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winterarmyy · 4 months ago

Text

Steal Me Away

Glimpses of the grumpy chubby alpha!bucky's love life.

Summary: When Bucky was stuck in an unpleasant lunch with his co-workers; he thought about how nice it would be if someone comes and steals him away.

Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 2.6k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. no plot, just fluff. low-key body shamming, bullying, bucky and his omega being adorable. (tell me is there's anything else I missed)

P/S: Impulsive writing at 3am in the morning because I couldn't sleep, then left the draft to rot for weeks, now posted. Also tagging @serendipitouslife90 because she's the biggest fan of this au. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Bucky’s cubicle, casting narrow strips of light across his cluttered desk. The office was its usual sanctuary of muted tones and hushed conversations. Colleagues navigated the aisles like cautious explorers, their brief nods to Bucky barely concealing their unease.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Solitude was his comfort zone, and he relished the uninterrupted focus on his work.

Bucky tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clacking serving as his meditation. His thoughts were like the lines of code he worked with; orderly, precise, and devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Socializing was a distraction he neither wanted nor needed.

The occasional murmurs of sympathy about his less-than-ideal body shape for an Alpha like him, or the prosthetic arm he wore to make up for his imperfection, had long since ceased to bother him. They were background noise in the symphony of his workday.

Two weeks had passed since Bucky had last seen y/n, their second date now a vivid but distant memory. Their time together had been cut short, both of them consumed by the relentless demands of their careers. Especially for Bucky, the high-pressure world of software engineering was unforgiving.

Ever since he was in school, he always had the knack for tech but as he grew up, his path lead away from it. Then after his abrupt release from military service, he was lost for a moment. He lost his position and quite literally his limb. After he was introduced to Stark Technologies for is prosthetic, his interest in tech bloomed once more.

Fast forward, he had transitioned to civilian life with a single-minded focus on his career. The transition from soldier to software engineer had been a challenging yet rewarding shift, one that demanded every ounce of his dedication.

His days were a blur of client meetings, coding marathons, and sleepless nights, leaving him barely enough time to recharge. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of guilt that tugged at him.

Y/n had been understanding, insisting that they could take things slow and that she was patient. Yet Bucky felt a pressing need to make up for the lost time, to show her that she was more important than the endless stream of work that consumed him.

His longing for her was a constant undercurrent in his daily routine, a reminder of the connection he cherished and the promises he hoped to fulfill, even amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule.

Lunchtime arrived with an uncharacteristic intrusion; Brock’s insistent presence. Bucky had settled into his usual corner of the break room, anticipating a quiet meal alone.

But Brock, with his usual smirk, plopped down across from him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s visible discomfort.

“You know, Bucky,” he started, his tone laced with false camaraderie, “maybe you should join us for lunch this time. Walk off that fat in your belly, and maybe, just maybe, might help you lose a few pounds and get that soldier body of yours again.”

The comment triggered a ripple of reactions around the break room. A few colleagues, particularly those who fancied themselves as superior alpha, snickered behind their coffee cups, enjoying the moment at Bucky’s expense. The rest of the room fell into an awkward silence; some looked away, unable or unwilling to get involved, while others exchanged nervous glances, wary of crossing the line with either of the alpha males.

Bucky’s mind raced with a mix of frustration and contemplation. Brock’s taunts were nothing new, but the timing was particularly irritating. With his packed schedule and the constant pressure of meeting deadlines, Bucky had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone deal with petty office politics.

The jabs felt like an unnecessary complication in an already strained day. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration; he wondered why he always ended up the target of Brock’s remarks and whether it was a reflection of his own choices or just Brock’s way of asserting dominance.

The palpable tension in the room only added to his mounting irritation.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his irritation simmering beneath a thin veneer of politeness. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He didn’t bother hiding the grumble in his voice. His work would have to wait, and so would his patience.

The café buzzed with conversation and clinking dishes, an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness that did little to mask the underlying tension. Bucky took his seat with a sigh, his mind already drifting to y/n, the image of her smile a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

Brock wasted no time in launching his passive-aggressive jabs, each comment about Bucky’s weight or his vibranium prosthetic arm more cutting than the last. Bucky could feel the rage bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm, focusing instead on the thought of y/n. The warm glow of her presence seemed to wrap around him, even in the midst of Brock’s taunts.

Brock leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Bucky, it's always something watching you eat alone. Maybe if you spent less time working and more time mingling; hit the gym with us after work or something. Who knows you might actually find yourself a date for once.”

The remark seemed casual, almost playful, but it carried a veiled sting. It wasn’t just about Bucky’s solitary lunchtime habits; it was a pointed jab at his single status, suggesting that his lack of romantic success might be due to his social ineptitude and undesirable body.

Bucky’s patience snapped. He leaned forward, his voice cold and controlled. “I don’t know, Brock. Honestly, it’s much better to be alone than to ‘mingle’ with someone who’s all bark and no bite.” He fearlessly maintained his cold gaze; eyes seemingly bore the words his lips never spoke. “…Like you”

Brock's face flushed a deep crimson, and his jaw tightened in a futile attempt to maintain composure. He muttered something about needing a smoke before hastily exiting the room, his pride stinging from the unexpected jab. The rest of the team sat in an uneasy silence, the tension almost tangible.

They watched as Bucky’s eyes bore into Brock’s retreating figure, cold and unyielding. There was something almost feral in his gaze, a silent promise of consequences that only someone with true authority and control could convey.

Everyone knew better than to provoke him further; Bucky's look was a chilling reminder that he played by his own rules.

Brock stepped out of the café, his frustration boiling over as he lit a cigarette. With each inhale of nicotine, he muttered darkly under his breath, cursing Bucky and grumbling about how that fat-ass loser like him had the audacity to undermine his clearly more superior alpha status.

His anger was a tempest, raging against the affront to his ego.

As he paced, his gaze drifted to the sidewalk next to the café, where a striking woman in a sundress was engrossed in her phone. The late afternoon sun highlighted the gentle curves of her figure, and her unblemished skin glowed softly, exposed at the back of her neck.

Brock’s eyes raked over her with a predatory appreciation, the male gaze undeniable in his scrutiny.

Her poised stance and soft demeanor hinted at an aura of femineity that intrigued him. A smirk curved his lips as he took another drag from his cigarette, already imagining how he might woo her, hoping that a little charm could be the distraction he needed from his bruised pride.

Back in the café, Bucky was still seated at the table, surrounded by the typical midday hustle, yet he remained ensconced in a bubble of tranquility. His attention was focused solely on his phone, where a soft, contented smile played on his lips. The noise of the café faded into the background as he read through y/n’s messages.

Each word from her was a thread that connected him to a part of his life that felt more real and meaningful than the relentless grind of his daily routine.

Y/n had inquired about his lunch, her questions laced with genuine curiosity. “How was your lunch?” “Was it any good?” “How’s your day been so far?” The inquiries seemed almost innocent, yet they carried a warmth that enveloped him.

And then, the message that tugged at his heartstrings: “I miss you.” It was as if her words had the power to reach through the screen and touch him directly, offering a solace that was hard to find amidst the chaos left from the prior event.

He missed her deeply.

The absence of her voice, the comfort of her presence. He wished that she could just steal him away; or perhaps he would be stealing her away?

Eitherway, he just wants to get out of here.

As he glanced at the time, noting that he still had about thirty minutes before he needed to return to the office, he made a quick decision. He would step outside for a moment, away from the unnecessary drama, and maybe give her a call.

The thought of hearing her voice, even if only for a brief conversation, was a beacon of light in his otherwise frenetic day. As Bucky stepped out of the café, his gaze remained fixed on his phone, where y/n’s last message glowed softly on the screen.

Unbeknownst to him, the scene unfolding just a few paces away was far less pleasant. Brock, still nursing his bruised ego from their earlier encounter by relentlessly flirting with the girl. “Come on, sweetheart, just one date.” Brock said, his voice low and laced with insincere flirtation.

He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand reached out, brushing against her exposed shoulder. Y/n recoiled slightly, her discomfort palpable. “I’m really not interested,” she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of unease. “and I have a boyfriend.”

Brock’s persistence only grew more insistent. “I doubt that. I can see you do not have his mark here,” he persisted, his hand lingering uncomfortably on her shoulder, close to where her mating mark supposed to reside. Despite her attempts to shrug off his advances, Brock didn’t relent. His touch was intrusive, and his words edged on harassment. And she can sense the scent of arousal coming from the alpha.

Y/n’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape from the unwanted attention. As her gaze fell behind Brock, she caught sight of a familiar figure; one that seemed to offer a lifeline amidst her distress.

“Bucky?” she called out, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. The name escaped her lips before she could fully process the situation, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Bucky walking toward them.

Bucky knew that voice. It was a sound that resonated deep within him, as familiar as his own heartbeat. He lifted his eyes from his phone, and the world around him sharpened into focus. The scene before him was both infuriating and unmistakable: Brock, with his sleazy smirk and inappropriate proximity, stood uncomfortably close to Bucky's omega, his hand hovering dangerously near her exposed shoulder.

A surge of primal fury shot through Bucky, a blaze of anger that burned through his veins and coiled tight in his chest. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a low, guttural growl forming in his throat as he prepared to confront the intruder. His body tensed, ready to pounce.

But before he could make a move, y/n was already in motion. She leaped into his arms with a mix of desperation and joy, catching Bucky off guard. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.

Her arms clung tightly to his nape, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck as if seeking refuge; shamelessly scenting him. Her warm breath and soft sighs was a soothing cure to his simmering rage.

The anger that had been boiling inside him began to fizzle away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and love. The sound of her happy purrs, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, and her intoxicatingly sweet scent; all of it made his anger dissolve into a tender, protective affection.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her waist as he relished in the comforting closeness. “Hi, sugar.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection and relief.

Bucky's hold loosen as he leaned down, his gentle smile never faltering as he closed the distance between them. His eyes softened with affection, and he pressed his lips against y/n's in a kiss so tender it felt like a whisper. It was a soft, loving caress that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

But before he could pull back, y/n’s playful energy erupted. She cupped his cheeks in her delicate hands, pulling him down to her level with a sudden, joyful enthusiasm.

Her lips attacked his with a flurry of kisses; quick, warm, and full of exuberance. Each kiss left behind a trace of her strawberry-scented lipstick, creating a trail of smudged rosy color across his face. The marks dotted his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and even his lips, a vibrant testament to her affection.

Amused laughter bubbled up from Bucky, the sound a rare and delightful departure from his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, his grumpy alpha persona completely melted away in the face of y/n’s loving onslaught.

He reveled in the smothering of her kisses, his initial tension and anger forgotten. A satisfied rumble vibrates on his throat, across his chest. The contrast between his earlier anger and the unrestrained joy he now experienced was stark; the shift was almost palpable.

Lost in their own world, the two seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Their display of affection was unabashedly public, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Y/n looked up at him with bright eyes, her voice filled with eager excitement as she asked if he still had time.

“I want to steal you away.” she said with a playful smile.

Bucky’s smile widened, his heart swelling with happiness. “Of course, sugar. Anything for you.” he replied, his voice tender and filled with genuine warmth.

But as Bucky’s gaze shifted away from y/n and landed on Brock, his soft features momentarily disappeared. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. The switch in his demeanor was chilling; an instant transformation from the tender lover to a menacing figure.

The coldness in his eyes was a silent, yet unmistakable warning. It was as though a dark storm cloud had settled over him, a clear signal that Brock's earlier arrogance had crossed an unforgivable line.

The intensity of Bucky’s stare spoke volumes, a silent promise of retribution and a reminder of the strength behind his calm exterior. The abrupt shift in his demeanor was a jarring contrast to the affection he had just displayed, sending a clear message to Brock that any further provocation would be met with unspeakable consequences.

As Bucky and y/n walked hand in hand away from the café, Brock stood there, fuming and humiliated. His attempt to belittle Bucky had backfired spectacularly.

Inside the café, Bucky’s colleagues had their jaws dropped. They were astonished not only by y/n’s ethereal beauty but also by the sight of Bucky, usually so composed and reserved, smiling so openly. They were completely stunned by the unexpected display of vulnerability and affection from the grumpy loner.

The couple continued down the street, their hands clasped together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they headed towards their next destination.

Bucky’s smile was genuine, a rare and precious sight as he looked down; memorizing the way her hand perfectly intertwined with his. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think how much he wished y/n would steal him away more often.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for staying to the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy reading it!

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #alpha!bucky x reader #alpha!bucky #and you're mine au #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic

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thoughtsforsoob · 7 months ago

Note

im thinking about y/n fucking CEO yeonjun for a raise

CEO!YEONJUN X F!READER

a/n: hello anon!! thank you for the ask :) I usually wouldn’t write something like this (because I’m a strong independent woman that has tons of self respect) but for yeonjun I’d do pretty much anything 🥰 that’s my man right there. Anyways, please enjoy!!

You had just graduated college not so long ago and you were finally out looking for a job! You managed to secure your first position at your first choice company, working as a software developer! you were so proud of yourself and you were happy to finally be able to be independent and support yourself. You had a small apartment and nice things in said apartment but sometimes, you wish you had a little more money to save and to use to go out with your friends once in a while. hence why, after about 6 months, you go in to have a netting with your boss: yeonjun.

you were nervous about this meeting for a few different reasons. Yeonjun was a really handsome individual. Like…so handsome that he border-lined sexy. How could you possibly think of your boss this way? That’s so wrong! You did your best to avoid him because everytime you spoke to him, your cheeks and ears would go bright red and he could see your shyness.

Now, you were stepping into his office after his receptionist said you could. You took a breath before opening the door and finally walked in. There he was, in his usual fancy work attire, looking sexy as always. He was wearing a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his usual black slacks. He never wore fancy shoes though, always opting for vans or converse that also came in black. That made him a little less intimidating but still, you were no less nervous to speak to him.

He smiled when he saw it was you and other you to take a seat. “Oh y/n, come on in. Take a seat! Would you like anything to drink?” You shake your head no and he looks at you still. “So, tell me what you’re in for today? Is everything alright around the office?” You look down at your hands and then up at him, “yeah, everything in the office is okay. I kinda needed to ask more of a personal question.” Yeonjun nods and you ask your question. “A raise? Well, you have been doing really well. You’re probably one of our best employees.” Your eyes go wide and you smile. “Really? Does that mean you’ll consider a raise? Even if it’s a small one. I kinda need it.” He looks at you and thinks for a second, “well, maybe I’ll consider if you do something for me.” You were curious as to what he wanted so you asked him and you were shocked to hear his answer. “Just have sex with me. I think you’re really beautiful. If you do it, I’ll give you a $10 raise.” Your eyes get bigger at his offer. A whole ten extra dollars an hour??? That would be plenty to save up for that new hand bag you wanted!

you usually had a little more self-respect than this but you couldn't help it. the offer was too good to pass up no matter what you had to do. thats how you find yourself bent over your bosses desk, skirt bunched up at your waist and panties pooling at your ankles. he's standing behind you, teasing you dripping slit with his erection. he's smirking and using his free hand to caress your ass. "so pretty. how did i not ask for this sooner?"

he finally decided to stop teasing and pushing himself inside of you. you whine at the sudden intrustion and he leans over, grabbing one of your hands and intertwing it with his. "its okay, sweet girl. no need to whine. it's not gonna hurt for long." he kisses your cheek and pulls back to his previous position. when you tell him it was okay to move, he finally starts to thrust. he goes gently the whole time and calls you such pretty names. "such a beautiful girl taking it so well. you like this, hmm? when a big, important man treats you nicely?"

he continues his movements until you starts whining to cum. "mm sir...please. wanna-" you were cut off by his groan. "sir? you called me sir? say it again." he sniffle from the tears falling from your eyes, "sir! please!" he groans again and leans over again, getting closer to your face. "cum for me, pretty. wanna see that gorgeous face." with his words, you were sent overthe edge and finally let go. you cry out at the euphoric feeling and yeonjun continues to thrust, pulling out when he's ready to cum. he pumps himself a few more times and cums all over your ass. he smirks when he sees his work.

when you're done, you attempt to put your clothes back on buthe stops you. "hey, what are you doing? let me take care of you." you were suprised by this and turned, "sir, are you sure? you don;t have to do that. i understand if you don't have time for me beyond this." he shakes his head and chuckles, "i don't just have sex with anyone. what if i liked you and wanted to take you on a date? what wold you say?" you look at his eyes and they were sincere. "mm fine. lets go on a date." he smiled and kissed your cheek.

once he finally cleans you up and dresses you once again, he escorts you out of his offce with a wink and his phone number now in your phone.

#txt smut #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #txt imagines #txt headcanons #txt post #tomorrow x together #yeonjun x y/n #txt fic #txt x reader #txt reactions

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justalost4girl · 4 months ago

Text

ONE

This fanfic is part of my Taylor Swift coded fanfics. word count: 3186

A girl walks onto the stage with a guitar in hand and a smile on her face.

She greets the band, and they greet her back. The shy girl thanks everyone for coming tonight.

Natasha Romanoff grips her glass tighter and orders another shot of whiskey without looking at the bartender, as she can't take her eyes off of you.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

One year earlier…

She finds you at the café. Natasha hates cafés, but she knows your company's head of security comes at the end of every period to get coffee with you; it's been like this for two weeks.

But today, you're alone at a table, and Natasha needs to adjust the plan. She goes to the counter and orders a cappuccino—the same as yours—and looks for a place to sit.

Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, the redhead ignores the hot cup she's carrying.

You're beautiful

And shy.

Natasha recalls your file and smiles. You were exactly as Skye had described. She sees a chance to approach in the crowded room and clears her throat; she's done this before but feels the need to focus.

"Can I sit with you?" A soft voice pulls you out of the stupor you entered when you looked into those deep green eyes. Eyes that could inspire symphonies, and you believe she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, and your brain can't do more than nod, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

She sits beside you, not in front of you, waiting to analyze your computer. The file didn't mention the software you use, so it's up to her to find out before your friend arrives. She positions her coffee well so her field of vision can see anything that appears on the screen.

"I'm pretty sure I've seen you around here; do you live nearby?" She asks, trying to break the ice as usual, but deep down, she feels strange under your contemplative gaze.

"Yes, I live in the building across from Luthor Corp and work there." Your voice shows pride, and your eyes sparkle, Natasha notices. She wonders if you know what your colleague has been developing and the true nature of your boss.

"And you? I don't think I've seen you around here before," you seem genuinely interested. Natasha likes that. Targets are easy, but you are very easy; with just a few words, she already knows where you live and work. For a security analyst, you are far too naive.

And she puts the plan into practice.

"I just moved to the end of the block. There are so many boxes… I needed the coffee to give me energy." She says with an extremely calculated tone. You smile and notice that she has a beautiful corner smile and really seems tired, so you offer to help.

You always offer to help strangers.

And Natasha celebrates the success of the plan while taking a sip of coffee and leaning toward you, complimenting your screensaver. While you give her an excited explanation, she takes the opportunity to see the type of software used and memorizes the access password when you unlock the computer to show how the galaxy theme expands on your computer.

You exchange names.

She's Natalie. Nickname? Nat. The redhead shares similar tastes to yours, and something tells you that coming here alone was the best choice. After all, Nat would never look at you if Luke were around.

You also have a name, but everyone calls you Newton. In honor of your favorite physicist. A development assistant in the security sector with a desk always organizedly messy, in your words. Your boss, Luke, didn't come today because he had an emergency meeting and gave you the afternoon off. Natasha makes a mental note to understand this.

He didn't have any meetings scheduled.

As the coffee finishes, Nat guides you to her house. You stretch your back and even tie your hair up to help with the boxes. Then, you feel a bit disappointed to find there are only two, but you don't complain.

You never complain.

Natasha watches you help organize the books in the living room, chattering away about how you've read most of them and your opinions. You don't notice, however, that they show no signs of use, and amidst some jokes, for a minute Natasha forgets about the mission. Being with you is comfy.

"Wanna order pizza? I know a good place." You ask, sitting on her floor. Your jacket, backpack, and shoes are at the door. She liked how you took off your shoes to enter her house. It's a sign of respect, you say. The file points out the numerous k-dramas evaluated in your account, but she doesn't comment and even finds it adorable. She finds you adorable. Period.

"Sure, but only if you agree to watch something before we go and let me pay for the snack. You were my hero today." Nat smiles, and all that crosses your mind is how random your luck is. Here, sitting on this floor with the most beautiful woman you've ever met in front of you, the word destiny has a new meaning.

She gives you yoga pants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, your favorite saga, to make yourself comfortable. The pizza arrives while you're changing, and she can't use your laptop, but that loses its importance when your heart warms seeing you wear clothes she bought just for you. You feel like you're in heaven for finding someone as big a Star Wars fan as you, because that shirt was only available by order. Everything seems too perfect, you think, but the thought flies when you find out the theory of olives applies to both of you.

Natasha puts on your favorite movie from the franchise, and what was supposed to be just one movie becomes a marathon. She knows all the lines and jokes from each movie, knows curiosities and book details, and that makes you ignore your phone all night.

That night, you fall asleep on the couch.

The sun hits the window, and the redhead opens her eyes and sees you. Your arms are by your side, but Natasha is practically in your lap. Even in a deep sleep, you respect her too much to touch her.

Natasha is distracted for a moment and wonders how much of a spy she was last night. Here and now, looking at your lips in a half smile and your messy hair. Natasha almost feels bad for getting into this mission.

Almost.

She shakes her head and carefully gets off the couch and goes to your backpack, finding a black-covered book and the laptop. The goal? Install a spy program on the laptop. The problem? Natasha's curiosity gets the best of her, and she opens the book.

Your song lyrics, drawing attempts, and poems are a world for her to explore, and only after ten minutes, Natasha remembers the mission. She plugs in a device, pockets it, and waits for the installation, but when the progress bar is only halfway, your alarm goes off, and Natasha has to improvise.

Two minutes until the program is complete.

"Hello there," she says, smiling softly, throwing herself on top of you.

"Ah, now you're Obi-Wan? I thought you were Jar Jar Binks," you say, rubbing your eye and laughing at her offended expression.

Natasha rolls her eyes and starts a tickle war. You squirm, and she lets herself spin on the couch, ending up underneath you.

"Okay, okay, truce. You're not Jar Jar. You're the face anyone would turn to the dark side for," you say, feeling an unexpected courage.

"Does that go for you, Newton?" Natasha says softly, her eyes fixed on yours, her gaze alternating between your lips and your eyes in an almost hypnotizing manner.

"That goes for me, Nat," you whisper, looking at her lips.

You're not sure who initiated the kiss first, but you like to think it was both. The world seems to stop as your lips meet, each touch filled with emotions and suppressed desires. For you, it's a moment of pure magic and connection, an unexpected paradise. For Natasha, it's a reminder of what she could lose, a conflict between duty and desire.

The day passes slowly. She drags you from the couch to the kitchen for coffee and then back to the couch for a make-out session. Natasha has a dominant and bossy streak, and you feel comfortable and safe beside her, as her hands don’t cross any boundaries and remain on your waist. You try a new recipe, talk about the weather, exchange compliments and kisses. The afternoon arrives, and Luke calls you to the office.

You decide to stop by home first but manage to take one of Natasha's limited edition sweatshirts as a promise to meet again soon.

Natasha leaves you at the door smiling like she hasn't in a long time. All for the mission, of course. At least that's what she wants to believe.

She doesn't realize she forgot to send the report to Fury.

You don't realize your laptop is on in the backpack.

Nat is different from any woman you've ever met.

Not that you've met many.

No, but Nat is different. She's kind. She's everything you could ask for in a person. Nat is too good to be true.

"Newton is smiling today?" Luke says, approaching your desk.

"I found my soulmate at the café yesterday," you say, eyes sparkling.

"Really? What's she like?" he asks, placing some files on your desk.

You describe everything, from her appearance to shared tastes, and he smiles like he does with clients.

"Send me the code by 5 p.m., then you can go see your future wife," he says, typing something on his phone and leaving.

You smile and grab your laptop. It's almost dead and turned on. You find it strange but don't question it; after all, the computer is still locked. The memory of Nat's eyes brings you more inspiration, and you jot down about the new shade of green where you found peace.

The afternoon passes in a blur, the leaves fall, and you finally finish the code. Luke is nowhere to be found, something about an urgent meeting, and you decide to send the code by email.

Natasha is at home, with full access to your computer, celebrating the success of the plan. The virus will accompany the file. Luke will open it on the corporate computer, and she can finish the mission. She watches you through the camera, and Natasha misses you for a moment. You are a beautiful collateral damage. Too kind. Too captivating.

She knows it's wrong, but she lets the idea linger in her mind for more than a minute.

Natasha sighed as she shut down the laptop, feeling the weight of the decision she had made. She glanced at the phone screen, hesitant for a moment before typing a quick message to Newton.

"Miss you, come over?" she typed, her fingers hesitating over the keys. It was the first time in a long time that she allowed herself to be true.

"On my way, General Romanoff," you reply, making your usual path with a smile on your face.

☆。*。☆。 Eight months earlier…

One night, as the soft moonlight filtered through the curtains, you were sitting on the couch beside Natasha. She was flipping through your lyric notebook, and after much persuasion, she managed to convince you to sing one of your songs. With a shy smile, your voice filled the room, bringing life to the carefully crafted words.

Natasha watched you with admiration, her eyes sparkling with each note. When you finished, she applauded enthusiastically.

"You have an incredible voice, you know? You should leave this field and sing in a bar. Become famous and rich," Natasha suggested, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe someday. But if I do, will you promise to be there?"

Natasha took your hand and looked directly into your eyes. "I wouldn't miss any of your shows for anything in this world," she said sincerely.

Later that night, after waking from a nightmare and seeing Natasha, who was now lying on her side, her hair spread across the pillow, you took a deep breath.

Focusing on the woman beside you, you felt a mix of tenderness and curiosity as you admired the peace on her face. Her gentle features seemed even kinder in the quiet of the moment.

Natasha breathed calmly in peaceful sleep, immersed in a world of tranquility that contrasted with the turmoil of your own thoughts.

For a moment, you wondered about the thoughts Natasha kept, about what she dreamed and what made her smile in the silence of that rest. There was something intriguing about the way she moved in the world, near you, an aura of mystery and serenity that deeply attracted you.

You were in love; you felt it intensely and quickly. And for the first time in your life, you felt that this love was mutual. You lay down beside her, lightly touching Natasha's lips with a kiss. She slowly opened her eyes, meeting yours with a gentle shine of surprise and care.

"Nat," you started, feeling your heart racing with emotion overflowing in your words. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A radiant smile formed on her lips, her eyes reflecting tenderness and joy. She nodded slightly, without saying a word, but making it clear that her answer was yes.

☆。*。☆。 Six months earlier…

You walked out of the office with firm steps, Luke by your side. For the first time in months, he mentioned it was for security measures, and you didn't mind, too excited to introduce your oldest friend to your girlfriend. The usual café was just a few meters away, and Natasha, watching from afar, noticed the smile on Newton's face as she entered the establishment.

"Hello there!" You exclaimed eagerly upon seeing Natasha, who smiled back warmly as she greeted you. "You're here! I missed you," Natasha said, warmly embracing you. She caught the familiar scent of Newton and momentarily lost herself in the comforting sensation.

"Yes, and accompanied this time. Nat, this is Luke. Luke, this is Natalie," you introduced them, your eyes shining with affection for Nat, your girlfriend.

"Natalie! You're as beautiful as she said," Luke complimented Natasha with a gallant air, earning a playful eye-roll from Newton. Natasha noted the dynamic between the two, the way Luke enjoyed subtly teasing her.

"Maybe Newton is onto something after all," Natasha replied, laughing softly as she observed Newton and Luke interact.

Luke was at ease, responding to Natasha's light questions with calculated calm. He didn't reveal much personal information, maintaining a professional and careful demeanor in his responses. Natasha tried to probe him about his work and interests, but Luke skillfully deflected, keeping the conversation on superficial topics.

During a momentary pause, Luke received a call on his cell phone. He discreetly stepped away to answer it, while you and Nat continued chatting. A few minutes later, Luke returned with a serious expression.

"Newton," Luke began, catching both your attention. "I just received an important call. We need to prepare for a trip to Seattle in a week. We have a client that requires our personal attention. We'll be there for a month."

You nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. Natasha couldn't contain her excitement upon hearing about the trip. It was the perfect opportunity to gather evidence against Luke's criminal activities. She spoke with anticipation in her eyes. "That's great! I'd love to come along, if possible."

Luke seemed surprised by Natasha's suggestion, his gaze becoming more cautious. "Natalie, I'm not sure if…"

"I have family there, I don't need to know many details, I just didn't want to be away from Newton," Natasha said persuasively, while Luke looked at her with a wary gaze.

You smiled at Nat and kissed her gently. "Of course, you can come, right Luke?"

Luke nodded resignedly but with a faint smile. "Alright, then get ready for the trip."

While observing the tension in his voice, you recalled how meticulous he had been with security recently. First, insisting on buying a new computer for you, claiming it was safer and more efficient. Then, personally supervising the building's security system update. At the time, you thought it was just part of his protective nature as head of security. Now, however, looking at him, there was something in his behavior that made you wonder if he was hiding something.

The idea of betraying you was unbearable. If only she could find something to justify her mission, she could decide what to do next. She could stop everything, tell you the truth, and run away to Greece, or anywhere far from here.

On the flight, Natasha kept herself discreet, but every glance exchanged between you two left her more conflicted. You were excited about the trip, unaware of the internal turmoil Natasha was facing. She wanted to protect you, but how could she do that when she herself was the threat?

Upon arriving at the destination, Natasha checked into the same hotel as you, but Luke made sure she had no access to the meetings. He was vigilant, observing every interaction between you. You, on the other hand, seemed happy with the opportunity to explore the city alongside Natasha, oblivious to her true intentions.

Every night, as you fell asleep, Natasha stayed awake, lost in thought. She looked at you, feeling a mixture of tenderness and guilt. She knew she needed to act, to find something that would change everything. But until that happened, she stayed by your side, cherishing the time she still had.

Natasha Romanoff had no idea she wasn't the only one playing this game.

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Two - July 9, 2024

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Comments are appreciated :)

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #last kiss tv #taylor swift fic #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader

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genericpuff · 5 months ago

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Here's your regular service reminder that $48k/year sounds like a dream come true to people who have never made a living off their art or comics before, until you factor in the following:

Cost of assistants which is out-of-pocket (some creators literally don't hire assistants because of this which makes the process of meeting their deadlines even harder)

Cost of additional tools necessary to making webtoons and meeting deadlines, such as paying for drawing software, 3D models, etc.

Cost of emergency services such as healthcare are not covered by WT, so if your health deteriorates while you're working on your comic (which it often does for many creators whose bodies are destroyed from working long hours at a desk 7 days a week), WT will not help you.

No paid vacation time, no paid sick leave, no accommodations for people with kids, disabilities, etc. meaning if you have to take time off, WT will not be covering it.

Speaking of vacation time, Webtoons ONLY pays creators for completed and submitted episodes, meaning they will not pay you for pre-production time leading up to a series release OR have your back when you have to go on hiatus. Some creators manage multiple series to make ends meet and avoid stretches of unpaid hiatuses (IIRC I believe KitTrace does this with Nevermore and Shiloh rotating on and off hiatus one at a time) and others simply have to go without pay relying solely on their Patreons and other forms of income when they go on hiatus. And, as we've seen in the past, when they return from hiatus is often up to Webtoons, not them.

That $48k is basically just an average ballpark of what Webtoons pays creators for a season of content, and for those who recall, FastPass earnings are not given to creators until they make back that payment.

It's really hard to get people to FastPass when Webtoons is deliberately not advertising your series and, in some cases, outright SABOTAGING your attempts to advertise.

I don't even know if that $48k is before or AFTER taxes, I'm assuming before considering this is a self-employment contract, meaning you likely have to put away a good few thousand for taxes depending on your state tax rate and what you're able to write off. This also includes having to track assistant expenditures for filing.

The 60-80+ hour weeks many creators are having to pull to meet their deadlines turns that $48k/year into an ASTOUNDING drum roll ... $11 - $15/hour! Which is just barely over minimum wage in many states, and absolutely 100% not a living wage in most! And that's BEST CASE scenario in which you don't pay an assistant, don't suffer any health expenses, don't pay for 3D models / software, and POSSIBLY don't pay your taxes. Yaaaaay! 😒🖕

TL : DR $48k/year hasn't been a salary worth bragging about since 2005 ESPECIALLY not for such high-demand specialized work like this, fuck you Webtoons <3

#webtoon critical #fuck webtoons

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etherealising · 8 months ago

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chapter twelve | a slow burn for me

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣ |

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: a peek into the beginning of an awkwardly domestic night between you and carmy.

warning(s): honestly none for this chapter, what a surprise.

wc: 6.4k (of filler someone get this girl an editor)

It was late. If the lack of light streaming through your office windows wasn’t enough of an indicator of the hour, the time on the small analog clock gifted to you by Nat and Pete was enough to force you to call it quits for the night. You did a quick check of the document staring back at you on your computer to make sure not only was it saved to the software you’d chosen to use, but also to the backup hard drive you’d learned to use over time.

The building was quiet as you tidied up your desk and powered down your appliances, your coworkers having cleared out hours ago. You could feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones, working overtime wasn’t on your agenda this morning but considering the two personal days you took after your emotionally demanding conversation with Carmy, it was no surprise the extra time was needed to catch up on all the work you missed out on. The hour wasn’t horrendous per se but watching the clock on your desk tick past 9:30 was all the excuse you needed to begin your journey home.

Your decision to return to the Tribune wasn’t as hard as you expected it to be. You were finally getting your life back on track, you were in a city you loved surrounded by the people you loved and cared about. If you needed to spend the next year avoiding and appearing indifferent to your boss, so be it you would figure things out as the days passed by. And maybe it wasn’t your most logical decision but you were sure within a year or two you might find another position, for now, though you just wanted to go home.

An exhausted sigh escaped into the dimly lit office as you began to gather your belongings of the day, eyes catching onto the pristine manila envelope that you remembered plucking out of your mailbox before driving to work. Ignoring the envelope you shrugged on your jacket before bending to grab your bag from one of your desk drawers quickly slipping your laptop and the unassuming envelope inside before double checking everything was exactly how you always left it.

The elevator ride to the ground floor was surprisingly relaxing considering how annoying the music playing through the speakers was. Exiting the metal box as it stopped you gave a cordial goodbye to the night guard on duty before exiting the building and speed walking to your car before the cool air could assault you any longer.

You were quick to start the car, allowing it to warm up as you turned on the heater and placed your hand in front of the air vents. The artificial warmth wafted through your car as you carefully plucked your phone out of your bag casually eyeing the envelope that you’d rather deliver sooner than later. A few minutes ticked by as you thought about the best course of action, scrolling through your contacts you quickly found Nat’s and pressed the call button hoping she’d be able to help you.

The phone didn’t ring for long before you heard Nat’s voice ring through. Your hopes that she wouldn’t answer didn’t have a foot to stand on knowing she always made time to answer your calls whether she was busy or not.

“Nat, hey I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You could hear Pete’s voice in the background as Natalie sounded like she was maneuvering around.

“Baby, no you’re fine. Is everything okay? It's pretty late.” A small smile graced your lips at the slightly worrying tone in Nat’s voice.

“Yeah I’m fine, I uh...I was just hoping I could stop by real quick. I got the revised trademark paperwork in the mail today and was hoping to drop it off.”

The line was quiet for a moment as you awaited the woman’s response, part of you was sure the call had dropped but you could still hear her little noises through the phone.

“Nat? You still there?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to drop it off with Carmen? He doesn’t live too far from where you are now.” You frowned knowing you hadn’t mentioned where you were during the conversation.

“I never said where I was Nat.”

“Oh, I know my love Pete checked your location.” Of course, you were on speaker, not that it annoyed you, whatever you divulged in this conversation with Natalie she’d be sure to gossip about it with Pete regardless if he could hear the conversation or not.

“Isn’t that like an abuse of trust? I shared my location for emergencies Nat.”

“Isn’t this an emergency? You’ve been avoiding Carmy since the night of my baby shower and as much as I love my brother Baby, I am sick of his moping.” You bit your lip suddenly realizing the truth behind Nat’s words, it hadn’t been your intention to avoid him but then you remembered the unanswered texts and the missed calls you had plenty of time to return but for some reason chose not to.

“Is he even home, feels a bit early doesn't it?”

“I’m sending you his address Baby. And I love you, but I am tired of this cycle between the two of you and trust me I know Carmy has his faults, I know the part he’s played in this relationship between you two. But aren’t you now doing exactly what you’ve been crucifying him for?” You could feel the indignation rising in your chest, the need to defend yourself coming in hot.

“I’m not excusing his actions Baby, but the two of you are adults and the fact that Carmy’s pulled his head out of his ass and is finally trying is a big step in whatever the hell is going on between you two.”

The sting of tears behind your eyes was the last thing you wanted to deal with right now. You hated when Natalie was right but you appreciated her perspective and the way she appeared unbiased. You took a deep breath trying to keep the tears at bay not wanting to cry once you began driving.

“I’m scared Nat.” It was quiet as she let you gather your thoughts. “Things have just been fucked up between us for so long that I’m not sure how to navigate a healthy relationship with him. And I…god I kind of hoped him finding out about everything would make him hate me and want nothing to do with me. But then he just accepted it and forgave me and now he’s checking in on me daily and sending me little anecdotes about his day and I’ve just been ignoring him hoping he’d finally just give up because Nat I just…I don’t know everything just feels too good to be true you know?”

You took a minute to even your breathing surprised by what you just admitted to Natalie, unaware that what you’d been feeling over the past few days could be put into words. You reached over to turn off your car, sure you wouldn’t be leaving this spot anytime soon, before laying your head against the headrest and allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

“Baby, you’re never going to be healthy if you continue self-sabotaging.” Nat gave you a minute before continuing. “I appreciate your candor but I don’t think I’m the person who needs to hear these things. Given Carm a chance, I know he’s a bit inexperienced in the relationship department but you both deserve a shot at whatever this dumpster fire of a relationship is.”

You let out a quiet laugh thanking Nat for her oh so kind words of wisdom. You checked the time on your phone as Natalie hung up, time wouldn’t stop just because you wanted it to. Your eyes were drawn to the incoming message from Natalie, a pin with Carmy’s address followed by a quick good luck text. You gave a tired smile at the combination of emojis before clicking on the pin and watching it load in the maps app, an easy 15-minute drive to his apartment complex.

Throwing the phone into the seat next to you, you quickly started the car forcing yourself to begin the journey before you had any more time to talk yourself out of showing up on Carmen’s doorstep unannounced.

This whole situation felt like deja vu. Here you were at Carmy’s doorstep uninvited once again, trying to work up the courage to just even knock on his door. A part of you hoped he wasn’t home to spare yourself from the apology you knew he deserved, but you also just wanted to clear things up between the two of you, finally get things out in the open, and hope the two of you could move forward in whatever way you both agreed upon.

You took one last deep breath before raising your hand to finally knock, cringing a bit at how hard the knocks must have come across. You waited a few seconds with no answer deciding to knock again, you were already here so all you could do was try.

Another series of knocks went unanswered, you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped out of you at the parallels between this moment and your visit to Carmy’s New York apartment a year ago. You checked the time on your watch, deciding to call it a night and send Carmy a text when you returned home, hoping the two of you would be able to connect at a more decent time. Spinning around to return to your car you jumped on the spot, your hand moving to clutch the spot over your heart as it raced.

“Fuck Carmen! Why are you sneaking around?” You did your best to calm your breathing, surprised to find Carmy’s figure in front of you along with the fact that you hadn’t even heard his approach in the first place.

“I uh…I wasn’t.” He looked surprised to see you outside his door, slight confusion drifting through him as he tried to recall ever giving you his address.

The tension in the hallway leading to Carmy’s apartment was palpable, neither of you saying a word in hopes that the other would begin the conversation. An awkward smile curled your lips as Carmy’s eyes darted everywhere but your eyes. If anyone walked in on this scene of the two of you they’d be confused if you told them you’d known the man in front of you your whole life.

“I have-,”

“Would yo-,”

Awkward laughs left the both of you, your hand gesturing for Carmy to go first. He cleared his throat adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, one hand digging into his pocket as he pulled out what could only be his keys.

“Would you uh, like to come in?” Carmy jingled the keys slightly to clarify as if his question wasn’t obvious enough.

You nodded, sending him a genuine smile, “Yes please if that’s okay with you.”

Carmy nodded clearing his throat as he shuffled past you, fingertips slightly grazing your waist in a move you both knew to be unnecessary but neither of you cared to comment on. You waited as he unlocked the door cautiously following behind him as he held the door open for you. A small nod of thanks was sent his way as you walked past eyes surveying what you could see of his apartment thus far.

Although the layout was different from his lodgings in New York, you got the same feeling you had when you entered that apartment a year ago. There was minuscule decoration hardly any to be exact but his presence could be felt as soon as you walked through the door a warmth that was incandescently Carmy radiated around you.

You felt heat at the small of your back as Carmy rounded on you walking past the board in the middle of his living room as he made his way towards the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? Have you eaten yet?” You watched as he rummaged through his fridge in search of something as you continued to look around his abode.

“Actually I-,” Carmy cut you off with a quiet curse under his breath, his figure quickly moving towards you before stopping in front of you. Confusion washed over your features as he carefully removed your purse out of your hands gently setting it on his coffee table and returning to you. You watched as he reached for your arm, hands tugging the sleeve of your jacket off before walking around you and removing it fully, the domesticity of the moment sent a shiver up your spine.

“I uh..I’m out of groceries but I’ll run and go get us some take out yeah?” He still wasn’t looking at you as he spoke whatever was going on in his mind keeping him occupied.

“Carmen I-,” You stopped upon seeing his sporadic unfocused gaze.

“Stay please?” Carmy’s eyes finally met yours after the constant minutes without doing so. The soft glint of hope you found there went straight to your chest as you gave a forced smile nodding your head in acquiesce.

The corner of Carmy’s lips ticked up, eyes quickly darting across your face before moving towards the door removing his wallet from his bag and stopping by the door, you slowly followed behind so you could lock up for him.

“Anything in particular?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pocket as he turned to look at you.

You shook your head, nothing coming to your mind as you stared at him, “Surprise me?”

He stood there for a moment before rapidly nodding his head, turning to leave, stopping in the now open doorway, “Call me if you want anything specific, yeah?”

A genuine smile was sent his way at just how considerate he was, you moved to close the door, immediately stopping as his hands reached out surprising you as they found purchase on your waist. There was no time for you to question his motives as he quickly leaned in, chapped lips softly ghosting across your cheek before he quickly pulled away.

“I’ll be home soon, lock up okay?”

You stood there dumbfounded unsure of what to say or do or if you should say anything for that matter. The further Carmy got from the door the longer you stood there trying to wrap your head around how that man's mind worked. And even after he’d been gone awhile you tried to rationalize that the feel of his lips caressing your cheek meant nothing.

Carmy sat at the small table waiting for the order as he stared down at his phone. On the outside, he appeared calm like someone just stopping for a late-night bite to eat, and while the latter part was true the idea that he was anywhere near calm couldn’t be further from the truth.

At every stop he made he was itching to pick up the phone and call you, to apologize for the random kiss, unsure himself what even drove him to do it. When he stopped off to buy you more comfortable clothes so you could change if you wanted to, he almost called you. And then as he drove across town to pick up the order he placed at your favorite restaurant from your younger years all he could think about was the impromptu kiss he’d left you with.

His hand reached up for the nth time, his thumb unconsciously grazed his lips. The longer he sat there waiting the stronger the urge to call you and apologize became. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on with him when it came to you he was double and triple texting you throughout the week, basically having a conversation with himself with all the messages you’d left unanswered. Checking his phone for what felt like every second of the day, hoping that at some point your contact would be there waiting for him.

Carmen was sure he was going overboard but he couldn’t help the incessant need he felt to surround himself in you. He couldn’t be 100% sure but he felt like the time you spent together after the baby shower, basking in and understanding each other's hurt helped the two of you to come to some new point in your relationship. And then you continued to let him in, you allowed yourself to be the most vulnerable he’d seen you since before your fallout. You allowed him into your life, allowed him to see the hardened parts of you.

Something changed that day…well almost everything changed that day for Carmy. But the morning after as the two of you sat in your backyard and then you asked him to help you tend to your garden he realized he wanted to spend his Sunday mornings like that always with you. With you guiding him, teaching him a trade he wasn’t aware he’d ever enjoy. But watching as the morning sun pierced through the gloomy clouds and illuminated you at such a peaceful moment, the only time he swore he’d seen you truly in peace since you’d arrived back in town.

He remembered watching you from a few feet away tugging at the overgrown weeds, your skin glowing even as the sun fought with the overcast clouds to be able to steal glances at you the way Carmy was allowed to while in your presence. The way your gloved hand would travel up to wipe the sweat off of your face, leaving behind a dusting of dirt and mud in its wake. Carmy could indulge in your beauty forever and not just the physical aspects of it but the beauty in your movement, in the way you spoke, the beauty in your personality, and the grace you gave others; especially him.

Carmy’s reverie was broken as his packaged order was placed in front of him, he sent the worker a quick smile thanking them for their service before gathering his food and exiting the establishment. Carmy usually didn’t have many reasons to feel excited about returning to his lodgings, but reminding himself that he was returning home to you was all the truth he needed to lead him back to you.

The sound of keys turning in the door alerted you to Carmy’s return, but you didn’t give it a second thought as you continued working on the rough draft you began writing in his absence. A spark of motivation hit you as you were left to your own devices in your childhood friend’s apartment.

“Baby?” You let out a small distracted hum as you continued working doing your best to build the foundations of an article you were already weeks behind on. “Baby!” Your head shot up at Carmy’s raised call of your name, eyebrows furrowed until you turned to find him still standing by the door, hands full. The worry you could see on his face melted away the longer he looked at the silver of your head barely visible over the couch from your position on the floor.

You quickly stood up making your way towards him, surprised at how full his hands were, your eyes quickly darting around before landing on the bouquet among the few bags. “You get lost on the way home?” Carmen’s cheeks took on a pink hue at your teasing.

His lack of verbal response caused you to falter, unsure if you had read the situation wrong when he asked you to stay. You watched as his eyes glanced over to his small living area, your laptop open on his coffee table with papers he knew weren’t his scattered around it. You prepared yourself to apologize for the mess knowing Carmy had his own system of organized chaos and that maybe having your own added chaos was unwelcome.

“These are for you,” your eyes snapped back to him as he held out the bouquet to you. “There uh nothing compared to Willie’s but I uh…I saw them on the way home and I,” Carmy cleared his throat looking around for any sense of confidence he could find. “I wanted to get them for you.”

You nodded along with his explanation, uncaring of how much the smile on your lips may have given away your feelings, “Thank you for thinking of me, Carm.” Your hand rested on his forearm as you carefully removed the bouquet from his hand, “Let’s get these in some water yeah?”

Carmy sent you a small shy smile placing his now free hand on your back and leading you to the kitchen portion of his apartment, “Is it okay if I use these as a vase?” Carmy looked in your direction after setting the remainder of the bags on unoccupied counter space, a slight chuckle leaving him as you held up the plastic containers he’d use at the restaurant for certain ingredients and often time to drink out of.

“Course’ Baby.” He watched you for a moment longer, the smile on your face easing whatever doubts he’d been feeling about the rocky status of your relationship, one last longing look sent your way as he began unpacking the food.

The smell of delicious food wafted through the air as you began cutting the stems of your bouquet and arranging them in the containers. You could see Carmy moving around in your peripheral, not paying him much attention as he moved around you, your head finally perking up at the sound of the washing machine starting eyes finding Carmy as he once again joined you in the kitchenette.

You finished arranging the flowers, moving to the sink to fill the makeshift vases with water before turning and looking for a spot for them. The containers were momentarily forgotten as your eyes landed on an all too familiar photo hanging on Carmy’s fridge. A small sad smile lined your lips, the five of you all together like one big happy family, your heart ached for the younger versions of each of you in the picture who wouldn’t realize until it was too late that life wouldn’t always be this way. Your eyes strayed to Mikey’s figure for one last time wishing you had just a bit more time with him.

Giving yourself a small moment to tame your emotions, you maneuvered to the only empty counter space still left. Carefully you placed the two containers in the bit of space, a warmth radiating through you at Carmy randomly buying you flowers, you were loathe to admit it but he was the first person to buy you flowers unprovoked, and the fact that this was his second time doing so was not lost on you.

You turned to Carmy to find him still removing food from the takeaway bag, surprised at the amount of boxes now littering his counter. “Do you need any help?” You leaned back against the stove watching as Carmy’s head shot up, almost as if he’d forgotten you were there.

He nodded, “Could you grab some forks, from the drawer to your left.” He turned back to his previous activity, leaving you to grab the utensils.

Locating the only drawer on your left you quickly grabbed the only two forks taking up space in the draw, a soft laugh escaped you, part of you hoping Carmy had more forks that just needed to be clean. You felt a little sad at the idea of him only having utensils for himself, you were curious how much time he even willingly spent in this apartment but it didn’t feel like something you could outright ask given the awkward tension between the two of you. Though for once it wasn’t Carmy’s fault, you caused the awkwardness this time.

Closing the drawer your eyes focused on the forks for a few moments longer, as if they could give you answers to the self-doubt you felt about fixing your relationship with Carm. Moving to join Carmy you caught a very familiar, very intimate photo tapped above the stove.

You did a double take unsure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but upon staring head-on at the Polaroid, you were surely not mistaken. From the intimate image of you and Carmy in bed, your eyes so full of love looking at the still image almost made you sick, and of course at the bottom your phone number. A part of you felt angry, it didn’t seem like Carmy had just randomly placed the Polaroid above the stove one day, you couldn’t explain it but the placement felt deliberate and if it hung there for however long it did, then why was it so easy for him to give Claire your number instead of calling you himself when you were sure he saw your number almost every day.

Taking a deep breath you allowed yourself to feel hurt about the picture, you had every right to be. But you also knew if you let your hurt guide you the two of you would just fall back into your cycle of arguing and going days without speaking. It was obvious the two of you had a lot more to talk about, so you would take the high road and hope more things got solved tonight.

“Hey Carm,” your hand reached out to delicately remove the photo from its place on the wall.

“Hmm,” he was now occupied with plating you each a portion of the food, eyes not giving you any attention.

A small smirk made its way to your face as you made your way over to him, your arm brushing his as you stopped next to him. “Do you keep all your porn in the kitchen?”

You felt him freeze next to you arms going slack as his head snapped up to look at the side of your face.

“W-what?” You could hear the slight fear and tinge of embarrassment in his voice, the notion making you smile bigger at how easy it was to mess with him. You allowed him to simmer in those feelings as you perused the plates surprised to see the familiar logos on the takeout boxes, your heart warming at Carmy’s attention to detail. You carefully set the forks on each of the dishes before grabbing the one closest to you.

You dropped the Polaroid in the empty spot the plate once was, “Thank you for dinner Carmy.” You placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before maneuvering yourself around him so you could eat.

The apartment was quiet as you took a seat on the floor, placing your plate on the coffee table, before beginning to eat. The quiet expletive that left Carmy’s lips gained a small laugh from you, you sent him a wide smile as he joined you on the couch, neither of you saying a word as you ate dinner.

The awkward air from earlier returned as the two of you finished your respective meals, the quiet dialogue from the random T.V. show playing was the only noise in the apartment as you and Carmy sat on opposite sides of the couch. You intended to initiate a conversation after dinner but found yourself overthinking the best way to address everything between you two at the moment. The longer you sat there in silence the more resigned you felt to just thank Carm for dinner and leave his apartment without another word.

As if the atmosphere wasn’t ripe enough with tension, the “sneaky” glances the two of you stole from each other did little to help especially when one of you caught the other and shy smiles ensued. You felt like a teenager all over again all shy and uncertain. But the longer you sat in Carmy’s apartment you realized just how juvenile this all was, Carmy already knew how strongly you felt for him and if it wasn’t clear when you let him pump and dump you a year ago, then you were damn well sure it was clear when you yelled that you loved him in the restaurant all those weeks ago. And now the two of you were just dancing around what everybody else had known for some time.

Suddenly you sat forward from your position on the couch reaching to grab your bag off the coffee table. Carefully removing the pristine envelope you placed your bag down and turned to look at Carmy, unsurprised to find his eyes already on you.

You held out your hand to him urging him to take the envelope, “This came in the mail today. Everything is in your name now, the trademark is yours, Carm.” You waited with bated breath as his eyes flickered from yours down to the envelope in your hand, confusion sweeping over you the longer the envelope hung between the two of you.

His hand reached out gently removing the object from your grip, you wanted to tease him from the unnecessary contact he’d created. His hand latched delicately around your wrist to hold it in place while his free hand reached for the envelope, the hand still holding your wrist gently slid away as he pulled back making sure each of his work-calloused fingers left behind the whisper of a kiss against your now empty palm.

You watched as he silently opened the envelope taking the time to read over the enclosed document. You could tell he read it more than once, likely soaking in that what he’d been working for was finally coming to fruition; that Mikey’s dream would finally become reality. Your heart lurched as his fingers traced over the printed words, you couldn’t help the wetness that rose to your waterline, a feeling of gratefulness raced through you at the fact that you were back here in Chicago surrounded by family watching each of them accomplish something different.

As Carmy continued ruminating on whatever thoughts were racing through his head, you quietly began gathering your items feeling as though this was a good time to call it a night. You had just slipped on your jacket when you felt pressure at the base of your spine, looking over your shoulder to find Carmy’s confused eyes looking at you.

“You’re leaving?” You were surprised by the slight hurt in his voice, your arms dropping to your side as you felt like you had done something wrong.

You gave him a small nod motioning toward the watch on your wrist, “It's late Carm, I don’t want to inconvenience you more than I already have.” You hoped the joking tone in your voice was evident to him.

“You haven’t inconvenienced me.” The conviction in his voice wasn’t lost as you stared at him for a moment.

A quiet laugh left you, “I showed up at your doorstep unannounced Carm, and then I basically forced you into buying me dinner. Does that not sound inconvenient to you? Plus, I’m sure you want some alone time.”

His eyes locked on yours as though he were searching for something, you couldn’t be sure but standing in his living room under his penetrating gaze like so warmed you. You watched as a light blush raced up his neck, his cheeks tinging a pretty shade of pink, you could tell his mind was racing with what to say next, his eyes were still locked on yours but now had a faraway look to them.

“Would it…ahem,” the clearing of his throat brought his full focus back to you. “Would it be weird if I wanted to spend my alone time with…uh with you?”

It was quiet after his confession, the smile you once held dropping as you realized his words to be serious, his widening eyes told you that he was seconds from backtracking on his previous words. You quickly shook your head, sending him a quick smile.

“Are you asking me to have a sleepover with you, Carmy?” Your eyes were full of mirth as his earlier blush deepened when your eyes found his once again. “Like when we were kids?” The latter question was unnecessary it would always be worth it every time if it meant you got to watch Carmy clam up as he thought of a way to relieve his embarrassment.

You waited for his response, part of you assuming you’d teased him too much as he just stared at you wide-eyed, you tried to laugh off the awkwardness you were beginning to feel. “It was sweet of you to ask Carm, but I don’t have an emergency overnight bag in my car.” You hoped your tone didn’t give away just how much you were actually thinking about accepting his offer.

“You do.” You frowned at his words, eyebrows raising as you urged him to continue, “I mean…it's just that I uh picked up some stuff for you when I was out.”

You felt your heart clench at Carmy’s confession, his eyes looking everywhere but at your as he realized how the whole thing may have come across to you. “I…sorry I didn’t mean to overstep or…or imply anything I just-,”

“Carm hey,” you reached out to grip his hand, your thumb rubbing soothing circles against it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I’d be happy to spend the night with you.”

He nodded, you could still see the apprehension on his face and you couldn’t tell if it was because of his own actions, or if he was regretting having asked you to stay the night in the first place.

“Not to sound ungrateful but did you happen to pick up anything I could change into?” Your question had its intended effect, diverting Carmy’s attention as he pointed to the washer in answer before leading you back to the kitchenette to the still-full bag you paid little attention to while in the kitchen with him earlier.

To say it was a surprise to see the bag full of the products that could be found in your bathroom back home would be a lie. You zoned out as Carmy took the time to explain that he picked out what he could remember seeing in your shower, your eyes burning into the side of his head as you took the time to allow the events of the past hour to sink into your mind thinking back on the advice you’d received from Natalie.

“Baby?” The questioning tone of Carmy’s voice revealed he tried to gain your attention for some time now.

You blinked a couple of times your eyes immediately finding Carmy’s as you cleared the blur of tears away. You couldn’t help the way your heart seemed to beat faster the longer you looked at him, or the way it ached all the same as though it was longing for a want that was finally so close, a want that could become tangible if you allowed it to. The silence permeated between the two of you, worry lines etching into Carmy’s forehead the longer you went without speaking.

It was as though a realization had just dawned on you, sure you were standing in front of Carmen Berzatto, but you didn’t know this man standing in front of you; not really. He was so different from the young man you left behind all of those years ago and in some ways all the same. Although you’d seen him at Christmas that one time and spent a few hours with him in New York, neither of those instances made up for the 10 years the two of you spent apart living and maturing without each other.

But you wanted to know him, to know him intimately. To know him as a friend and a lover and everything in between. And even though you still had so much time to make up for between the two of you, you knew deep down that it would all be okay. You knew it in the way he cared for you as you showcased your most vulnerable parts to him. He showed it in the way he forgave you so easily for hiding such a horrifying truth from him. In the way he checked in on you over this week as you went silent, the way he so easily invited you into his space made sure you ate, and brought you flowers all because he wanted to.

It felt abysmal the way you were picking at straws at this moment, but Natalie was right the self-sabotaging was getting ridiculous. And right now all you wanted was to be happy, and Carmy seemed to be offering you that in his in-experienced way.

You took a step forward, arms instantly wrapping around his neck as you melted into him regardless of whether he returned your affection. But it was immediate, the way one of his firm arms snaked around your waist, the remaining one moving up to grip the back of your neck holding you as tight as he possibly could, if it was possible you were sure he would’ve melded your bodies together. The rough pad of his thumb swept across the skin of your neck, you listened as he took a sharp intake of breath, his body relaxing into yours even more as he inhaled your scent finding comfort in the mixture of your signature perfume and just the smell of you.

“I’ve missed you so much, Carmen.” The quiet words found their home in the space of his neck, your soft lips leaving behind the ghost of a kiss.

a/n: domestic filler with a subtle splash of fluff and angst. next chapter will pick up where this one left off enjoy. 🤍

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy the bear x reader #the bear fic #the bear x reader #the bear x you #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

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fluentmoviequoter · 7 months ago

Text

Accidental CI

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!reader

Summary: When your employer's name comes up in a case, your best friend Deacon calls to ask for your help. He leads you into a dangerous situation, and you come out as more than friends.

Warnings: r works an unspecified corporate job, mentions weapon trafficking and guns, threats, mostly fluff!

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Hi, Deac,” you greet as you open the door.

“How was work?” he asks.

“It was fine. My boss forgot to start a software update last night so we didn’t have computer access until after lunch.”

“So, you got paid to sit there and do nothing?”

“Which isn’t that much different than most days,” you tease. “What about you? Any crazy calls?”

You lead Deacon into your kitchen, and his smile widens when he sees dinner waiting on your counter. He pulls you into a quick hug before telling you about his day at work.

“No injuries?” you ask softly.

“No injuries,” he assures. “What about you; any paper cuts that need tending to?”

“Just mental injuries for me. Our financial statements aren’t aligning like they should and if it’s not fixed by the next audit, someone’s getting in trouble.”

“What do you think caused it?”

“Oversight or adding the same bill twice, I’d guess. But I think we should talk about something more exciting than my future IRS investigation.”

“Then let’s talk about that amazing dinner over there and I’ll remind you that Luca wants to have a cooking competition with you.”

Deacon has been your best friend since he moved in next door. You also harbor an ever-growing crush on him. When you saw him climb out of the moving truck the first day, you knew you wanted to be close. He’s got a stressful job, so if you can give him a break and a friend, that’s what you’ll do.

Deacon watches the screen in the situation room as Hondo explains the corporate espionage turned weapon trafficking case. It's a strange move, going from stealing trade secrets to transporting illegal weapons across borders and into areas with strict gun control laws. Metro found a lot of evidence, but when they located the weapons supply in their prime suspect’s corporate office, they called in 20 Squad.

“Wait, go back. Who’s the suspect?” Deacon asks.

His eyes search the monitor as Hondo returns to a page of surveillance photos.

“Elwin Dupree. You know him?” Hondo responds.

“Not personally, but I know someone who works for him.”

“CI?” Chris guesses.

“No. She might be willing to help, though.”

“Call her,” Hondo says.

Hicks adds, “Otherwise, we’re going in blind. Metro has intel but it’s not enough to avoid an ambush.”

Deacon nods and walks out of the room. He presses a contact from his favorites list before raising his phone to his ear.

“Remind me why we work here?” your desk neighbor, whom you lovingly call Nola, says as she sits across from you.

“Because the pay is good… and we’re desperate,” you offer, smiling as you accept your favorite drink.

“May I remind you that Dupree is an idiot who can’t even remember what he asks us to do?”

“Just smile and go with it, Nola, it’s the easiest way to handle it.”

“The man called me into his office yesterday, and then didn’t know why I was there,” she whispers.

“That’s probably a good thing for you. Considering your nickname is based off of your reply of no; lazy.”

“I am lazy! So, I don’t like to do things. He can fire me whenever he wants.”

You roll your eyes and prepare to reply but are interrupted by your cell phone ringing. You apologize to Nola before you answer it.

“Hey, it’s me,” Deacon says on the other end of the line.

“Indeed, it is. What’s going on?” you reply.

“How do you know something is going on?”

“It’s mid-morning on a weekday. And you never call me.”

“I call you all the time!” Deacon argues.

You laugh before you say, “Not when you’re at work.”

“Okay, fine, you’re right. Listen, we’re working on something, and your boss’s name came up.”

“Dupree?” you inquire. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you exactly what we’re looking into, but Hondo and Hicks wanted to know if you’d be willing to help us.”

“Of course. Tell me what to do,” you agree.

“Can you come down here?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. You open the calendar on your computer and add, “I can spare an hour and a half, is that enough time?”

“Absolutely. Thank you,” Deacon says.

“Anything for you.”

You hang up and gather your things before standing.

“Where are you off to? Please tell me you’re leaving to go on a date with the hot neighbor you always talk about,” Nola whispers.

“Not today. There was a slight mishap for some of our paperwork. I have to run to another office and get everything sorted out,” you lie. “I’ll have my cell if you need anything.”

“Dodging bullets left and right, aren’t you? Go ahead, I’ll watch your phone and fill in Dupree if he notices you’re gone.”

“Thanks, Nola.”

When you park outside the station, your thoughts begin spiraling. You sit in your seat and wonder if you made the right decision. Will you be in Deacon’s way or be too distracted by him to even help? What if something happens to him while you’re with him? What if he-

A tap on your window draws you from your questions. You turn your head and see Deacon looking at you through the glass. You send him a small smile as he opens your door and bends to look at you. His head tilts to this side, and when he lowers to a squat, his brown eyes distract you as he looks up at you.

“You okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says gently.

“No, I want to. Just- I was thinking too much, I guess,” you reply.

Deacon nods and stands before offering his hand to help you out of your seat. He closes the door and ensures it’s locked before moving his hand to your back to lead you inside.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Hondo,” Hondo says as you enter.

You shake Hondo’s hand and introduce yourself as you follow him further into the station. He doesn’t waste any time as he begins explaining as much as he can about how your boss is involved in the case they’re working.

“We’d like to send you in the get additional details on the office and any other information you can find,” Hondo says. “We’ve got basic floor plans, but we need insider info.”

“She can’t go in alone,” Deacon argues. “We don’t know what he has in that office. If she starts asking questions and he gets suspicious-“

You cut Deacon off by laying a hand on his shoulder and asking, “What if you go in with me? It wouldn’t be that hard for me to lie about who you are; Dupree doesn’t know most of the people who work in the building. Plus, you know what to look for better than I do.”

Hondo looks at Deacon and waits for his reply. You feel Deacon sigh against your hand before agreeing to go into the office with you.

“There’s an employee entrance without metal detectors, but you have to swipe a keycard,” you explain. “They’ll know if you piggyback with me.”

“Our techs can make him a keycard,” Hondo assures. “If you have yours, they can copy parts of it.”

You nod and pass your card to Hondo. He turns and gives it to a passing officer with a few short instructions. Deacon pats your arm as he leaves to change; his uniform isn’t business casual, but he said he'd find something more fitting.

“20 Squad is going to be close by,” Hondo begins. “Deacon can say a word and we’ll be inside, but if you need help and get separated from Deacon, try to get to a window. Signaling for help is easiest with this; just keep it in your pocket or your hand and press the button if you need us.”

You accept the small device and slide it into your pocket. It’s invisible, and you nod as Hondo reassures you everything will be okay.

“I know you can’t tell me what exactly Dupree is doing, but you’re going to catch him, right?” you ask softly.

“Absolutely. Nobody can run from S.W.A.T.”

You scan your keycard and wait for Deacon to do the same before opening the door. The employee entrance is on the side of the building, and you smooth your hands over your hips nervously. When you feel the device Hondo gave you, you relax slightly.

“We’ll walk to my desk, look at a few papers, and then go in?” you suggest as Deacon gestures for you to enter.

“Sounds good,” he agrees.

“The suit looks good,” you mumble as you walk toward the elevator.

Deacon chuckles as the elevator door opens, and you smile as he shakes his head at your flattery. The elevator is quiet, and as you wait to arrive on your floor, you take a few deep breaths. Deacon’s hand finds your lower back, and he rubs small, comforting circles before the door opens.

“Still working on the paperwork issue?” Nola asks when you reach your desk.

“Yeah, we are. This is Ryan from the Santa Monica branch,” you say.

Nola’s eyes narrow at you before she looks at Deacon’s hand. He’s close to you, like always, but you don’t understand her look. You raise your brows, but she only shrugs before looking back at her computer.

“Was it this one?” you ask Deacon.

He takes the blank form from your hand and nods. “Yes, this is the one.”

You return the paper to its rightful place on your desk before leading Deacon down another hallway. Nola’s reaction confused you at first, yet you’re not surprised when Deacon gently grabs your hip to stop you in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s fine. Just stay calm and remember our covers. Like you said, Dupree won’t know any difference,” Deacon soothes. “And the team’s waiting for our signal if we need them.”

You nod, and Deacon’s hands raise to your shoulders as he drops his chin to look into your eyes.

“You got this,” he promises.

“I need to discuss an urgent matter with Mr. Dupree,” you inform his secretary. “This is Mr. Ryan Davidson from the Santa Monica branch. There have been some discrepancies with paperwork submitted to their office, which needs Mr. Dupree’s immediate attention.”

His secretary raises the receiver of her desk phone and whispers into it. You turn to look at Deacon, and he tilts his head to the left to signal you to stay calm and wait.

“You can go on in,” the secretary says as she lowers the phone.

Deacon opens the door for you, and you step inside first.

“Hello,” Mr. Dupree greets. He doesn’t pretend to remember your name, you notice. “I heard there’s an issue with some paperwork?”

“Yes, sir,” Deacon says. “I’m Ryan Davidson with the Santa Monica office and we’ve been having issues; receiving incomplete or incorrect paperwork from this branch.”

“My sincerest apologies, Ryan. If you don’t mind, use that laptop there and sign into your account while I bring mine up. We’ll get this sorted.”

You stand back as Deacon walks to the table at the back of the office and opens the laptop. Mr. Dupree didn’t shake his hand, ask for identification, or take other proper steps before jumping to help. It’s suspicious, but probably not what Deacon and his team need.

“What kind of incorrect information have you seen?” Mr. Dupree asks. You open your mouth to answer, and he adds, “Ryan?”

“Financial statements that aren’t matching previous months, for one. Most likely an oversight or adding the same bill twice. Nothing too extreme, just something we need sorted before the end-of-year audits,” Deacon answers.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his response. He practically repeated a complaint you shared during your last dinner together.

“Very well. I don’t know why the system is moving so slowly,” Dupree responds. He moves his hand under his desk as Deacon types.

You watch Dupree because Deacon’s team is getting him the access he needs. When you see the handle of a gun gripped in Dupree’s hand, you call, “Gun!” and drop to the floor just before he shoots above your head.

Deacon pulls his own weapon and points it at Dupree as he demands, “Put the gun down. I’m Sergeant Kay, L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T.”

As Deacon speaks, you slowly press your back against the side of Dupree’s desk, where he can’t see you. Deacon’s eyes are on Dupree, but you watch Deacon because you trust him to keep you safe.

“I could put it down,” Dupree says. “But if I angle it like this and pull the trigger, wouldn’t it hit your little friend?”

Deacon glances at you quickly, and you lock eyes before you shift away from the oversized desk.

“One more time: drop the gun,” Deacon repeats.

You can’t see Dupree, but you clap your hands over your ears as you hear two shots. Everything goes quiet, and you lean forward slowly to look for Deacon. He kneels before you and gently pulls your hands away from your head. You let him move you before surging forward to hug him. He welcomes you into his arms as footsteps echo in the hallway outside.

“It’s okay. We got him,” Deacon promises.

You nod against Deacon and allow him to help you stand. Deacon keeps you angled away from Dupree’s desk, and you’re happy to avoid looking.

“Did you get everything you need?” you ask quietly as Street and Luca lead a paramedic inside.

“We did. Are you okay?”

Deacon lays a hand on your shoulder, and his thumb presses gently into your tense muscles as he looks into your eyes.

“Get her out of here. Hondo said you can take the rest of the day. Maybe she can practice for the competition,” Luca calls.

“I think you need the practice more than me,” you reply without turning.

Luca laughs as Deacon wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you out of the office. He takes you back to your desk to get your things, and Nola rushes to hug you when you enter the open area.

“I heard the shots and was so worried!” she exclaims. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you promise.

“Then I need you to do something. Go home and ask your neighbor out. Don’t wait too long,” she says.

You nod and return to Deacon’s side. He heard everything from where he was standing, yet doesn’t comment as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Once you’re on the road, he fills the silence by asking you questions about what you will cook for your competition with Luca. You know he’s trying to distract you from what happened, and you appreciate it.

Back at the station, you sign some paperwork to receive CI benefits before walking to Deacon’s side. He offers to drive you home and keep you company, which you happily accept. You never like leaving Deacon and don’t want to be alone tonight.

“I waited too long,” Deacon murmurs while walking you out.

You stop and turn to face him as you ask, “For what?”

“What your friend said. I waited too long to ask you out.”

You smile and slide your hand into his. “Did you know that Nola looked at us like that because you were standing really close to me?" Deacon shrugs, and you explain, “I never shut up about you, Deac. I’m in love with you, so she was confused about why I was standing so close to another man.”

“Never?” Deacon repeats playfully.

“You didn’t wait too long, Deac,” you promise.

“I didn’t?”

“Not if you take your chance right now.”

Deacon looks around quickly before yelling, “Hicks! Did you file it yet?”

“No; I’m busy, Deacon,” Hicks answers.

“Can you make her Hondo’s CI?”

Hicks looks between the two of you and rolls his eyes. “Yes, I can.”

When Deacon turns back to you, he doesn’t give you time to speak before he asks, “Will you go out with me?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” you answer.

Your smile grows to match Deacon’s, but he makes it disappear when he pulls you in and kisses you. The sound of clapping makes you open your eyes as you pull back. Hondo leads 20 Squad in a round of applause, and you bury your face in Deacon’s chest to hide your grin and burning embarrassment.

“My CI’s never end up like this,” Hondo jokes.

“Pretty good timing, though, wasn’t it?” Deacon asks as he wraps his arms around you.

You stand wordlessly from the couch and walk past Deacon. He turns to watch you as you enter your bathroom and close the door. It only takes a moment for him to decide to follow you.

“Are you okay?” Deacon asks from outside the door. “And don’t just say you’re fine. We both know you’re not.”

You open the door and lean against the vanity as he walks in. “I feel bad that you had to shoot Dupree. I know he’s fine and he’ll recover, pay for him crimes, and everything. But you probably wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t there.”

“Don’t think like that. If he had refused to drop the gun or fired again, I would have stopped him. Whether you were there or not. The only thing that was different was how fast I decided to do it; he was threatening you, but that didn’t affect my reaction itself.”

You nod, and Deacon places his hands on the vanity, caging you and keeping you close. “Don’t carry that guilt around,” he requests. “It gets heavy quickly.”

You slip your arms under Deacon’s to circle his waist. Because of your position, you look up at him and ask, “Could I have another kiss to help me overcome all of this guilt?”

Deacon laughs as his hand raises to rub your back. “Anything for my accidental CI.”

“I’m Hondo’s CI,” you remind him.

“But I’m the one that gets to kiss you, so who has the better timing?”

You let your kiss answer the question, and when Deacon pulls you against him to be even closer, you know that the wait was worth it. Though you probably won’t agree to go into the office of a weapon trafficker with him again, you will always be ready to help him when he asks and comfort him when he can’t. Despite how much you loved Deacon when you thought you could only be friends, you feel more love now that you know he feels the same.

#hanna writes✯#david deacon kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay fluff #david deacon kay #deacon kay #fem!reader

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pukicho · 2 years ago

Note

So puki you make music, whats your setup like? Audio interface, software, etc etc. Askin cuz I wanna get into the scene

Well I wanna preface this with a few things!! I have spent 90% of my money on music stuff! I love it and have spent like 13 years acquiring this shit, but here is my studio from like 6 months ago

A FEW THINGS HAVE CHANGED SINCE THIS! I no longer have the Pro 3 and swapped it for… nothing! I just sold it, also I cleaned up those cables.

To keep it simple, I have an Apollo x8 audio interface, its the best sounding interface I’ve ever owned, all my synths go into the Apollo, I don’t have a mixer but I 100% need one, I have so many little synths not in use as a result of my lack of inputs!! I have an 8 channel midi host hidden behind some shit, and that really fucking helps. For the love of god don’t use USB midi for big synth setups like mine, it sucks. It pays to learn MIDI shit.

My current synth tower includes the Moog Matriarch, Udo Super 6 and the prophet 6 - under the desk is my OB6! I also own a few doodads like the elektron octatrak mk2, the eowave quadrantid swarm and the 0-coast - I use Adam A77x speakers and some nice headphones!

This is all stupid overkill and not necessary to make good music, I am just a whore, and I have lofty plans and projects! All u need is a focusrite (or a UA volt preferably, sounds better) a good vst like serum or vital (free serum but less presets and worse effects) and some samples u can get from splice or some shit - and maybe a nice MIDI controller - as for daws I suggest FL since its great for learning, or ableton if you plan on going ham with beat making, logic is also a beast for apple users. Most importantly, have fun and don’t be a dick. Also if u think ur music is good 2 years in, it probably isn’t, always something to learn. Byebye

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max-levchin · 1 year ago

Text

Shamir Secret Sharing

It’s 3am. Paul, the head of PayPal database administration carefully enters his elaborate passphrase at a keyboard in a darkened cubicle of 1840 Embarcadero Road in East Palo Alto, for the fifth time. He hits Return. The green-on-black console window instantly displays one line of text: “Sorry, one or more wrong passphrases. Can’t reconstruct the key. Goodbye.”

There is nerd pandemonium all around us. James, our recently promoted VP of Engineering, just climbed the desk at a nearby cubicle, screaming: “Guys, if we can’t get this key the right way, we gotta start brute-forcing it ASAP!” It’s gallows humor – he knows very well that brute-forcing such a key will take millions of years, and it’s already 6am on the East Coast – the first of many “Why is PayPal down today?” articles is undoubtedly going to hit CNET shortly. Our single-story cubicle-maze office is buzzing with nervous activity of PayPalians who know they can’t help but want to do something anyway. I poke my head up above the cubicle wall to catch a glimpse of someone trying to stay inside a giant otherwise empty recycling bin on wheels while a couple of Senior Software Engineers are attempting to accelerate the bin up to dangerous speeds in the front lobby. I lower my head and try to stay focused. “Let’s try it again, this time with three different people” is the best idea I can come up with, even though I am quite sure it will not work.

It doesn’t.

The key in question decrypts PayPal’s master payment credential table – also known as the giant store of credit card and bank account numbers. Without access to payment credentials, PayPal doesn’t really have a business per se, seeing how we are supposed to facilitate payments, and that’s really hard to do if we no longer have access to the 100+ million credit card numbers our users added over the last year of insane growth.

This is the story of a catastrophic software bug I briefly introduced into the PayPal codebase that almost cost us the company (or so it seemed, in the moment.) I’ve told this story a handful of times, always swearing the listeners to secrecy, and surprisingly it does not appear to have ever been written down before. 20+ years since the incident, it now appears instructive and a little funny, rather than merely extremely embarrassing.

Before we get back to that fateful night, we have to go back another decade. In the summer of 1991, my family and I moved to Chicago from Kyiv, Ukraine. While we had just a few hundred dollars between the five of us, we did have one secret advantage: science fiction fans.

My dad was a highly active member of Zoryaniy Shlyah – Kyiv’s possibly first (and possibly only, at the time) sci-fi fan club – the name means “Star Trek” in Ukrainian, unsurprisingly. He translated some Stansilaw Lem (of Solaris and Futurological Congress fame) from Polish to Russian in the early 80s and was generally considered a coryphaeus at ZSh.

While USSR was more or less informationally isolated behind the digital Iron Curtain until the late ‘80s, by 1990 or so, things like FidoNet wriggled their way into the Soviet computing world, and some members of ZSh were now exchanging electronic mail with sci-fi fans of the free world.

The vaguely exotic news of two Soviet refugee sci-fi fans arriving in Chicago was transmitted to the local fandom before we had even boarded the PanAm flight that took us across the Atlantic [1]. My dad (and I, by extension) was soon adopted by some kind Chicago science fiction geeks, a few of whom became close friends over the years, though that’s a story for another time.

A year or so after the move to Chicago, our new sci-fi friends invited my dad to a birthday party for a rising star of the local fandom, one Bruce Schneier. We certainly did not know Bruce or really anyone at the party, but it promised good food, friendly people, and probably filk. My role was to translate, as my dad spoke limited English at the time.

I had fallen desperately in love with secret codes and cryptography about a year before we left Ukraine. Walking into Bruce’s library during the house tour (this was a couple years before Applied Cryptography was published and he must have been deep in research) felt like walking into Narnia.

I promptly abandoned my dad to fend for himself as far as small talk and canapés were concerned, and proceeded to make a complete ass out of myself by brazenly asking the host for a few sheets of paper and a pencil. Having been obliged, I pulled a half dozen cryptography books from the shelves and went to work trying to copy down some answers to a few long-held questions on the library floor. After about two hours of scribbling alone like a man possessed, I ran out of paper and decided to temporarily rejoin the party.

On the living room table, Bruce had stacks of copies of his fanzine Ramblings. Thinking I could use the blank sides of the pages to take more notes, I grabbed a printout and was about to quietly return to copying the original S-box values for DES when my dad spotted me from across the room and demanded I help him socialize. The party wrapped soon, and our friends drove us home.

The printout I grabbed was not a Ramblings issue. It was a short essay by Bruce titled Sharing Secrets Among Friends, essentially a humorous explanation of Shamir Secret Sharing.

Say you want to make sure that something really really important and secret (a nuclear weapon launch code, a database encryption key, etc) cannot be known or used by a single (friendly) actor, but becomes available, if at least n people from a group of m choose to do it. Think two on-duty officers (from a cadre of say 5) turning keys together to get ready for a nuke launch.

The idea (proposed by Adi Shamir – the S of RSA! – in 1979) is as simple as it is beautiful.

Let’s call the secret we are trying to split among m people K.

First, create a totally random polynomial that looks like: y(x) = C0 * x^(n-1) + C1 * x^(n-2) + C2 * x^(n-3) ….+ K. “Create” here just means generate random coefficients C. Now, for every person in your trusted group of m, evaluate the polynomial for some randomly chosen Xm and hand them their corresponding (Xm,Ym) each.

If we have n of these points together, we can use Lagrange interpolating polynomial to reconstruct the coefficients – and evaluate the original polynomial at x=0, which conveniently gives us y(0) = K, the secret. Beautiful. I still had the printout with me, years later, in Palo Alto.

It should come as no surprise that during my time as CTO PayPal engineering had an absolute obsession with security. No firewall was one too many, no multi-factor authentication scheme too onerous, etc. Anything that was worth anything at all was encrypted at rest.

To decrypt, a service would get the needed data from its database table, transmit it to a special service named cryptoserv (an original SUN hardware running Solaris sitting on its own, especially tightly locked-down network) and a special service running only there would perform the decryption and send back the result.

Decryption request rate was monitored externally and on cryptoserv, and if there were too many requests, the whole thing was to shut down and purge any sensitive data and keys from its memory until manually restarted.

It was this manual restart that gnawed at me. At launch, a bunch of configuration files containing various critical decryption keys were read (decrypted by another key derived from one manually-entered passphrase) and loaded into the memory to perform future cryptographic services.

Four or five of us on the engineering team knew the passphrase and could restart cryptoserv if it crashed or simply had to have an upgrade. What if someone performed a little old-fashioned rubber-hose cryptanalysis and literally beat the passphrase out of one of us? The attacker could theoretically get access to these all-important master keys. Then stealing the encrypted-at-rest database of all our users’ secrets could prove useful – they could decrypt them in the comfort of their underground supervillain lair.

I needed to eliminate this threat.

Shamir Secret Sharing was the obvious choice – beautiful, simple, perfect (you can in fact prove that if done right, it offers perfect secrecy.) I decided on a 3-of-8 scheme and implemented it in pure POSIX C for portability over a few days, and tested it for several weeks on my Linux desktop with other engineers.

Step 1: generate the polynomial coefficients for 8 shard-holders.

Step 2: compute the key shards (x0, y0) through (x7, y7)

Step 3: get each shard-holder to enter a long, secure passphrase to encrypt the shard

Step 4: write out the 8 shard files, encrypted with their respective passphrases.

And to reconstruct:

Step 1: pick any 3 shard files.

Step 2: ask each of the respective owners to enter their passphrases.

Step 3: decrypt the shard files.

Step 4: reconstruct the polynomial, evaluate it for x=0 to get the key.

Step 5: launch cryptoserv with the key.

One design detail here is that each shard file also stored a message authentication code (a keyed hash) of its passphrase to make sure we could identify when someone mistyped their passphrase. These tests ran hundreds and hundreds of times, on both Linux and Solaris, to make sure I did not screw up some big/little-endianness issue, etc. It all worked perfectly.

A month or so later, the night of the key splitting party was upon us. We were finally going to close out the last vulnerability and be secure. Feeling as if I was about to turn my fellow shard-holders into cymeks, I gathered them around my desktop as PayPal’s front page began sporting the “We are down for maintenance and will be back soon” message around midnight.

The night before, I solemnly generated the new master key and securely copied it to cryptoserv. Now, while “Push It” by Salt-n-Pepa blared from someone’s desktop speakers, the automated deployment script copied shard files to their destination.

While each of us took turns carefully entering our elaborate passphrases at a specially selected keyboard, Paul shut down the main database and decrypted the payment credentials table, then ran the script to re-encrypt with the new key. Some minutes later, the database was running smoothly again, with the newly encrypted table, without incident.

All that was left was to restore the master key from its shards and launch the new, even more secure cryptographic service.

The three of us entered our passphrases… to be met with the error message I haven’t seen in weeks: “Sorry, one or more wrong passphrases. Can’t reconstruct the key. Goodbye.” Surely one of us screwed up typing, no big deal, we’ll do it again. No dice. No dice – again and again, even after we tried numerous combinations of the three people necessary to decrypt.

Minutes passed, confusion grew, tension rose rapidly.

There was nothing to do, except to hit rewind – to grab the master key from the file still sitting on cryptoserv, split it again, generate new shards, choose passphrases, and get it done. Not a great feeling to have your first launch go wrong, but not a huge deal either. It will all be OK in a minute or two.

A cursory look at the master key file date told me that no, it wouldn’t be OK at all. The file sitting on cryptoserv wasn’t from last night, it was created just a few minutes ago. During the Salt-n-Pepa-themed push from stage, we overwrote the master key file with the stage version. Whatever key that was, it wasn’t the one I generated the day before: only one copy existed, the one I copied to cryptoserv from my computer the night before. Zero copies existed now. Not only that, the push script appears to have also wiped out the backup of the old key, so the database backups we have encrypted with the old key are likely useless.

Sitrep: we have 8 shard files that we apparently cannot use to restore the master key and zero master key backups. The database is running but its secret data cannot be accessed.

I will leave it to your imagination to conjure up what was going through my head that night as I stared into the black screen willing the shards to work. After half a decade of trying to make something of myself (instead of just going to work for Microsoft or IBM after graduation) I had just destroyed my first successful startup in the most spectacular fashion.

Still, the idea of “what if we all just continuously screwed up our passphrases” swirled around my brain. It was an easy check to perform, thanks to the included MACs. I added a single printf() debug statement into the shard reconstruction code and instead of printing out a summary error of “one or more…” the code now showed if the passphrase entered matched the authentication code stored in the shard file.

I compiled the new code directly on cryptoserv in direct contravention of all reasonable security practices – what did I have to lose? Entering my own passphrase, I promptly got “bad passphrase” error I just added to the code. Well, that’s just great – I knew my passphrase was correct, I had it written down on a post-it note I had planned to rip up hours ago.

Another person, same error. Finally, the last person, JK, entered his passphrase. No error. The key still did not reconstruct correctly, I got the “Goodbye”, but something worked. I turned to the engineer and said, “what did you just type in that worked?”

After a second of embarrassed mumbling, he admitted to choosing “a$$word” as his passphrase. The gall! I asked everyone entrusted with the grave task of relaunching crytposerv to pick really hard to guess passphrases, and this guy…?! Still, this was something -- it worked. But why?!

I sprinted around the half-lit office grabbing the rest of the shard-holders demanding they tell me their passphrases. Everyone else had picked much lengthier passages of text and numbers. I manually tested each and none decrypted correctly. Except for the a$$word. What was it…

A lightning bolt hit me and I sprinted back to my own cubicle in the far corner, unlocked the screen and typed in “man getpass” on the command line, while logging into cryptoserv in another window and doing exactly the same thing there. I saw exactly what I needed to see.

Today, should you try to read up the programmer’s manual (AKA the man page) on getpass, you will find it has been long declared obsolete and replaced with a more intelligent alternative in nearly all flavors of modern Unix.

But back then, if you wanted to collect some information from the keyboard without printing what is being typed in onto the screen and remain POSIX-compliant, getpass did the trick. Other than a few standard file manipulation system calls, getpass was the only operating system service call I used, to ensure clean portability between Linux and Solaris.

Except it wasn’t completely clean.

Plain as day, there it was: the manual pages were identical, except Solaris had a “special feature”: any passphrase entered that was longer than 8 characters long was automatically reduced to that length anyway. (Who needs long passwords, amiright?!)

I screamed like a wounded animal. We generated the key on my Linux desktop and entered our novel-length passphrases right here. Attempting to restore them on a Solaris machine where they were being clipped down to 8 characters long would never work. Except, of course, for a$$word. That one was fine.

The rest was an exercise in high-speed coding and some entirely off-protocol file moving. We reconstructed the master key on my machine (all of our passphrases worked fine), copied the file to the Solaris-running cryptoserv, re-split it there (with very short passphrases), reconstructed it successfully, and PayPal was up and running again like nothing ever happened.

By the time our unsuspecting colleagues rolled back into the office I was starting to doze on the floor of my cubicle and that was that. When someone asked me later that day why we took so long to bring the site back up, I’d simply respond with “eh, shoulda RTFM.”

RTFM indeed.

P.S. A few hours later, John, our General Counsel, stopped by my cubicle to ask me something. The day before I apparently gave him a sealed envelope and asked him to store it in his safe for 24 hours without explaining myself. He wanted to know what to do with it now that 24 hours have passed.

Ha. I forgot all about it, but in a bout of “what if it doesn’t work” paranoia, I printed out the base64-encoded master key when we had generated it the night before, stuffed it into an envelope, and gave it to John for safekeeping. We shredded it together without opening and laughed about what would have never actually been a company-ending event.

P.P.S. If you are thinking of all the ways this whole SSS design is horribly insecure (it had some real flaws for sure) and plan to poke around PayPal to see if it might still be there, don’t. While it served us well for a few years, this was the very first thing eBay required us to turn off after the acquisition. Pretty sure it’s back to a single passphrase now.

Notes:

1: a member of Chicagoland sci-fi fan community let me know that the original news of our move to the US was delivered to them via a posted letter, snail mail, not FidoNet email!

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shashisaurav · 1 year ago

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The Future of Customer Service Support Software and Why Your Business Should Care

#help desk software #best CRM software #online software

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sweaterkittensahoy · 1 year ago

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As Long as I'm Thinking about Job Interview Stuff

Here's my general pattern for answering the "Tell us about time you failed / dealt with a bad co-worker / had to struggle to complete something /etc."

These questions are asked to suss out if you're an asshole. The reason there's more than one of them is to see if you have a shit talking problem that can take a little time to show itself. Basically, interviewers are trying to get a sense of if you're gonna be a fucking problem once you're comfortable at a new workplace.

I literally once watched myself lose a job because the managers asked, "How do you deal with people who might be temperamental at times?" It was a software company, so I figured they meant "At least one of our engineers is a huge asshole, but we think he's worth keeping around even if he yells at people." And so I said, "Look, we all have our moments, and I do my best to be understanding if someone's having a tough time. I think it's important to remember we're all working together and trying to make something succeed. That being said, if the problem is I'm getting yelled at because someone else is being unprofessional, I'm not going to stand there and allow that abuse. I will be talking to HR, at a minimum, and if that doesn't resolve it, I will take care of it myself."

And, let me be clear, the moment any positive vibes left the room was when I said, "I'm not gonna stand there and allow that abuse." Which told me EXACTLY how they were handling the situation currently.

Anyway, sorry for the recipe blog wander. Back to the point. Here's how I handle the questions where they want you to discuss something negative.

I take a moment to think. Yes, I know the question is coming and already have a few options picked for an answer, but taking a moment to think before answering means I'm not gonna stumble over my words when I start.

Start with the negative. If the question is, "Tell us about dealing with a difficult co-worker," Start at the problem. "Well, I remember once I worked with someone who really didn't like answering questions via email."

Explain why it made the job difficult. "Given that what I do is focused on getting things written down, I prefer sending questions via email whenever possible so I always have a clear starting point on the information I use, even if the information changes a lot through conversation."

Restate the problem as the beginning of the solution. "But, this person didn't like to answer questions in writing, so I started going over to his desk and asking him the questions."

Say something nice about the problem. "He was great face-to-face. Always happy to help."

Explain the solution. "And it turned out he was happy to read anything I would print out and hand him. So, I'd go ask him the questions, go back to my desk and do a first draft based on what he'd said, and then give him a physical copy to mark up."

Stamp a positive final remark on it. "Once I realized how to best communicate with him, he was very open to helping. If I walked over with a first draft, he'd just look at it right then so I could make updates as quickly as possible. And he started letting me know if there were any major design changes on the way and explaining it to me earlier in the process, which made it easier to make updates."

That's my technique. The biggest thing of it, I think, is to make sure your answer is sincere. Don't use a situation where you still want to shove someone into traffic. Pick a situation where you feel like it actually turned out well in the end.

#job interviews #job hunting #employment #interview questions #interview tactics

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

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title: miss me in your bones | chapter 2

chapter 1

pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel miller/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 1961

summary:

When Joel Miller started his own contracting business, he didn’t expect all the administrative tasks that came with it. As a result, his budding business is in desperate need of help.

Good thing his best friend’s daughter is home for the summer from college. And sure, he’s always been attracted to you, but he can keep that under control.

It’s just one summer, right?

author’s note: slow burn? i don’t know her. if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging or commenting! and if you're so inclined, you can also send me coffee

AO3 | Joel Miller Masterlist

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (21f and 36m), no cordyceps outbreak, Joel is not a father, Joel's feelings of guilt about being attracted to his best friend's daughter, sexual tension, voyeurism, mutual masturbation, mild jealousy, pineapple as a pizza topping. let me know if there are any missing!

By the end of your first day in Joel’s office, you’ve managed to sort all the stray papers into more manageable categories and have booted up the ancient laptop he had gathering dust on the desk.

You’re sitting cross legged on the floor of the office when he comes home, surrounded by the fruits of your labor. He knocks on the doorframe to announce his arrival.

“How’s it goin’?” Joel asks. He’s rumpled from his day, shirt wrinkled and still damp from sweat earned in the Texas heat.

Christ.

“It’s good! I’ve got most of these organized. Do you have any finance software you’re using?” You ask.

His brow furrows. “Uh…no. Should I?”

“You’re running a business, you gotta have some way of doing invoices and tracking expenses versus payments.”

“I’ve got a notebook for that.” He looks around the room. “Somewhere.”

The stare you give him is unimpressed. “I’ll start with Excel, but I expect a subscription to Quickbooks by the end of the week,” you tell him. He gives you a quick nod.

“Listen, you gettin’ hungry? I was goin’ to order pizza,” he says. You shift around, sitting up on your knees.

“Pizza sounds good.”

Joel doesn’t reply. He stands there with his hands at his sides, dark eyes fixed on where you’re kneeling in front of him on the floor. You’re aware of the image you must make, denim shorts riding up your thighs as you spread your knees the tiniest bit further, watching as Joel’s eyes track the movement and his Adam’s Apple bobs with a strained swallow.

The tension in the room is palpable, pressing on your chest and making it difficult to breathe. After what seems like forever, Joel shakes his head and holds a hand out to you, tight smile on his lips.

“Come on, let’s get that pizza going and you can tell me what else I’m doing wrong,” he says. You grip his hand, palm warm and rough against yours as he hauls you to your feet with little effort. The action brings your bodies close together, your chest brushing his as he looks down at you. “Pepperoni and pineapple?”

“You remember,” you reply, voice more breathy than it ought be around this man.

“‘Course I do, darlin’,” he says, taking a broad step back, his hand slipping from yours. “How could I forget?”

________

You’re sitting across from Joel at his kitchen table, eating your slice of pizza as you make notes on a piece of paper of all the things that Joel needs to get his office and business in order.

“Why don’t you just come with me to the supply store? Go wild,” he says, biting into his own slice of pizza.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time if you don’t mean it, Mr. Miller.”

“Told ya to call me Joel.”

You blink at him. “Sorry. Joel.”

Joel lets the sound of his name on your lips wash over him. He wants to hear it more.

“We can go tomorrow mornin’. I don’t have any consults ‘til later. That work?”

“Sure.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and stand, bringing your plate to the sink and tossing away your garbage. “I better head home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good night,” Joel says. You look at him over your shoulder as you leave the kitchen, smile bright.

“Oh, I will.”

Joel’s brow furrows as he wonders what that means. Did you have plans? Would you be going out somewhere? With someone?

And why does he care?

________

The thing about being Joel Miller’s neighbor is that you know the man isn’t one for keeping his blinds closed. When you were seventeen, you remember peeking into his bedroom, conveniently located across from your window, and seeing a shirtless Joel getting ready in the morning, or watching him step into a pair of fitted Wranglers, his deft fingers buttoning the denim at his work-toned waist.

When you get back home, you slide the sheer white curtains covering your bedroom window apart. Joel’s room is currently dark and empty, but that gives you time to prepare. Your dad is at his weekly poker game with some guys from the garage, leaving you a house that will be empty until the early morning hours.

You toss your bag on your bed and rifle through your still-packed luggage, digging out the baby pink lingerie set you’d packed on a whim.

Hey, you never know. And boy are you glad that you brought it.

Because you had a plan.

You were going to seduce Joel Miller.

The signs were all there. The man was attracted to you, and god knows you’ve had it bad for your dad’s best friend since you were still a teen. What’s a little harm in acting on your impulses?

Especially when they could lead to reward.

You strip out of your shorts and t-shirt, switching your more practical underwear for the lingerie - a thong consisting of barely enough fabric to be considered clothing and a sweet matching balconette bra with an overlay of lace that makes your tits look fantastic. You check yourself out in the mirror before pulling your clothes back on.

Now you wait.

________

Joel heads to his bedroom around 9 pm, the day finally catching up to him and leaving him yawning with exhaustion. His mind wanders back to you, conjuring up the image of you on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes. He palms his cock with a groan as he enters his room.

He flicks on the lamp, bathing the room with a warm glow. Movement across the yard catches his eye and he’s surprised to see you in bed, laying on your belly with a book spread open in front of you and your feet kicking behind you. Your window is open and you’ve got something playing on speaker that he can’t recognize.

You turn over, arching your back as you hold the book above you. Joel’s eyes trace the curve of your body, the way your shirt tightens across your breasts and lifts just enough to show a strip of your tummy over your denim shorts. He can feel his cock getting harder now, the press of it more urgent against the fly of his pants as he stands near the window, mesmerized by you.

You set the book aside, standing beside your bed with your back to the window. Your fingers curl under the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head, tossing it to the ground. He gets a brief glimpse of your baby pink bra strap before his eyes are drawn to watch as you shimmy your shorts over your hips and down your thighs.

Joel’s breathing hitches, caught in his throat as he takes in the sight of you in only a thong, your ass on full display for his hungry eyes. He shifts closer to the window, trying to keep himself out of the direct line of sight.

You stretch your arms above your head, turning as you do so, and Joel gets his first glimpse of your breasts and the way they’re barely contained by the cups of the bra you’re wearing, pink lace highlighted by smooth, luscious skin.

Joel’s mouth goes dry as he watches you crawl back on the bed, ass swaying with your movements as you get yourself comfortable on your back.

Your hands start out by cupping your breasts, pulling the little fabric cups down just far enough to expose your tight little nipples. You pinch the buds between your fingers, your back arching into the sensation. Joel has to press a hand to the wall to support himself.

Your mouth drops open in a moan as you play with your tits, twisting and pinching and groping yourself. Joel hardly dares to blink as your hands finally move on, trailing down your torso until your fingers dip beneath the waistband of the scrap of fabric trying to act as panties. Your back arches sharply and Joel commits the visage of your first touch to your needy little pussy to his memory.

He unbuttons his pants, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers until they sit around his knees. He doesn’t want to look away for even a second to remove them further. This will have to do.

Your fingers circle your clit and he desperately wishes it was him feeling the slick slide of your cunt. Would you like it fast? Slow? Rough or gentle? He wants to find out every rhythm that makes you see stars.

You scramble to pull your panties off, tossing them to the floor in a rush to get your hands back to work. Your right hand stays pressed between your thighs while your left returns to pinching and pulling at your little nipples. Joel spits in his hand, fisting his cock with a harsh grip and giving it a single tug that has his knees going weak. He has to dig his teeth into his lip to fight back the groan that wants to escape.

You spread your legs obscenely wide, giving him a better view of the way your hand moves across your pussy. The fast circles you use to treat your clit, followed by the slow swipes to bring yourself back from the edge. He can practically see the way your empty cunt flutters around nothing, begging to be filled.

By him. Begging to be filled by him.

Christ, this is depraved. He shouldn’t be watching this. He shouldn’t be looking at his best friend’s daughter and thinking about how it would feel to sink his cock so deep inside he wouldn’t know where your body started and his ends.

His hand starts to move faster, twisting on the upstroke so that his palm glides over the sensitive, leaking tip of his cock. Your hips are moving frantically now, chasing your hand and the pleasure it’s giving you. You slip a finger inside and Joel can hear the moan you let out. He has to bite his lip so goddamn hard he tastes copper on his tongue so that he doesn’t echo your shouts of pleasure.

Your one finger becomes two, plunging inside of you with abandon as your chest heaves with ragged breaths. Joel can feel his orgasm building at a fever pitch and he silently begs for you to reach yours before he does.

Like the universe hears his plea, your legs snap shut around your hand and you shake with your release. He can see the quiver of your thighs and the way your mouth drops open in a moan.

“Joel!” You cry out. For a moment, he worries he’s been caught. But your eyes are closed, head pressed to the mattress as you ride out your orgasm.

Joel barely has enough time to cup his free hand over his cock, catching the streams of come in his palm as his orgasm hits him like a train, the sound of his name on your lips doing him in.

He sags against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. Finally, he uses his clean hand to pull his jeans back up his hips so that he can go to the bathroom and clean up.

When he returns to the bedroom, your curtains are notably closed. Joel swallows nervously.

Fuck. How the hell is he supposed to look you in the eye tomorrow, knowing what you look like when you come? Knowing what his name sounds like cried out from your lips?

He flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with sleep creeping at the edges of his vision.

That’s tomorrow’s problem.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #no use of y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x female reader #joel miller tlou #tlou fic

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