they are living somewhere so... -Magic expanding alleyways and areas.

But how does that work that literally no one notices, even from aerial shots? -Magic.

What about all the creatures that aren't normal? -Magic.

What if someone finds one of them or the plants? -Magic.

Ok, what about cross-cultural exchange? Even if you live in your gated community you gotta know some stuff about tech. Nope, magic.

Huh... -Also everyone is chronically stupid when it comes to tech, and even just normal "muggle" things, it's an entire field of education to figure out what human stuff does, that's why everything has this weird medieval vibe. And no, they couldn't "literally just go out and check it out." For some reasons the Wizards like dying out and being stupid, and pooping on the floor and magicking it away. Magic.

What about the schools? -Oh you mean the like 5 schools for millions of students? Eh forget about them. Hogwarts is the only one that makes any lick of sense in terms of size. You'll love to hear that the entirety of Asia has like 1-2 schools, and it's called something like "Magic castle" in real bad google-Japanese. Btw, don't expect any effort having been put in the names or places of other Wizard places, the author didn't give a shit to hire some editors to make sure she didn't just write some pointlessly dumb shit in that regard. And btw, please ignore other tensions because clearly Wizards would not have any kind of social tension across borders.

What about big events in the human world? -They don't care, they dealt with Wizard Hitler conveniently at the same time as WW2.

What about deadly sicknesses and their cures? -... yeah nah fuck the muggles. Magic. Also always hated how absolute braindead every thing is. Spells exist to find out what someone's last spell was. Is that used when some dude gets accused of murder? Of course not! How absurd.

HP has magnificent sense of place.

Personally, I care far more about that than about internally consistent world building of the type SF fanboys jerk off to, at least in most genres.

(EXCEPT FOR AGE OF SAIL! TACTICS, BABY! HOW DARE PEOPLE ADD ANACHRONISTIC OR FANTASY TECH!!!)

But yes, when people try to say HP has good "world building", they mean that it has good vibes and that it feels good if you don't look deeply. They do not mean the economy makes sense.

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bardcore-jaskier · 2 years ago

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♡My immortal Jaskier headcanons♡

So here are my headcanons, because I refuse to believe that our ball of sunshine has an expiration date...

So, I know Lauren said that Jaskier not aging in the show was just a filming mistake, something they simply forgot to do and on a completely logical level I am fully aware that in canon Jaskier is completely human, 100%. And I also know that they're not gonna change it, no matter how much some of us may wish they did (Although why not? They already strayed so far from the books and made so many changes, might as well go the extra mile)

Realistic-ish headcanons:

- Jaskier is part elf, perhaps quarter elf like Yennefer, it is an entirely justifiable headcanon, theoretically, Jaskier's human father could have married a half elf commoner woman (who may or may not have had the pointy tips on her ears cut off with a knife to avoid human prejudice)

- Jaskier has a fae ancestor, somewhere many many generations back in his ancestry, so his entire family is suspiciously long lived but nobody cares because Lettenhove isn't politically important and therefore doesn't catch the attention of the prejudiced Nobles farther up the royal court chain.

- Jaskier unintentionally drinks the same elixir mages/sorcerers drink to prolong their life. I read that chaos wielders don't have naturally long lifespans, they semi-regularly drink an elixir with mandrake roots in it to slow the aging process. According to Witcher Wiki, you can only buy mandrake root in Lindenvale and my headcanon is that Jaskier experiments with many different tea blends to see which one is more effective for soothing his throat after singing. So at the age of 29-30, he wanders into Lindenvale and buys some dried mandrake to make a tea, after one sip he felt more rejuvenated than ever and since that day, mandrake root tea has become his number one go-to, he drinks it as often as he can.

More fanfic centric, less canon possible headcanons:

- Jaskier is a Dryad. (Yayyy trans Jaskier headcanon) Since Lettenhove is so tiny, it isn't even on the Witcher continent map, but a simple Google search says that it is Located somewhere in Kerack. Kerack borders with Brokilon, so it's kind of a nifty little loophole for fanfic writers to use and place Lettenhove somewhere near the forests where Dryads live.

And while most Dryads treat any man that enters their realm as a mere sperm donor, Witcher Wiki does also mention that some Dryads can form emotional relationships and fall in love with humans and/or elves, but in the end, all Dryad born offspring is AFAB. So imagine this, Jaskier's father falls in love with a Dryad, she falls in love with him, they have Jaskier, Jaskier notices early on that he feels like a boy and his rich Viscount father hires a mage to help Jaskier transition early.

- Jaskier is a higher vampire, higher vampires are a HIGHLY secretive society, even in canon, part of the reason why even Witchers have so little information about them is because they prefer to hide in plain sight and are ridiculously good at it. Jaskier doesn't age, has no self-preservation instincts, doesn't buy a horse and yet still keeps up with Geralt on foot for 20 years. Jaskier's personality isn't fake, he doesn't act like someone else, it's all him, but his clumsiness is a little bit of an act, he also purposefully avoids physical fights, it comes across as fear of getting hurt but in reality it's because he's afraid of appearing too strong and exposing himself. Lettenhove doesn't appear on maps, because it doesn't exist legally, it's just a castle hidden in the woods, a safe place for higher vampires, kinda like Kaer Morhen is for Witchers, Jaskier's parents just happen to be the ones who run it.

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months ago

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"Also I noticed that Catherine who wasn't papped after her wedding had a rude surprise when she went for her mother's birthday in 2019."

Kate was papped loads of times after her wedding. Starting afew days afterwards when she was papped at her local Waitrose in Anglesey which everyone assumed to be an a staged papstroll with agreement of BP so media would leave her alone just as the royals used to do when they went on holidays.

The frequency of her being papped dropped after her wedding, and then after 2014 following the success of her France papped photos court case. 2014 was the year that EU privacy laws were incorporated into UK law that made it easier to sue paps like that guy, Niraj Tanna, from Ikon pictures who'd made a fortune papping Kate starting the dating years right through to toddler George.

Infact, it was Niraj Tanna stalking George + Nanny Maria when they were put and about in London that caused William to threaten to criminally sue him that finally stopped the family getting papped.

Google his name and Kate, you'll see all the pictures he papped her and when they stopped.

He was often labelled as the Middletons' dial-a-pap because of his uncanny ability to find Kate anywhere in the world unlike other paps, but the relationship got dicey after she sued him. He gave a public statement following the trial claiming that the secret of his success was that the Middletons had formed a relationship with him and called him to tell them where Kate would be.

This first lawsuit significantly cooled whatever relationship they had, but he continued to pap Kate following her marriage right upto the second threatened lawsuit, this time by William.

He stopped completely after that, claiming retirement as an active pap and instead concentrating on his photo agency.

Ironically, one of the London paps hired by Meghan to be her go-to paps for a limited time came from his agency. This was the guy who papped her wearing the M H necklace and is often quoted confirming her staged papstrolls. She hasn't used him since she returned to LA.

Ps: Niraj was the source of the Jecca/ married William.

He used to tweet about them and hint at something between them including captioning a papped William + Jecca at a Spanish airport as William's Camilla implying that Jecca was to the WK marriage what Camilla was to the CD marriage.

#submission #Middletons

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mariacallous · 5 months ago

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Hollywood has an inclusivity problem. How is this possible, in 2024, you wonder, when films like King Richard or Sound of Metal or Everything Everywhere All at Once—all nominated for Best Picture Oscars—suggest otherwise. They are films rich in story, dimension, and purpose. They are also exceptions to a long-established rule: White men still run Hollywood. Women remain almost entirely shut out, compared to their male colleagues, while disabled and Black actors are underrepresented in all major employment arenas for theatrical film, according to UCLA’s most recent Hollywood diversity report.

In the face of this, Kamala Avila-Salmon wants better for Hollywood and its storytellers. Avila-Salmon is the head of inclusive content at Lionsgate Motion Picture Group, where she began her stint in 2020 and has since leveraged her experience as a marketing savant (she has held top-level roles at RCA, Universal Pictures, Google, and Facebook) to shift how the studio makes movies. At Lionsgate, her main directive is simple: to create a creative economy that allows for more attentive storytelling. Stories of magnitude and conviction, yes, but also ones with as much reach as possible. It begins, she tells me, by having an “audience-first” mindset.

This month she launched Story Spark, an online tool that helps creatives understand the limits of their scripts and hiring choices by pushing for inclusivity in all aspects (it resembles a BuzzFeed-style multiple-choice questionnaire). As AI threatens a shrinking workforce and streaming upends traditional viewership, Avila-Salmon believes Story Spark can be a bridge to a healthier future for Hollywood. “Story Spark isn’t telling you if the movie is good,” she jokes when we chat over Zoom. “I have no idea.” You don’t upload a script. There is no secret counsel of industry insiders judging your work behind the scenes. Story Spark is simply meant to challenge writers and filmmakers to create their most audacious work possible. And, yes, there will be plenty of notes.

#the full interview is at the link

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genericpuff · 1 year ago

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Okay I need someone to know there is an equally bad Hades x Persephone story (it might've been self published? But I'm not sure. I read it years ago as a gift from a friend).

But the basic premise of the story is very similar to a touch of darkness and lore Olympus. The names are changed slightly - Persephone is now Persy or something and hades is Hayden.

Persephone works at an accounting firm or something as a new hire and guess who the new business partner is that her company is trying to strike a deal with? Hades who's Uber rich and handsome. Only difference is for some reason Persephone has the power to make people tell her their deepest secrets so like for example when she was a kid people would confess creepy things to her - like her middle school teacher blatantly admitting to being a pedophile and she does nothing about it. (Granted it's like what would she do even magic powers aren't admissible in court but still). And there's a love triangle with some random human guy? Who is immune to her powers through sheer will power (and masturbation. Yes this is a plot point).

At some point Persephone travels Hayden's domain (which is somewhere in Asia like Shanghai for some reason and not Greece). I gave up at that point. There was lots of creepy things going on in the story a la "young new girl Persephone is constantly almost assaulted at every turn due to her irresistible beauty and people's need to tell her their secrets").

Worst book I've ever read. It's so bad I cannot for the life of me remember the title but it fashioned itself as a modern retelling of Hades and Persephone.

Could it have been The Cursed God? That's what I pulled up from a google search at least LMAO

Here's the summary:

"Hades is coming for me. But that doesn't mean he can have me . . . He says he knows me. Who I am. What I am. I'm pretty sure my boss Hayden is on some sort of weird power trip. He's sexy as hell, but has an arrogance that spells danger. I'm only serving drinks in his seedy strip club until I can afford my own flower shop. I just have to avoid the inexplicable pull between us in the meantime. Then he claims I'm Persephone and he's Hades, the God of the Underworld. He says I was taken from him and now he's here to awaken my spirit so he can take me back to the underworld. That his position in the underworld depends on it. Either he's crazy . . . or I'm a mythical goddess. A queen of the underworld. His Queen."

There was another one I found called Descent. And its summary is equally crazy:

"He was my savior once. Twice. Now he’s become my tormentor.

Hayden Montgomery was my best friend’s big brother. The last time I saw him was that Halloween night. The night he found me in the ruin of the chapel. The night he carried me home through a storm that was the omen warning us all of what would come.

That was five years ago. Now, he’s back. But he’s not the same man he was.

Once upon a time, I’d fantasized about our happily-ever-after. Once upon a time, I think I loved him.

But that was before he stood in the wreckage that is now my life and offered me the solution to my problems. And the cost? My body and my soul.

There’s something dark between Hayden and me. It binds us for better or for worse. Mostly worse. Like the moth to the flame, we can’t seem to resist the draw.

I just don’t know which of us is the moth and which the flame, but either way, we’re both going to get burned."

That last bit about the moth and flame is just- it's so delightfully Twilight "the lion fell in love with the lamb" vibes.

Anyways. Those are the two closest ones I could find that matched your description, but this has me learning that there are ... a LOT of 'modern' retellings of H x P that involve Persephone being an uwu babygirl and Hades being some wet rag abusive dickhead named Hayden. This is a sub-genre I didn't know existed and now I'm wishing I could just scrub my brain of it LOL

On the one hand, part of me now wants to believe that this issue goes deeper than Rachel, that Rachel is just yet another side effect of a bigger problem... but then I spot all the publication dates on these H x P "dark romance" books are from 2019 onwards. Obviously LO doesn't exist in a vacuum either, it's clear it took influences from works that existed before it, it's not the first "modern" retelling of Greek myth. But I can't help but feel a sense of dread that really makes me wonder just how much LO's existence has subsequently oversaturated the market with these "retellings" of a story that was originally a tragedy and meant to sympathize with the mothers whose daughters were forced into marriage, the same way 50 Shades and Twilight oversaturated the market with the "dark romance" genre itself, which is really just a dog whistle for abusive relationships at this point.

Don't really have anything else to say to close out this post. It's just depressing and I desperately want us all to hurry the fuck up and outgrow it instead of dressing up the same abusive "relationships" with a new coat of paint every 5-10 years.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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massgenocide03 · 4 months ago

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You're The Only One for Me

~NaruSasu Omegaverse Fanfic~

Summary: An Unexpected Transformation" follows Sasuke Uchiha, a high school junior who hides his Omega status behind suppressants and an Alpha facade due to the overwhelming expectations of his influential family. When his best friend, Naruto, returns to school after a summer of growth and self-discovery, Sasuke is confronted by Naruto’s unexpected manifestation into a confident Alpha.

Chapter 2

---

Sasuke lay on his bed, the dim light of his lamp casting a warm glow on the pages of the book in his hands, “Alpha Ruts.” He had spent the last hour trying to learn any useful information from it, but to no avail. He knew there was a high chance that Naruto would want to continue their earlier conversation, and Sasuke hated the idea of looking uninformed. “A periodic and often annually recurring state for Alphas, during which their behavior associated with the urge to breed is displayed. Usually, an Alpha goes into rut every month or can be triggered by an Omega’s heat.” Everyone knew that. This book was useless; all it had were biological details. What he needed to know was what it felt like. But he had nobody to ask—after all, it would be weird for a supposed “Alpha” to go around asking what a rut is like when he should be experiencing it every month.

“Urghhh,” growled Sasuke in frustration, slamming the book shut. Why did everyone and everything have to be so useless? He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and opened Google. “What do Alpha Ruts feel like?” he typed.

The first result was a Reddit post. “I feel like I want to fuck anyone and everything. I’m always horny, it becomes really hot, I get super territorial, and just very animalistic. I jerk off at least 15 times a day when I’m going through a rut. If not, I hire one of those prostitute omegas and then—” Okay, that’s enough, Sasuke thought to himself, feeling a wave of disgust. Sure, he wanted to know what it felt like, but he didn’t need every explicit detail.

He kept scrolling through the search results, skimming through various forums and articles that all seemed to repeat the same crude descriptions. Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a message notification.

Naruto: Do you want to come over? My mom made cookies and she said I should invite you over because she hasn’t seen you in a while.

Sasuke sighed. He didn't feel like going. The thought of potentially awkward conversations with Naruto made his stomach churn, and he was still a bit butt-hurt about Naruto being a Dominant Alpha. However, he couldn’t ignore an invitation from Mrs. Uzumaki. She had always been kind to him. When his own parents had often neglected him, Mrs. Uzumaki had been there, treating him like her own son. She sent him lunch every day, took care of his injuries, took him to the park or other places when she took Naruto, and even signed his field trip forms as a “Close Family Friend,” which might have gotten her into trouble at some point. Sasuke was nothing but grateful to her, so he had to go if she wanted to see him.

Sasuke: I’ll be there in a bit, but only because your mother wants to see me. Preferably, I wouldn’t want to see your ugly face when it’s not necessary.

Naruto responded with an emoji sticking out its tongue and another flipping him off.

Sasuke got up from his bed, closed the book, and put on a black jacket. He descended the stairs, the quiet house echoing his movements. At the door, he slipped on a black pair of Converse and stepped out into the cool evening air.

It had been a while since he had walked to Naruto’s house; he had started avoiding it around the time he got to middle school. He felt bad for always making Naruto’s parents take care of him, so he started acting more independent. Naruto’s house was only a fifteen-minute walk away from his, which was very convenient. As he walked, memories of simpler times flooded back—times when he didn’t have to worry about suppressants, his family’s expectations, or the secret he carried. The neighborhood was quiet, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

—----

Sasuke arrived at Naruto’s house, pausing to take in the sight. It was a large but cozy home, a stark contrast to his own family’s cold, opulent mansion. Naruto’s parents were well-off but chose to live simply, without the luxury items that adorned the Uchiha household. He believed that’s one of the reasons his parents tolerated his closeness with Naruto’s family; they probably saw them as people that would be useful to them later on.

He walked up the porch and rang the doorbell, hearing a cheerful "Coming!" from inside. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Uzumaki.

“Sasuke, sweetheart, it’s been a while! We’ve missed you so much! You should come by more often!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a warm embrace. Her long red hair enveloped him, and he was surrounded by her comforting pheromones, which smelled like warm cinnamon. She was a beautiful omega, and Sasuke always found solace in her motherly scent. It was sweet and relaxing, making him feel as if he could take a nap right there on her porch.

Their moment was interrupted by a noise from the stairs. Naruto came bounding down, his usual boisterous self. “No, we haven’t, and I don’t want him coming over more often. It would ruin my calm atmosphere,” he teased, sticking his tongue out at Sasuke.

Mrs. Uzumaki’s eyes narrowed as she turned to Naruto, stomping over to him and delivering a swat to the back of his head. “Idiot, the only one ruining the calm atmosphere around here is you.”

Naruto rubbed the back of his head, pouting. “Ow, Mom! Why do you always take his side?”

“Because he doesn’t always cause trouble,” she snapped back, then turned to Sasuke with a warm smile. “Sasuke, sweetheart, come in. I already have a plate of cookies and milk ready for you at the table.”

Sasuke stepped inside, following her to the dining room. He sat in his usual spot, where he always sat when he came over. Mrs. Uzumaki placed a plate of cookies in front of him, and her smile urged him to take a bite. He did, and they were delicious. Mrs. Uzumaki knew he didn’t like sweet things, so she always made a special batch just for him, perfectly balanced to his taste. He washed down the cookie with a sip of almond milk, his preferred choice. He doubted his own parents even knew that.

“Thank you, Mrs. Uzumaki. Your baking is as delicious as always,” Sasuke said, offering one of the warmest, most genuine smiles he had in him.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. We’re family, and you know we’ll always be here for you.”

Hearing those words, Sasuke felt a lump in his throat. He hadn’t heard anything like that in years, since he had distanced himself from Naruto’s house. A tear rolled down his cheek, surprising him. He rarely cried, but Mrs. Uzumaki’s words made him feel loved, easing the burdens he always carried. Without a word, she pulled him into another hug, letting him feel the comfort of her embrace.

After a few moments, she gently released him. “You can go upstairs and play with Naruto for a while,” she said. Sasuke nodded, glancing down at his plate. He hadn’t even noticed he had finished all the cookies and milk.

“I’ll pack you some more cookies to go,” Mrs. Uzumaki added, pointing him towards the stairs.

Sasuke made his way to the stairs, and to his surprise, Naruto was sitting in the middle of them, looking a bit sad. Had he seen Sasuke cry? Sasuke hoped not.

“What are you doing, idiot? Let’s go upstairs,” Sasuke said in the most serious tone he could muster, hoping his eyes weren’t red.

“I’m going, asshole,” Naruto replied, his demeanor shifting to a more lively and playful one. He climbed the rest of the stairs and led Sasuke to his bedroom, not that Sasuke needed guidance—he had been there countless times.

The moment Sasuke stepped into the room, he was hit by the heavy pheromones. They were strong, but luckily Sasuke had drowned himself in suppressants that morning, or else he might have had a strange reaction, or worse, entered a heat. The pheromones smelled like oranges and grass—a weird but delicious combination. He liked the smell, even though it was overwhelming. That was strange.

“Open a window, dumbass. Your pheromones are everywhere.”

“Oh right, I guess Alphas don’t really like smelling other Alphas,” Naruto said as he opened the windows in his room. Sasuke was caught off guard by the statement but didn’t respond.

Naruto’s room was nice but messy. Posters of his favorite manga characters and celebrities adorned the walls, and a board Sasuke had made for him for his birthday in middle school, filled with photographs of them when they were younger, hung above Naruto’s desk. The board was even themed in Naruto's favorite color—an ugly orange. Sasuke smiled at the sight, but his smile quickly turned into a scowl as he took in the mess: piles of random clothes and stuff scattered around, unorganized and chaotic.

“You’re such a pig. How do you live with this mess?” Sasuke asked, looking for a clean spot to sit, which ended up being the edge of Naruto’s bed, where his pheromones were even stronger.

“I cleaned it last week because my mom said the same thing, but I guess I’ll have to clean again soon, your highness,” Naruto said with a playful bow and an eye roll. Then, he jumped on his bed, startling Sasuke for a second, but Sasuke didn’t move. Naruto adjusted himself and lay down in a way that wouldn’t disturb Sasuke.

“So, what are we going to do?” Sasuke asked. He hadn’t hung out with Naruto like this since middle school, so he didn’t know what to expect.

“Well, I thought we could just talk for a bit, you know, about life,” Naruto said, staring at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Sasuke replied, though it was far from okay. “Talk” was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want Naruto to catch on to anything that might out him as an omega.

Naruto suddenly spoke. “Any cute omegas you’ve been interested in lately?”

“Nothing like that. What about you?” Sasuke responded.

“Not anyone in particular, but a lot of people outside my friends have been talking to me now that they know I’m an Alpha. It’s weird considering that when I was a ‘Beta,’ everyone ignored or called me annoying. Now, when I do something stupid, they all think it’s funny.” Naruto’s eyes widened. “Sorry, did I just dump all that on you? I didn’t mean to do that.” He gave an awkward smile.

“It’s fine. I understand what you mean.”

“Soooo, want to tell me how the whole Alpha thing works now that we have time?” Naruto asked, sitting up with an expression of anticipation.

Shit. Sasuke knew this was coming. He didn’t want to reach this point, but here they were. Luckily, he had studied a bit about Alpha ruts before coming over.

“Well, what do you want to know?” Sasuke asked, hoping to give minimal information.

“Well, let’s see. I want to know how it feels, what kind of urges you get, how you act. I did get a lesson on what ruts are supposed to be like, but I want to know from someone who has actually experienced them, not some stupid textbook or video.”

Sasuke felt a pang of guilt. He was about to lie to his best friend and tell him things he’d never experienced. “Well, you get really hot and territorial. You also get very horny and just want to fuck everyone and everything. If you don’t have anyone to fuck, you can just jerk off your rut away.” He hoped that sounded truthful, recalling everything from that one Reddit post and explaining it as simply as possible.

He turned to look at Naruto, who was now sitting with his knees close to his face, burying half of his face in them. Naruto’s face was super red. Was he embarrassed? How funny. This made Sasuke want to tease him more. What a baby.

“What’s wrong, Naruto? You’ve never thought about fucking an omega?” Sasuke asked with a smirk. Naruto’s face turned even redder, matching his mother’s hair. Sasuke continued, “Let me guess, you don’t even know how to work your dick?”

Naruto suddenly looked up. “Yes, I do. I can show you right now,” he said in an annoyed tone, then realized what he had just said and buried his head into his knees again, not noticing that Sasuke was now red too.

After a few moments, when the embarrassment had subsided, Naruto asked another question. “How do you usually take care of your ruts?”

Shit. Sasuke didn’t know how to respond. “Um, I jerk off and have sex when I need to,” he said in the most nonchalant tone he could muster.

Naruto’s eyes widened. “So, you’re not a virgin? Who do you usually have sex with? How many times have you done it? How come you’ve never told me you already had your first? Don’t best friends usually tell each other that stuff?” Naruto bombarded him with questions, looking a bit pissed and maybe even a little sad.

Sasuke sighed. He had never even properly jerked off, let alone had sex. The lies were getting deeper. “First of all, my sex life is none of your business, and I shouldn’t have to report to you about what I do with my life,” Sasuke snapped.

Naruto got up from the bed. “Fine, have it your way. You don’t ever have to tell me anything. I’m sorry for being worried and curious about my best friend!” Naruto snapped back.

“You know what? I'm just going to leave,” Sasuke said.

“Do what you want. I don’t care, since it’s ‘none of my business,’” Naruto mocked.

Sasuke got up and left the room without bothering to respond. Naruto was just being stupid and annoying. He made his way downstairs, said goodbye to Mrs. Uzumaki, grabbed the bag of pastries she gave him, and left. He was mad—mad at Naruto, mad at his parents, mad at the world, and mad at himself.

The fresh afternoon summer air seemed to calm him a bit as he walked home, overwhelmed with emotions.

#boys in love #fanfic #eventual romance #gay boys #alpha naruto #omegas sasuke #omegaverse #naruto shippuden #narusasu #naruto x sasuke

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