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wandasfifthwife · 24 days

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natasha romanoff x fem!reader

tw: SMUT MDNI, top!natasha, bottom!reader, dom/sub elements(dom!n & sub!r), restraint kink (n in handcuffs), slight age gap (4 years), very slight tiny bit of plot (beginning summary), established relationship (married), natasha is packing, strap is called her “dick,” strap in v (r receiving), lotus position, marking kink, overstim if you squint, kitchen floor sex, not proofread!

a/n: 1.3k words of smut!!

It’s not fair.

Natasha had come home one night, greeting you with a kiss. You had reached for her shirt and tilted your head to kiss her again. It wasn’t long before she had you pressed into the counter, careful of the stove beside you. That’s when she wasn’t playing fair. Mumbling against your lips about how she wants to fuck you before the retched ringtone interrupted her.

She’s since been busy with work calling her in what felt like every few hours. It’s because of the latest mission concerns her, almost infecting her like an addition with how often she’s gone.

You both have careers, but comparatively, hers is more demanding, forcing her to be flexible. It also forces her to give up time with you, sometimes having to leave during her time with you; Time she said that’ll be left alone, sacred for the two of you only to share. She had you laid on your back, cold fingers sliding under your shirt. In that moment you really believed you wouldn’t get interrupted. Judging by how she was taking her time, she did too.

“Need you, please—I need you, please.”

She shushes you, raking her nails down your waist, “take your pants off for me.”

You’ve never been quicker, fingers untying the string in a hurry to push them down your legs. She surged forward, lips finding yours and hands tugging your hips closer to hers.

A whine tumbled from you, grinding down onto her thigh.

“Oh, feels so—“ you stop halfway, feeling your heart drop into your stomach at the sound that had filled the air. She didn’t seem to care, rubbing your cunt down onto her clothed thigh.

“I have to answer my phone,” she whispers, pushing off you.

“What?”

She slides to the edge of the bed, reaching to get ahold of her phone from her back pocket. Already the sheets felt colder, missing her warmth. You just missed her, entirely too much. Your fingers are boring and underwhelming after using them for the past week.

When you had gotten married, ceremony held four years ago, you had spent more time together. It’s only been this year that she’s been away more than she’s been home. Even in the years before—during the get to know you and dating stage—she was around then. You understood why, but also why was she giving her attention to her job and not you?

“Sorry,” she leans back on one hand to place a kiss on your shoulder, “I’ll be back, this shouldn’t take long.”

Her statement turned out to be false, but it was nice to be lulled into a false sense of hope. Neither are actually nice, but you‘re thankful she came home safely and before two AM. The kitchen was warm, remnants of what you had just finished baking remaining.

“What’s all this for?”

“Work event, required to bring a dish in.”

She hums, “how many are you making?”

“This is all,” you gesture, “I finished like twenty minutes ago, I think.”

“Well it smells nice, I’m sure they’ll love it.”

You thank her, struggling to fight off the laugh as you wait for her to turn around. She was taken aback when you snatch her wrists, the click sound of them latching shocking her. You’re laughing despite the look she was giving you, despite the way she kept backing up when you got closer.

“No, don’t— why?”

You’re laughing, finally able to lean your head onto her shoulder, “so you can’t answer this.”

She looks pissed when you set her phone on a platform she can’t reach for; the surface too high in comparison from where her arms were kept. Hugging her now felt weird, a phantom sensation forming to compensate for the lack of hands wrapping around you.

“It’s been long enough.”

“It’s only been a minute, let me have my fun.”

She rolls her eyes but it’s all for show. Her smile growing at the sound of your amusement.

“I haven’t heard much from you.”

“I’ve been meaning to, just haven’t had the time.”

A pout forms on your face, “I know and it’s sad, I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you too, not these antics.”

You laugh again, cupping her face to pull her into a kiss. Her lips are chapped from the cold, the sensation of it feeling all too similar to home. The look in her eyes after she bit at your bottom lip was enough, the two of you ending up on the kitchen floor.

Her back was against the cabinet door, shirt slowly ridden up from when she slid down onto the ground with you in tow. Your legs were straddled over hers, chest bare and pressed into hers. Your head was tilted back, a shaky gasp escaping you when she kissed that spot on your neck.

“Grind on me,” she says gently, adjusting her hips forward. With your hands on her shoulders, you adjust your hips so they hover over hers, moaning when you feel her press onto your clit.

“Oh! You’re—?”

She doesn’t say anything but her upturned grin gives her away. You’re circling your hips with a whimper, begging her. You were soaked, every press of her against you pushed you further towards your high already. The second she gives the green light, you’re unbuttoning her pants.

“Spread your legs more,” she emphasizes her words by jerking one knee up to hit the underside of your thigh. The ground hurts your knees and you’re sure bruises are forming, but you’re too worked up to care.

“Can I? Please—I need you.”

She nods, eyes trained on your face and how it contorts in pleasure once you’ve begun to sink down onto her length. You struggle to take the entirety of her dick, two inches laying untouched.

“I cant—ah!—I can’t.”

“Shh you can—just relax, you’re too tight.”

She was right. Once you’ve focused on her, your walls greedily took every inch in. Your mind was a mess, fuzzy and overstimulated pushing you to only think about her. She’s quiet, nosing at your neck and breathing heavily at how her strap presses against her clit with each downwards thrust of your hips.

Nails press into the back of her neck from how tight you’re holding onto her. The wet sounds of where the two of you collided was entirely too much, and you wanted more. The sound decidedly much better than her phone ringtone that you’ve grown to recognize after the first note.

“Fuck,” you curse breathily, bottoming out to grind her length, feeling her brush against your walls. With the jerk of her hips, it brings her to press against the spot that makes you feel like you’re going to black out. Your finger swirling your clit moves faster, pressure building in your stomach.

She’s leaned her head against the cabinet, attention shifting between your face, tits, and where she’s completely shoved inside you. It’s a mess between her thighs, mind melted with each movement and sound you make.

When your sounds pitch higher, less control over them and sounding raw, she knows you’re close. You’re squirming on her lap, pace sloppy and messy as you reach your climax. It’s beautiful watching your lips drop open in a silent scream, body shaking on top of hers. You kiss her, moaning into her mouth.

“Love you,” you murmur, body relaxing into her.

“Love you more.”

The both of your heavy breathing fills the air as you reach for the key to unlock the cuffs. They fall to the ground with a solid clang. Her hands slide under your thighs, pushing you close and lifting you. You’re on another dimension, thankful she’s in a clearer state than you to get you two off the ground.

“Where’d you get the handcuffs?”

“Don’t remember,” you say into her shirt, excitement growing between your legs when you realize she’s taking you to the bedroom. The door shuts behind you, leaving her ringing phone in the kitchen.

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awearywritersworld · 7 months

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"i'll always come when you call"

gojo satoru x reader summary: when you're gravely injured on a mission, your best friend finds you just in time w/c: 1.35k tags/warnings: friends to lovers, obviously reader is hurt but nothing is terribly graphic, though there are lots of mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, no use of y/n, lots of emotional distress for gojo, he punches a wall, ft. a very worried yuuji and gumi a/n: home boy is in pieces at the thought of losing us. i make myself emotional masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

it wasn't supposed to go like this. not hardly, not half.

a simple mission turned into an ambush. what was originally one mid-grade cursed spirit became several. you lost count somewhere around the fifth.

rain patters against your body, washing away the crimson that's seeping from numerous wounds. at first everything hurt, but now all you feel is a foreboding numbness spreading throughout your limbs.

you hardly remember slipping your phone from your pocket or dialing his number when you hear your best friend's voice ring out from the speaker. "hey, princess. how'd it go?"

you try to speak, but no sound comes out. eventually, you manage a choked cough and the faint sensation of liquid flowing from the corner of your mouth accompanies the effort.

you barely make out his worried tone calling your name before your phone clatters to the ground, screen going black as it lies in a puddle of pale red.

you fight to keep your eyes open, you really do, but you're incredibly drowsy and the coldness has begun to ebb away, replaced by a comforting warmness.

you always imagined the light that welcomes you into the afterlife would be a blinding white, but instead, it's a familiar shade of blue.

an unsettling feeling had made a home in the pit of gojo's stomach long before he received your call. he's pacing, his eyebrows furrowed with inexplicable worry when his ringtone fills the room.

relief floods through him once he sees your name on the screen, but it's short lived when your end of the line remains quiet. he hears you sputter and it isn't a second later that he teleports to the city where your assigned mission is.

his heart is hammering away, a dull thudding in his ears, as he follows the traces of cursed energy that grow stronger with each long stride. he covers ground impressively fast, though as soon as his eyes land on your body, it's as if everything shifts to slow motion.

it feels like he's fighting against an invisible force as he approaches the spot where you lay. he can hear someone howling your name and it's not until he feels the hoarseness in throat that he recognizes the voice as his own. his knees crash painfully into the pavement at your side.

the situation is worse than he could have imagined. it's looks like you, sure, but it can't be you. not when your eyes have just fluttered shut, no movement beneath your lids. not when your body is still, no steady rise and fall of your chest. and certainly not when it looks as if you're—

"wake up," he begs, shaking your shoulders. "please, wake up!"

not wasting another moment, he gathers your limp body in his arms, one arm behind curling around your shoulders, the other hooking behind your knees.

he teleports directly into the infirmary and shoko nearly scolds him before she takes in your dreadful state. the cigarette that was hanging between her lips falls to the floor. "get her on the bed."

she moves around the room in haste, pulling drawers and cabinets open wildly.

"she's going to be okay, right? tell me that she's going to be fine," he implores, panicking when the brunette fails to reassure him. "..shoko!"

"get out, satoru!" she barks. she can't concentrate, not while one of her oldest friends is hysterical with worry and the other is lying there half dead.

"please, i can't—"

"now!"

he stares at you for a moment before turning on his heel and retreating to the hall. his fist meets the wall with such force, the drywall crumbles to the floor. gojo himself follows suit soon thereafter.

the commotion catches the attention of yuuji and megumi, who round the corner just seconds later.

"sensei—" yuuji begins to question, but the words die in his throat.

gojo's crouched down, his face buried in his hands. they're still covered in your blood. he wants to scream and yell and curse the world, but instead, he clenches his jaw so fiercely it's a wonder his teeth don't crack under the pressure.

the boys share a look, both startled by the present state of their usually frivolous teacher. neither of them need to ask who's behind that door, they know there's only one person who could elicit such a reaction from gojo.

megumi approaches him cautiously, swallowing his own concern, and places a hand on his shoulder. "she'll be okay."

the white haired man doesn't look up, just nods weakly in acknowledgement. megumi joins yuuji who is already sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, and the three of them wait together in silence.

gojo hardly moves until the infirmary door opens, which makes him rise so quickly it leaves him dizzy. shoko surveys the three of them before speaking.

"she's.. she's still unconscious, but you should be with her. she's been calling for you in her sleep—"

she scarcely finishes before gojo makes his way through the door. shoko stays in the hallway to update yuuji and megumi, giving the two of you a bit of privacy.

pulling up a chair beside you, he threads his fingers between yours, your skin still frightfully cool. though it's not until he hears you mumble his name that he truly falls apart.

his free hand flies to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sobs, his shoulders shaking. this all could have gone very differently and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. he should have gone with you, or at the very least, he should have gotten to you faster.

"'toru?" your raspy voice fills his ears.

when he looks up to find you peering at him through tired eyes, the tension that'd been weighing heavily in his chest dissipates and he exhales deeply. still, his voice trembles. "hey, sweetheart."

every part of you aches, but it's nothing compared to the guilt you feel upon seeing gojo like this— his eyes red and swollen, your blood painted across his hands and face.

you have a vague memory of everything that happened. you remember just barely exorcising the last cursed spirit. you remember being sure you weren't going to survive and using your last bit of strength to call him. "you found me."

he nods, his hand squeezing yours. "i thought i was too late.. i.. i thought i'd lost you."

his voice cracks and it nearly shatters your heart, tears welling up in your eyes. "i'm so sorry, 'toru. i'm sorry i wasn't strong enough, t-that you had to come save me."

you attempt to sit up, but he puts a hand to your shoulder and shakes his head. "don't you dare apologize. i'll always come when you call and i'll always be there when you need me. you have to know that."

the intensity of his gaze forces you to look away and the conviction in his voice makes you feel woozy. thinking about it, there really never had been an instance in which gojo wasn't there for you. he's the person you've sought out time and time again and he's never once let you down.

his hand finds your face and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye.

"i love you," you blurt out.

you stare at each other with wide eyes and the seconds tick by markedly until he finally whispers, "say it again."

"i love you."

he had no idea how much he needed to hear those three words fall from your lips until he nearly lost the chance forever. truthfully, it makes him feel a bit foolish, but now was hardly the time to dwell on that.

he smiles for the first time in hours, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "i love you, too."

and he always has— he knows that now.

"you should get some rest, angel," he suggests tenderly. "i'll be right here when you wake up."

#m!writes #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines

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rajasthanilyrics · 2 years

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हर हर शंभू शिव महादेव लिरिक्स | Har Har Shambhu Shiv Mahadeva Lyrics

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princerealgems · 2 years

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ciphykiss · 1 year

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incubus >

blade x f!reader; nsfw, mdni somnophilia (does it count if its in a dream idk), slight dubcon, light “claiming” elements

You’re going to resign tomorrow.

This is what you tell yourself when the siren of your cell blares Jingyuan’s ringtone at 3 AM on a weekend, a mere two hours following your last shift at the general’s personal slammer (you’d applied for an administrative assistant position, dammit; you were supposed to be serving the slick bastard tea and going on lotus cake runs, not wiping prisoner spit off your cheek). In the beginning, you’d attempted to balm the degrading lifestyle with girthy checks, cruising into salons like clockwork every Friday with your hair up and eyes cucumber’d, lovely Foxian ladies attending to your nails and worn muscle (you’d try to ignore their comments about how you’d aged fifty years in half of one but just end up crying), flirted with the latest designer dresses, and found yourself zombie-clicking add to cart whenever you were on the verge of your bi-weekly meltdown.

No amount of flashy makeup, a piled vanity, and three grand miniskirts are convincing enough for Tingyun, however, and the Foxian would only glance over in pity as you threw yourself at your weekend prize in attempts to forget whatever near-death experience you’d suffered from grooming Jingyuan’s latest charge before their trial.

Your holidays always ended in one of two ways: the ambassador consoling you by observing her nails while you threw your guts up on a clubside of the red light district, remarking on how you should’ve just worked under Yukong like she’d told you to (it wasn’t your fault you’d been seduced by the sleeping general enough to delude yourself into thinking you’d had a shot at a postgraduate office romance), victim to you screeching obscenities of “that bastard” while vomiting a day’s meals (five shots of espresso, a chicken wing, and offbrand Lexapro). Then, you’d spy grime under your nails from previous altercation and wail louder, because you were wasting your prime in fucking prison cells.

It was either that, or being rudely interrupted at approximately five-thirty the next day (a holiday, mind you) to a string of texts that had bypassed warnings of “do not disturb” in favor of bitching about how a true friend wouldn’t let you sleep with a negative four. The true miracle was you not ending up on Tingyun’s blocklist (she’d added you indefinitely once until you’d bombarded the Sky-Faring Commissions with love letters begging their amicassador for “one more chance pls :’(( </3”).

“Why don’t you just quit,” Tingyun had asked on an average Sunday afternoon while stirring her margarita; the Foxian looked a picture-perfect beauty next to your rat-haired, hoodie-clad figure, makeup from last night melting off your face.

You’d ceased licking hollandaise sauce off your upper lip to stare at her. And instead of arguing about how you’d likely never procure a salary as high as your current one (nothing was worth the cost of your youth and beauty), or how Jingyuan could, quite literally, ruin every one of your future job prospects if he deemed you necessary (you’d find a way to murder him; hell hath no fury like a woman scorned), you could only muster a single thought.

“Tingyun, you’re a genius.”

The paperwork (because he is the bastard, Jingyuan had purposefully orchestrated his resignation process to be thrice as lengthy as the average Luofunian businesses, complete with word-limit essays detailing the exact reason for departure and a five-year timeline on future posts) is stashed under a vase on your nightstand; you make a mental note to litter expletives along the margins to finalize the word count. With the shit he’d just pulled, the general would be in no position to even raise a brow.

“Where’s the newbie,” you grit, slamming your receiver and thumb print over the holographic lock of the Cloud Knight’s maximum security cells. Your companion, a Vidyadhara accountant-turned-night watch guard (because Jingyuan’s ever-growing penchant for tossing civil servants into the line of criminal apprehension remained steadfast even before your recruitment), sweats nervously, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Miss [Name],” Danyin stresses, wincing at the sight of weeks-old inmates clawing at his fabrics for scraps of food, money, and flesh; you ignore him, walking onwards with an air of pissed-offery not even the most seasoned of inmates would dare inflame; your hair hangs behind you, perfumed and damp from its midnight shower, face void of the traditional rouged eyes and thick liner you’d adopted since entering Jingyuan’s court. “If I may speak—”

“You may not.”

“—the general was adamant you meet with him first before apprehension of our newest inmate. He seems… quite ruffled.”

“As he should be, because the next time I see him, I’ll rip him a ne—”

“It is evident that this criminal is naught like the others, [Name], and this is the first time we’ve had to quarter anyone in Cloudford’s maximum security ce—”

You whirl around to face Danyin, eyes ablaze. The guard withers under the brunt of your glower.

“I will see to it my duties are performed,” you say evenly, “and then, I will clock out, return to bed, and enjoy the rest of my weekend with my cell muted. You can let that scoundrel know I will be unavailable for the next 48 hours.”

And with that, you jerk the handlebar of the deepest cell in Jingyuan’s fort shut, your last sight that of Danyin with his mouth hanging open.

The maximum security cells of Jingyuan’s prison are surprisingly less unkempt than the bustle of the commons; it is dark and smells distinctly of a new, unused apartment complex. There are neither guards nor cellkeepers, no windows to speak of; only a dark, winding hallway leading to your destination.

It’s the first time you’d been allotted clearance; originally, you’d presumed the general lacked faith in both your combat abilities and the unwavering loyalty shared by his retinue (both are correct), but now, you realize it’s simply due to a lack of occupants.

(And rightfully so, because you’re having a terrible time imagining what dangers would have Jingyuan paranoid.)

You stop in front of a glass cell; it is tempered, element, bullet, sound, and magic proof; you glance down at your wristwatch and realize it has lost its signal. A neon red “O” flashes on top of the door.

Hesitantly (because despite your lack of sleep and the fact that you’re moving on sole hatred), you touch the glass, peering into the darkness for any sign of movement (any sign of life).

There are none.

Chewing your bottom lip, you decide to adopt the usual “fuck it” mentality you’d been ailed with after more than a few double-digit near death encounters in these halls and press the pads of your fingers over the lock.

It churns, once, twice, thrice, before responding in a robotic monotone; “high-risk individual detected; please exercise caution.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave your hand. “Just get it over with.”

A pause. “Searching database; clearance confirmed. Please confirm entry command.”

You click your tongue. “I do.”

A soft, buzzing sound. “High-risk individual detected; please reaffirm entry command.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, yes!”

The algorithm grows silent. The cogs behind the seemingly innocuous doorway bluster for at least ten seconds, winding open in a rigid, clumsy gait.

Inside, it is darker still. It smells of the preserved glaze used all over the Luofu to seal unused buildings, and a hint of dust; metallic odors assail your nose. Your eyes adjust to the blackness, and you peer long enough to spy the end of a conversation table.

“...uh, hello?”

No response. Annoyed, you search the walls for the lightswitch—your hands dart blindly until it finds the lever.

Dim, blue hues glint off the corridor, bathing the cell in an ominous, funeral-morning light. Your eyes train to the end of the table, and there he sits—still, unmoving, a mane of raven hair cascading down his back, a flesh-and-bone composition of some western Dracula. He is unlike any other inmate you’d laid eyes on before, something incorrigible, clandestine about him; it’s as if he’s frozen in the intersection of immortality and death, one foot through the door, never fully on either side. Distinctly, it reminds you of some late-stage cases of mara-struck individuals that would eventually be sent for termination (the grim fate of all Xianzhou natives).

He is as strong as he is imposing, and nearly as tall as the general himself; this, you can ascertain by the muted rise of his chest, the cling of Xianzhounian fabric over battle-hardened muscle, and knees that hit the bottom of the table.

He can kill you, you realize instantly; a part of you screams that he not only can, but will. It is a primitive fear, one you hadn’t thought you’d face in the closely-guarded Luofu ship, especially under the watchful eye of the Cloud Knight’s general; it’s enough for you to stop breathing, and render you frozen in your tracks.

You force yourself to exhale, dragging the chair on your end of the table back to situate yourself.

“Good evening,” you manage to utter, cringing at how it comes out a half-squeak; you bite your tongue, willing yourself to harden. A killer this man might’ve been (a professional one, if your screaming gut instinct had anything to say), you didn’t power through half a decade of amicassador training and Jingyuan’s bullshit to flail at the sight of a wanted criminal. “I’m [Name], associate-assistant of General Jingyuan of the Cloud Knights, acting director-in-command of Cloudford’s maximum security center; my duties include, but are not limited to, prerequisite questioning of inmates following admission, collection of bio-data, and basic care of inmates that are unable to groom oneself.” You spy the etherous shackles bound at the wrists of his gauze-covered hands. “Do you consent to the precursory collection of bio-data?”

No response. Not even the slightest tilt of a head, not a single hair moving out of place. A little paler, and you’d presume him dead. You chew the inside of your mouth.

“Would you be willing to provide your legal name? Planet of origin? Species?” Each question is followed by another inch of silence, widening the sea between you and the stranger; though you’re simply following protocol, you can’t help but shiver at the thought of offending Jingyuan’s newest specimen. “...that will conclude logistics. As per duty, and due to current physical restrictions, I am, by law, required to provide basic grooming; this will include a wipe-down of the face. You may vocalize any additional requests; if deemed appropriate by the Cloud Knight Codex, I will comply.”

Silence.

You decide you’d rather the world swallow you back into its womb and spit you back out so you might choose another path in life. Anything to prevent the development of that stupid crush on the scoundrel-general that had left you moon-eyed enough to brush off Tingyun’s recommendation of bannering under Yukong’s Sky-Faring Commission, where you’d entertain foreign investors and tryst with exotic artists instead of dancing with the stink of death every workday.

“...I’m going to touch you now,” you murmur, the scrape of your chair filling the cell. “Please excuse me.”

It’s like diving head-first into a guillotine; every live-wire nerve in you is shrilling for you to run, dignity and Jingyuan and the peace of the Luofu be damned. Leave the goddamn cell door open if you had to; anything to save your own skin. You don’t, of course; instead, you waver in front of the man, still a sitting statue, and tear open the sterile clothpack you’d pocketed.

Slowly, you kneel—and suddenly, you’re having to look up at him, all harsh lines and dark hair, and you thank the Aeons he’s blindfolded and you can’t see his eyes, because you know you wouldn’t have been able to perform any duty under the brunt of a killer’s stare.

He smells of incense and the bloodied scabbard of a sword. Specifically, the woodsmoke used in funerals. Hesitantly, you press the damp end of the satin to the stranger’s cheek.

The result is instantaneous, and you would’ve missed it had you hadn’t been seasoned by years of dealing with the most insidious of criminals; his mouth twitches, his nostrils flare; the actions are subtle, not at all assuming to the naked eye, and would, when performed by any other inmate, be brushed off as involuntary fidgeting;

But not this man, not death himself.

You nearly drop the cloth in alarm. But you don’t, and you try to look anywhere but him (because looking at him hurts as much as it would staring into the core of a non-artificial sun), climbing over the bridge of his nose, the flesh of his lips, the dip of his brows and the cuts of his hard, narrow jaw.

He is handsome.

The thought is both funny and terrifying; it helps you function, albeit more normally, though a part of you knows you shouldn’t find a national security threat anything more than appalling.

“Done,” you murmur, pulling back until you’re no longer drunk on the scent of orientals and woodsmoke. You pause, affirming just how pretty he is up close—a word you’d seldom use to describe men, and though he is absurdly handsome, there’s something flowery about the drape of his hair over his shoulder (another sign of danger, you now realize, as Xianzhounian warriors only cut their hair after defeat), the fullness of his mouth; like a carnivorous, night-flowering jasmine, you muse, blooming a scent so elusive it would only attract the most macabre of victims into its maw.

Aeons, the wanted criminal had you waxing poetry. Had your perpetual sleep deprivation toed its way to insanity?

“...do you require any further assistance?”

It shouldn’t shock you, it really shouldn’t; and yet, his response has the same effect as being struck with a killing blow from the general’s lightning lord itself;

“No,” he rasps, and the sound shoots right down to your core.

Fuck. Maybe you should’ve convinced your Foxian friend to take that old geezer up on his threeway offer last weekend, because it had clearly been too long since you’d gotten laid. For a wanted criminal you’d just laid eyes on to have such—

No. There’s no way. You make a mental note to ask Tingyun what self-care devices are trending and hide the pang in your nether regions with a shuffle of your thighs.

“Alright,” you squeak, scrambling to your feet—and protocol be damned, because there’s nothing in this godforsaken intergalactic universe that can stop you from crawl-dashing out the door as fast as your stupid work heels will carry you.

You need an intervention (an orgasm). Stat.

ꨄ︎

The Jingyuan that haunts you at dusk is as capable as the one you loathe during the day, thrice as inflamed, and so deliciously pliant. Your vision is obscured in the pewter-gray of his mane, teeth scraping the naked flesh of your shoulder, wet and warm and hard.

You dig your nails into the roots of his hair, as always, and yank. In response, he lets out a muffled groan—you imagine the sound reverberates under your skin like ripples along a lake, and feel his (your) hands dip below the hem of your dress. He would be careful, you think—considerate, despite his bastardry, barely bruising, just harsh enough to leave you wanting, just how you like it (or so you think).

“I hate you,” you gasp, to no one; Jingyuan chuckles, lips soft over the juncture of your throat.

“Me?”

“You,” you moan, the rake of your nails along his back coaxing him into littering a thousand kisses over your neck. “I hate you, I hate you—you and your stupid hair and lackadaisical, know-it-all attitude, and—fuck, I deserve a raise!”

“You don’t sound as though you hate me,” he hums. “In fact, you sound… rather pleased.”

Of course the Jingyuan in your hallucinogen-inspired wet dream is as cocky as the one in flesh; you scowl, landing a good one across his left cheek. He laughs, then, which spurs you to lock your legs around his hips and push him into the plush of the many pillows of your dreamscape.

“Shut up,” you order, “and put that mouth of yours to use for once.”

He doesn’t need any further instigation; dream-Jingyuan (somehow just as insufferable, despite being the byproduct of YOUR imagination) grabs you by the thighs and splits you open like his last meal. You gasp, hips moving of their own accord—reality blurs with the walls of your dreamworld, your own fingers replaced with the general’s calloused ones, and you sway to build the peak of your climax to your heart’s desire, lips coaxed open by his tongue, clit brushing against the bridge of his nose.

It’s all too much, really; you don’t remember the last time you’d had a dream so vivid, despite having remedied your insomnia quite often with visions of taming the sleeping general. There’s a strange sense of liminality; the thick fog separates to make way for cracks that closely resemble your bedroom wall, silk sheets fading into the strewn blankets you’d received as a New Year’s gift.

And then, Jingyuan does something completely unscripted—he slides you off his face, throws your leg over his hip, and grinds into your core.

You let out a whimper, something small in the back of your mind screaming that this isn’t normal—that a fabrication shouldn’t be chasing after his own pleasure, that the teeth along your neck feel harsher, more volatile;

But you can’t be bothered to care, whining for more—because suddenly, his mouth isn’t enough, and you need him, you need to be filled—had your vision been less blurry, and had you been even a smidgen less wanton, you wouldn’t noticed the shock of white hair fade into ink, the bare chest replace itself with dark fabric, and the fog of your dreamscape turn to overhead skies and a bed crowned in a million spider lilies.

And then,

“Jingyuan?” The forbidden, familiar baritone husks into your ear, and Aeons, you’d never crumbled faster—your eyes split open, still hazy, glittering with unshed tears—of frustration, of want, of hatred, everything in between and more, and you feel yourself getting even wetter. “Of all men, him?”

“What’re ‘ou doing here?” You babble, incoherent; your arms are still wrapped around his neck, and slowly, the inmate you’d been acquainted with mere hours before rises, shrouding your world in a curtain of black hair.

He smells the same—incense and blood and rain. Great. Now you’re hallucinating scents.

“That won’t do,” he says, lowering his face; the fabric of his blindfold touches your forehead, and you’re not sure why, but the fact that you can’t truly see him is even more erotic than any fantasy you’d ever conjured up before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, the last shreds of decency slipping away to the cloudsmoke of his perfume and the flush of his hardened body against yours. “This isn’t—mmm!”

His mouth is on yours, and it is nothing like any mirage store-bought fantasia can conjure up; he is nothing like the men you pick up at clubs, nothing like the teasing Jingyuan in your dreams. He is taking you, commanding your lips to part to make way for him; his tongue searches yours, feverish and so ravaging that it should have you fleeing the planet.

Then, he moves, and you feel the brush of something hard against your mound, near corporeal; the threads of rationality snap, and you’re arching, using your hooked leg as leverage to melt into the dream-criminal’s body, because now, a dream isn’t enough—you want to feel him, warmth and muscle and the cage of his arms, and become one; a mouth isn’t enough. Suddenly, nothing is enough.

He pulls away to latch onto your neck, and you cry at the loss.

“No,” you wail, hooking your remaining leg over his waist. Slender, moreso than Jingyuan’s. “Kiss me more—gimme more—I need—”

“Take it yourself,” he says, working on the welts now littering your collarbone in what an absurd part of you assumes is an attempt to replace any remnants of the dream-general. “Do you really think yourself deserving?”

Tears brim at the corners of your eyes. “So—so mean,”

You lay there for a minute more, frustrated and so stupidly wet, aching for his touch while he seems content to deliver his punishments in the form of mouthing along every inch of your throat and breasts.

“You demon,” you accuse, fisting his shirtsleeve pathetically. Your lips twitch into a frown when he continues to ignore you.

Take it yourself, huh?

And then, because it’s a dream and you would rather die than be left unsatisfied in your own un-reality, you grab the stranger by the face, part your lips open, and finish what he so rudely began.

A part of you expects a nightmarish turn—one where he lashes out to skewer your gut, or worse; instead, he indulges you, fingers steadying your hips as they attempt to grind into a rhythm.

“You’re in my dream, aren’t you?” You whisper, scattering pecks along his cheek—he is, after all, so pretty, too pretty not to dote on. “Take responsibility. Jingyuan would.”

It’s like smelting a firecracker; his mouth bends into an almost-scowl, and the grip on your hips turns bruising.

Bandaged fingers curl into your heat, building atop an existing pressure—your reaction is visceral. A gasp, then an involuntary swivel of your spine with the heels of your feet digging into the bed; and just as you think he’s going to build a staccato, his ministrations halt.

It’s devastating, and it has you wailing into the crook of his pale, unforgiving, not-quite-embrace; frustrated, you knock your fists against his chest. If it were reality, it would hurt you more than it hurt him.

“You bastard.”

“I could ruin you,” he haunts, an echo in your ear. “I could make it burn. You would dream of me in the waking world, cry for me in the dreaming. A slave to passion, day and night; hardly sleeping, hardly eating, merely breathing, finding relief only when I move inside you.”

His lips graze over your own.

“But I won’t.”

It’s a strange, humiliating experience, coming undone from a mere kiss; your heat throbs, neglected, still sobbing to be touched, be soothed, put at rest; but the way he holds you can be mistaken as loving, and the curl of his mouth against yours is almost kind; it’s like grasping at the shadow of a man that never existed.

And then, you wake up.

Your walls are sepia and no longer skies, there are no lilies at your feet. Your cheeks are tear-stained, and there’s a hand under your skirt, the other cupping your breast in poor mimicry of your dream demon.

Something red catches the mirror on your nightstand.

There, splintered across the previously unmarred expanse of your throat, lies a canopy of bruise-colored kisses.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #blade hsr #honkai star rail smut #blade smut #part of a series but im too lazy to format parts rn

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undeadcannibal · 11 months

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Can i request captain price and alejandro and ghost going phone shopping with their s/o : like i imagine they all have those old af phones and their s/o insisted on buying a new one for them cause the ones they have is from decades ago and are about to break or malfunction 😭 🤣

Summary: Headcanons for how Price, Alejandro, and Ghost would react to you trying to get them a smart/recent phone.

Characters featured: Price, Alejandro, and Ghost.

Genre: Headcanons

Warnings: none!

A/N: Hopefully you enjoy these headcanons. uwu ( Gif credit: xxx )

Price―

Despite him being able to use any tech on missions with ease, he can't bring himself to care enough to learn how to use most smart phones.

Price is the worst offender out of all of them.

He was used to simple flip-phone burners that were easy to discard in a pinch and replace just as quickly. Although, if he does manage to keep it for a while, it's clear the phone is built to last rather than focus on aesthetic appearance.

Has a chunky flip-phone that's nearly impossible to break. In fact, the only thing wrong with it is the display screen on the outside is cracked, but still functioning and displaying a picture otherwise. You'd suggest a case for him, but honestly? It probably doesn't even need one.

When he's home, you purposely message him when he's near you or in the room solely so you can hear his obnoxiously loud default ringtone. You think it's funny and he doesn't get the joke.

Needless to say you end up not even bothering to get this man a new phone. Knowing him, he'd only use it for contacting you and nothing more.

Alejandro―

Is the most likely out of all of them to be convinced to get a phone from this decade, although he's very reluctant. He informs you that he'll never take it with him while out on missions. If anything, he'll only use it while off duty.

Even then, he won't be the type for social media or even taking pictures. He doesn't want anyone connecting him to you and something happening as a result.

Once you get him a phone he approved of, I can see him mostly using it for contacting you and playing games on it occasionally. Despises puzzle games similar to Candy Crush.

If it was safe enough, he'd also be the type to keep a picture of you tucked away in the back of his phone case. Not only showing you off as his phone background, but would have a transparent case showing off the physical photo he has of you as well.

I can see him as the type to enjoy games similar to Scrabble, etc. Maybe even the occasional trivia game as well.

Ghost―

Much more reluctant than Alejandro. You'd practically have to force him to accept a smart phone from you. Poor man just wants to make sure your safe and no one knows that you're connected to him.

Hm... probably wouldn't go all out on the latest smart phone and instead, would end up getting something similar to Price.

Extra durable flip phone that's still technically new and from this century, he'd argue that the entire time you two are shopping.

Also doesn't use it often. If anything, you're the only contact on that phone and he prefers to keep it that way.

Does not give in and get a case. Instead, he allows you to talk him into letting you pick out a single charm he can slip on. So long as it's vague and something solely known between the two of you, he'll put it on the phone.

#call of duty x reader #john price x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty headcanons #headcanons #requests #my writing #opened mail

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gayfour · 1 year

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If the TOS crew had mobile phones

Disclaimer: this is just for fun, and my opinions

Scotty: something samsung, in one of those extreme heavy duty cases that make the phone like an inch thick and able to withstand being inside the warp core (not that he put it in there on purpose...) watches videos about warp cores on full volume on the bridge

Chekov: a very beaten and battered leather flip open case, maybe in navy blue, probably an older iPhone, has a Starfleet sticker on the case, never answers his messages. Got removed from the group chat one time for spamming facts about Russia, and things that were allegedly invented there.

Uhura: Her background is a tribble, shes got an iPhone with a clear case and a photo of a tribble in the back. Her ringtone is her favourite song, but its in a different language for each of her contacts. The languages are not based on the languages that the person speaks, but just "vibes".

Sulu: the latest iPhone, with one of those cases with the glittery liquid in the back, Chekov sometimes steals it to play with the glittery liquid, unicorn dog background. Doesnt text back unless you message him between 1 and 5am. Has never heard his ringtone because his phone has never been not on silent.

Spock: a Google Pixel, hes got one of those leather flip open cases in black. His background is the IDIC symbol. His texts are always grammatically correct (except for the pon farr texting incident, but we dont talk about that)

Jim: an iphone, not the newest one but from within the last few years, his background is a selfie of him, spock, and bones. Neither spock nor bones look like they want to be in the photo. Its his favourite photo, and the only proof he has that spock and bones have ever agreed on something (that selfies are "illogical")

Bones: flip phone. Its blue and it matches his uniform, hes always got the notification sound on full (for emergencies)

#star trek #star trek the original series #montgomery scott #pavel chekov #nyota uhura #hikaru sulu #spock #james t kirk #leonard bones mccoy #star trek tos #st tos #tos star trek #tos #i dont know how so many of them ended up with iphones #i am not an iphone person

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

Text

Brinkwhump Linkdump

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then San Francisco (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

Once again, I find myself arriving at the weekend with a giant backlog of links, triggering a linkump, the 15th such dumpage, a variety-pack of miscellany for your weekend. Here's the previous editions:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Let's start with the latest incredible news from KPMG, the accounting and auditing giant that is relied upon as a source of ground truth for a truly terrifying share of the world's economy. KPMG has a well-deserved reputation for incompetence and corruption. They first came on my radar in 2001 when they sent a legal threat to a blogger for linking to their website without permission:

https://memex.craphound.com/2001/12/05/reason-4332442-not-to-ask/

The actual link was to KPMG's corporate anthem, which remains, to this day, a banger:

https://web.archive.org/web/20040428063826/http://chkpt.zdnet.com/chkpt/uknewsita/http://anthems.zdnet.co.uk/anthems/kpmg.mp3

Don't miss the DJ remixes (and the Nokia ringtone!) that the internet thoughtfully provided when KPMG decided that it didn't want the world to know about "Our Vision of Global Strategy":

https://web.archive.org/web/20011128153057/http://corporateanthems.raettig.org/

Now all this is objectively very funny, a relic of the old, good internet from one of its moments of glory, but KPMG? They were already enshittifying, even in 2001, and the enshittification only intensified thereafter. Nearly every accounting scandal of the past quarter-century has KPMG in it somewhere, from con-artists selling exhausted oil fields to rubes:

https://www.desmog.com/2021/06/03/miller-energy-kpmg-auditors-oil-fraud/

To killer nursing homes that hire KPMG to audit its books – and to advise it on how to defeat safety audits and murder your grandma:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/09/dingo-babysitter/#maybe-the-dingos-ate-your-nan

They're the architects of Microsoft's tax-evasion plot:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-decided-to-get-tough-against-microsoft-microsoft-got-tougher

And they were behind Canada's dysfunctional covid contact-tracing app, which never worked, but generated tens of millions in billings to the government of Canada, who used KPMG to hire programmers at $1,500/day, plus KPMG's 30% commission:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/31/mckinsey-and-canada/#comment-dit-beltway-bandits-en-canadien

KPMG's most bizarre scandal is literally stranger than fiction. The company bribed SEC personnel help its own accountants cheat on ethics exams. The corrupt officials were then given high-paid jobs at KPMG:

https://www.nysscpa.org/news/publications/the-trusted-professional/article/sec-probe-finds-kpmg-auditors-cheating-on-training-exams-061819

I mean it when I say this is stranger than fiction. I included it as a plot-point in my new finance crime novel The Bezzle (now a national bestseller!), and multiple readers have written to me since the book came out a couple weeks ago to say that they thought I was straining their credulity by making up such an outrageous scandal:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

But all of that is just scene-setting (and a gratuitous plug for my book) for the latest KPMG scandal, which is, possibly, the most KPMG scandal of all KPMG scandals. The Australian government hired KPMG to audit Paladin, a security contractor that oversees the asylum seekers the country locks up on one of its island gulags (yes, gulags, plural).

Ever since, Paladin has been the subject of a string of ghastly human rights scandals – the worst stuff imaginable, rape and torture and murder of adults and children. Paladin made AU423 million on this contract.

And here's the scandal: KPMG audited the wrong company. The Paladin that the Australia government paid KPMG to audit was based in Singapore. The Paladin that KPMG audited was a totally different company, based in Papua New Guinea, who already had a commercial relationship with KPMG. It was this colossal fuckup that led to the manifestly unfit Singaporean company getting nearly half a billion dollars in public funds:

https://www.theguardian.com/business/2024/feb/24/incredible-failure-kpmg-rejects-claims-it-assessed-the-wrong-company-before-423m-payment-to-paladin

KPMG denies this. KPMG denies everything, always. Like, they denied creating "power maps" of decision-makers in the Australian government to target with influence campaigns in order to win contracts like this one. Who knows, maybe, this one time, they're telling the truth? After all, the company whose employees gather to sing lyrics like these can't be all bad, right?

The time is now to lead the way, We share the same the idea That may win by the end of the day. Our strength is here to stay. Identity, one energy, One strategy, with sympathy. These are the words that will lead us into a new world.

https://everything2.com/title/KPMG+corporate+anthem

You may find it strange that I'm still carrying around the factoid that KPMG once threatened to crush a blogger for linking to its terrible corporate anthem, but that's just my "Memex Method," which helps me keep track of literally everything that seemed important to me through most of my adult life:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

One of my favorite quips from the very quotable Riley Quinn is that "leftists are cursed with object-permanence" – that is, we actually remember what just happened and use it to think about what's happening now. The Memex Method is object permanence for 20+ years worth of stuff. A lot of those deep archives never see use, but there's a surprising number of leading indicators buried in the stuff that happened in years gone by.

Take James Boyle's 2014, XKCD-style comic about the experience of driving a notional Apple car:

https://www.thepublicdomain.org/2014/11/07/apple-updates-a-comic/

Apple, it turns out, spent the next decade working on just such a car, and while that car has now been canceled, Boyle's comic correctly anticipates so much about the trajectory Apple's products took. It's uncannily accurate – real "don't invent the torment nexus"/"cyberpunk was a warning, not a suggestion" stuff:

https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/torment-nexus

But no matter how many times we insist that the torment nexus shouldn't be created, the boardrooms of end-stage capitalism continue to invent them. Take HP, the poster-child for enshittification, edging out even KPMG in the race to turn everything into a pile of shit. After years of tormenting people to punish them for wanting to print things, HP has announced a new service that so mustache-twirlingly evil that it lacks verisimilitude:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/02/hp-wants-you-to-pay-up-to-36-month-to-rent-a-printer-that-it-monitors/

Here's the pitch: HP will sell you a printer that you don't own. In addition to paying a monthly fee for your ink – which you pay no matter whether you print or not – you will also pay a monthly fee just for having HP's printer on your premises. You are absolutely, positively forbidden from using third-party ink in this printer, and must use HP's own ink, which sells for about $10,000/gallon.

But while you aren't allowed to use this printer in ways that are bad for HP's shareholders, HP is absolutely free to use the printer in ways that are bad for you. When you click through the signup agreement, you grand HP permission to surveil every document you print – and your home wifi network more generally – and to sell that data to anyone and everyone.

What's more, HP reserves the right to discipline you with punitive credit-card charges if you disconnect this printer from the internet, on the basis that doing so makes it harder for them to spy on your printer.

I'm sorry, this is just more torment nexus shit, the kind of thing you'd expect to drop on Apr 1, not Feb 29, but I guess this is where we are. I can only conjecture as to whether HP's businesses strategists are directly taking direction from my novella "Unauthorized Bread," or whether they're learning about it second-hand from a KPMG consultant who converted it to Powerpoint form and charged $1,500/day for the work:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

All of this cartoonish villainry is the totally foreseeable consequence of a culture of impunity, in which companies like HP and KPMG can rob, cheat, steal (and sometimes even kill) without consequence. This impunity is so pervasive that the exceptions – where a rich criminal faces real consequences – become touchstones: Enron, Arthur Anderson, Theranos, and, of course, FTX.

FTX was arguably the largest-scale corporate crime in world history, stealing more than $10 billion dollars, mostly from rubes sucked in by hype and Superbowl ads. When news that FTX founder and owner Sam Bankman-Fried was convicted of fraud and was in for a lengthy prison sentence made a huge stir, because criminals like SBF usually walk away from the wreckage with their hands in their pockets, whistling a jaunty tune.

One of the very best commentators on cryptocurrency scams generally and FTX/SBF in particular is Molly White, whose Web3 is Going Just Great feed is utterly indispensable. White's newsletter, "Citation Needed," dives deep into the wrangle of SBF's sentencing:

https://www.citationneeded.news/issue-52/

Bankman-Fried's parents – prominent law professors at top law schools – helped brief the court this week on their son's punishment. According to them, SBF faces 100 years in prison, but should be sentenced to 5.5-6.5 years at the most. Why? Because he is a vegan, who is not greedy, and feels remorse, and cares for individuals (recall that SBF presented himself as the avatar of the batshit "effective altruism" philosophy while privately admitting that he used this as a smokescreen).

The most bizarre note in the 100-page filing is SBF's mother declaring that her son is an "angel of mercy," apparently unaware of the grisly meaning of that term:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angel_of_mercy_(criminology)

America's prisons are a travesty and I wouldn't wish them on anyone, but that's not the argument SBF's parents are making; rather, they're arguing that their special boy doesn't deserve the treatment America metes out to poorer, less white people who merely steal hundreds or thousands of dollars. A crook who steals ten billion should be handled the way a casino handles a whale – with concierge service.

The problem is, there are so many of these remorseless, relentless crooks that there's no way we could scale up that white-glove treatment when we finally round 'em all up and make them pay. Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tkacik tells us about the ransomware attack that shut down America's pharmacy system last month:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-03-01-zoomer-hackers-shut-down-unitedhealthcare/

The attack brought down Change Healthcare, part of the monopolist Unitedhealth, which serves as the "pharmacy benefit manager" to a vast swathe of American pharmacies. PBM is one of those all-American finance scams, a middleman garlanded with performative complexity put there to make you feel stupid for asking why independent pharmacies all have to pay rent to this malicious, unaccountable – and now, manifestly incompetent – gang of crooks.

Tkacik's breakdown of this scam – and how it rendered Americans' ability to get the drugs they depend on to go on breathing – is characteristically brilliant. Tcacik is fast emerging as my favorite Explainer of Scams, a print version of John Oliver or Adam Conover. You may recall her work from my post last week on how private equity has taken a wrecking ball to America's hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

I always try to finish these linkdumps with some upbeat news to carry you through the weekend, and this week brought two genuinely wonderful – and totally underreported – pieces of amazing news.

The first is that Starbucks has sued for peace in the war against its workers' unions. Hundreds of Starbucks stores have unionized in recent years, but not one of them had a contract. Instead, Starbucks had waged dirty war on their own workers, from denying gender-affirming care to unionized employees to simply shutting down whole stores after they voted to unionize:

https://www.cnbc.com/2022/06/14/starbucks-union-company-threatens-that-unionizing-could-jeopardize-gender-affirming-health-care.html

But the workers held fast and after years of this, Starbucks has caved, promising contracts for all unionized stores and an end to its campaign of terror against workers seeking to unionize more of its stores. In a postmortem for Jacobin, Eric Blanc rounds up "seven lessons from Starbucks workers' historic victory":

https://jacobin.com/2024/02/starbucks-sbwu-contract-bargaining/

This is the kind of listicle I can get behind. According to Blanc, the Starbucks unions won by deploying worker-to-worker organizing, a tactic that many of the new unions that are shaking up formerly impossible-to-organize jobsites are using (Blanc has a book about this coming from UC Press called "We Are the Union: How Worker-to-Worker Unionism Can Transform America," so he should know).

Other tactics that made the difference for Starbucks unions: new digital training and support tools and partnering with established unions for support and infrastructure. Blanc also calls out the success of "salting" – the venerable but largely disused tactic of union organizers applying for a job at a non-union shop in order to organize it.

Blanc also mentions government policy, including the outstanding work of NLRB general counsel Jennifer Abruzzo, a shrewd and committed tactician whose understanding of the technicalities of labor law have let her push for bold measures. For example, in Thrive Pet Care, Abruzzo is arguing that when a company refuses to bargain in good faith for a contract with its union, she can step in and order them to honor the terms of a contract at comparable unionized competitors until they produce a contract of their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

Abruzzo is one of several smart, competent tacticians in the Biden administration who are working to kneecap corporate power. Another is Rohit Chopra, chair of the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau, who just announced another bold, important initiative that will help Americans fight corporate corruption and get a fair deal:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-03-01-public-option-credit-card-shopping/

Chopra is taking aim at credit-card comparison sites that purport to show you where you can get the best deal. If you're an affluent person who doesn't carry a balance, this might not matter to you, but if you're an average working stiff, high interest rates can gobble up a massive share of your paycheck. What's more, credit card margins are higher than they have ever been:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/blog/credit-card-interest-rate-margins-at-all-time-high/

The most expensive credit cards come from the big, monopolistic banks, but you wouldn't know it from the leaderboards produced by Credit Karma, NerdWallet, LendingTree, and Bankrate. All of these sites take bribes from the big banks to list their credit cards above those offered by credit unions – who are typically 10% cheaper than the big banks' cards.

The new CFPB rule prohibits this fraudulent ranking, but the Bureau is going even further. They're using their administrative powers to force banks to report their rates to the Bureau, which will publish them on a publicly funded, neutral website – what David Dayen calls "a public option" for shopping for credit cards.

This policy makes a perfect bookend to the last CFPB initiative I wrote about here: a rule that forces banks to allow you to transfer your account to a rival with a couple of simple clicks, importing all your history, payees, and everything else you need to switch to a better bank:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

Combine that ease of switching with reliable information on which banks will give you the best deal and you get something that will directly transfer millions and millions of dollars from giant, wildly profitable banks to low-income people who've been tricked into paying them punitive interest rates.

So that's it, this week's linkdump. I promised you I'd end on a high note, and I did it. The world may be full of all kinds of terrible things, but workers and regulators are scoring big, muscular victories in battles where the stakes are real and important. Have a great weekend – we've earned it.

And remember!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/02/macedoine/#the-public-option

Image: Stacy (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/notahipster/4402860361/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

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sofasoap · 10 months

Text

Little Comfort

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F!Reader

Summary: Long day at work. You had enough.

Warning : M themed. no major warning. A/N: We all need a Johnny after a long shitty day at work.

Part 3 of Little Bear series Masterlist

You slam your laptop shut, leaning back into the chair and let out a painful groan as you send out that last analysis report.

It’s been a long painful day. The long meetings that went around in circles, going nowhere.

Piles and piles of documents and reports to finish off.

You had enough. The urge of strangling your annoying manager and workmate was interrupted by the soft shrilling sound of your ringtone.

“Hello Johnny.”

“Hey my little bear. I assume you finished work?”

“Just about. I am sorry I had to cancel our date night tonight.” Rubbing your eyes as you replied tiredly. You were supposed to be home hours ago, spending quality time with your boyfriend who’s only arrived home the day before from his latest deployment. Guilt starts bubbling up from your stomach. “They piled on last minute work onto me at the end of day, I couldn’t…”

Knowing you too well, he interrupted, “Don’t worry about it bonnie. Come home and I’ll take care of ya. We can just order some takeaway and have a date night at home?”

“That sounds heavenly. See you at home in ten minutes?.”

“Drive safe. Love you little bear.”

Hearing his soft baritone voice was enough to wash half of your stress away. He always knows how to make you feel better. You don’t know how you got so lucky to have Johnny as your boyfriend. You miss him so much during his time away, and now you are wasting precious seconds of your short time together before he gets sent away, in the office. At the thought of that, you quickly lock up the office, rushing home.

As soon as you step through the door of the house, Johnny takes the messenger bag and keys off you and ushers you straight into the bathroom.

“I got the bath ready for you. Even threw in some of your favourite bath bombs into it.” he rambled on as he helped you to undress. “Oh, before I forget,” He slapped his forehead. “What do you feel like? We have choices of…. Chinese, Thai, Italian, or… “ pointing to himself, grinning “ A MacTavish Special?”

You burst out laughing, giving your boyfriend a playful shove, “ I might have that as a midnight snack thank you.” Letting out a soft sigh as you step into the bath,“ You pick. I’m happy with anything.” “Pizza it is then.” He gave you a quick kiss and turned to order the takeaway on his phone, leaving you soaking in a nice steamy bath.

Nice and refreshed from the relaxing bath you just had, you plonk yourself down onto the couch. Johnny poured you a glass of wine, shaking out the blanket, carefully wrapping it around you.

"Johnny."

"Yes bonnie?"

"... Thank you for taking care of me."

"You deserve to be pampered, my little teddy bear."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

Tag list :

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@kaplerrr

@homicidal-slvt

@floral-force @okayyadriana

#johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x fem reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish imagine #johnny soap mactavish xf!reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #Little bear series #sofasoap writes #call of duty #johnny mactavish #john mactavish fluff #johnny soap mactavish x female!reader #johnny soap mactavish fluff

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jaslan4f1 · 1 year

Note

Hiiiiiii! I would love to request a secret relationship with carlos and maybe reader just gets tired and start distancing because it feels like he’s hiding her since he hasn’t introduced her to his family or friends yet but he’s just a private person. I hope that makes sense

Wanna be yours C.S

Warnings: angst, fluff

Notes: english is not my native language so this may contain consistency errors, i would really appreciate the corrections but please, be kind. feedback is also appreciated ♡

You laid in your bed thoughts keeping you awake. „Why isn’t he texting me back. He probably doesn’t miss me. Of course he doesn’t, it was all one-sided from the begging“ you said to yourself. You stood up and walked to your kitchen to grab a cup of water to refresh your brain. „He hasn’t even told me anything about his friends or his family. Fuck I haven’t even meet them and we have been „dating“ for 5 month now.“ You sat on the kitchen counter tears rolled down your cheeks. You stood up and looked in your mirror. „Gosh Y/n you’re pathetic. Like a dumb child. He clearly doesn’t love you back and just wants your body.“ „I can’t do that, I’m indented, successful and I know my worth.“, the moment you went into your bedroom your phone began to play that special ringtone you had saved for Carlos. „No! I will not pick up his call. I won't buckle again. He should taste his own medicine!“ You looked at your now black phone. „Please call me again and I know you love me“ you whispered with closed eyes. You waited. Nothing. Nothing was he being serious? You cried yourself to sleep that night and the night after that night. He hasn’t called you or texted you. You haven’t reach out too. It hurts like hell for you. How could he ignore you for that long. Okay maybe 1 week wasn’t that long but it was the longest period of time without texting, calling or meeting each other. You woke up with not surprising puffy eyes. You were snapped out of your thoughts by a loud knock. You stood up and open your door. „Mierda can you pleas tell me what all this is supposed to be about?“ he sounded angry no desperate. Was he missing you? You looked at him with big eyes, not knowing what to say. „Carlos…I…I just can’t keep doing this okay?“ He looked at you surprised. „You can’t keep doing what? Us? You want to break up I thought you loved me y/n! Was that all a lie, huh?“ You looked at him with teary eyes. „No Carlos I love you I alway have and I always will. I just wanna be yours.“ He looked at you confused. „What do mean you wanna be mine? You are already mine Y/n“ „No I am not! You know everything about me. My friends, my family, my apartment, my hobbies, what I hate and love about my body, what my favourite colour is and so on.“

„You never tell me anything I don’t know any of your friends, family… gosh Carlos you are you are a total stranger to me.“ You cried out finally speaking what was on your tongue for months. „Y/n…“, „No don’t Y/n me. I’m mentally exhausted and I can’t keep living like this. Carlos I understand that your scared of announcing anything to the pubic but I can’t be the woman on the side that you fuck whenever you want…I can’t be that person for you“ you snapped back. „You are so much more than just a girl I fuck and we both know that“ he said determined. „Then what am I Carlos, please tell me“ you said with your weak voice. „You are the one for me, the only woman I have ever wanted. You are my very personal drug, when I’m without you I can’t breath and I swear if you break up with me I would kill every guy that dares to touch you because you are the most important person that I have ever known. I want you all to myself. I’m scared about you when I’m not with you. Meeting my family would mean I would show you my most private side of me and then you would leave me at the latest.“ he spoke fastly. „Carlos being a private person means not that I will leave you. I just wanna be a part of your life. I hate not knowing anything about you or what you were as a child. I’m tiered of that one-sided love. If we want to work this out you have to open up to me and trust me because I will not hurt you in any way.“ He looked at you with tears in his eyes. „Cariño, I will do anything for you if it means I can be with you but I don’t wanna pop our private bubble just yet.“ And with that he approached you. „Can I kiss you Y/n?“ He said and looked into your eyes. „Sí Carlito“ with your last words his lips crashed o yours and turned into a kiss full of passion and desire. „I will call my Madre and tell her that she will finally meet my beautiful girlfriend.“ You broke the kiss. „Wait your mom knows about me?“ You said confused. „Yes sure I tell my mother everything…Ay stop hitting me“ he said after you hit his arm. „Carlos are you being serious I could have meet your family before if you just opened up.“ „I know and I apologise baby, it won’t happen again I swear.“ He gave you his pinky. „Okay I trust you but don’t lie to me ever again ok“ you said with a harsh voice. He nod and kissed your nose. Finally you would be his and eventually you would become public to the entire world.

a/n; I hope you this oneshot. If you have ideas for stories lease share them with me. 😇

#f1 x reader #carlos sainz jr imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz fluff

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yume-chin · 9 months

Text

I wish you all the best

Since I wrote Leo I think now it's Donnie's turn, my favorite turtle (along with Raph in the bayverse and rise versions)

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Request: No

Warning: Just a little angst and bad English

Genre: She/her

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Pov: Donatello saw you from the cameras in the company of another boy and all his fears and insecurities came to the surface.

Version: Bayverse / 2014/2016

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Text words: 1271

Total words: 1433

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You haven't heard from your boyfriend for a week. That's right. You've been in a stable relationship for a year, or at least that was what you thought, with a mutant turtle named Donatello.

All this time your relationship had been booming until that fateful evening.

As often happens, you spent the whole afternoon with your boyfriend and his brothers and you were spending a day together like any other.

Michelangelo was completely immersed in his video games in the living room, Leonardo was immersed in his beloved meditation inside the Dojo, Raphael was busy with his usual workouts in the weight room and you and Donatello were in his room to keep him company while he was engaged in a of his new inventions.

Suddenly, however, your attention was captured by the ringtone of the phone. Your phone.

As soon as you read the name on the screen your eyes widened and you answered in the blink of an eye.

"Yes? Ready?"

"What?! Truly?!"

"I am coming!"

You closed your cell phone and turned to Donnie.

"Honey I have to go home"

"Did something serious happen?"

“No, no, nothing serious. Family reunion"

Donatello stood there looking at you without saying anything. He just greeted you with a kiss on the temple.

"Then I'm going, we'll talk later love" and you were out of his room.

You also greeted Mikey because he was in the hall, where you have to pass to go to the exit and then you walked along the leaf until you reach the manhole and exit.

In a hurry you ran home where you found your cousin N/c waiting for you.

You hadn't seen him for months as he had left to study abroad for a year in Italy.

You have mutually decided to go for a walk through the streets of New York at night.

In all of this, however, there was a problem, a problem you hadn't even noticed.

A specific mutant tortoise, much loved by you, was keeping an eye on you thanks to the countless surveillance cameras he hacked.

And if this could already be seen as a problem, the fact that the turtle had misunderstood the whole situation was added.

And while you were finishing that walk in peace, your boyfriend had begun to raise many doubts and insecurities.

After that evening you wrote to Donnie but got no reply. Tried and tried but still no response.

And so a week passed. A week in which anxiety and fear had taken over your body.

So you decided, that afternoon after school, to go to the turtles. You wanted to know the reason for this departure from the purple turtle.

You walked in and immediately locked eyes with Mikey, who was there looking at you as if he had just seen a ghost.

"What are you doing here?"

You stood looking at him confused

"What do you mean? Can't I be here?"

"Didn't find a new boyfriend?"

"Huh?"

“That human you went out with the last night we saw each other”

You stood there looking at him again until everything became clearer to you.

"Hate! That's why Donnie doesn't talk to me anymore! What a mess… it was all a big misunderstanding!”

"In what sense?"

“The guy I went out with that night was my cousin. He had returned after a year spent in Italy and so we went out for a walk to be together and to tell each other about the latest news, nothing more!”

"What? Serious dude?”

"Yes, I'm serious!"

“Then run to Donnie who has been locked in his room for a week for this story! Please get him out of there!"

You nodded and headed to Donnie's room.

You knocked but got no answer.

He didn't knock a second time. You took it and opened the door wide.

“WHY WHEN YOU HAVE DOUBTS DON'T YOU CONSULT WITH ME?!”

The boy immediately turned towards you, his eyes widening.

"Y-y/n..! What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Do you really dare to ask me what am I doing here?! You literally ignored me for a week! You ignored all my messages and all my calls!! I had started to think that something bad had happened to you and that I would never be able to see you again!!” your eyes become watery and it doesn’t remain unnoticed by the boy.

"I-I don't understand why you care so much..."

You shake your head in disbelief "what the heck are you talking about?! You're my boyfriend, the person I love most in the world! It seems normal and almost obvious that I care about you!"

"I have seen you..."

"I imagined"

"You were so happy with him... You were having a normal situation with a normal person... I'm not mad at you for falling in love with a human boy..."

"Donnie..."

"To tell the truth, I don't even blame you" her eyes start to water "Often on the internet I come across pictures of happy couples and I stay there thinking... thinking that you shouldn't be with someone like me but you should be with a human who can make you live a normal life..."

Stay there in silence trying to hold back the tears that threaten to come out.

"I just want the best for you Y/n... And when I saw you with that boy last week I felt terrible, but at the same time I was happy for you because you finally found someone who truly deserves you... I ... I won't force you to stay here, we can still be friends if you want... I'd really like that... And... I wish you all the best that life can give you..."

You stayed there for a few more seconds looking at him and then approached him.

"Donatello, maybe one thing isn't clear to you yet... I love you, with all of me, and if you had talked to me, instead of keeping everything inside like you always do, you'd find out that the boy I went out with for a walk last week was my cousin…”

The boy stood there dumbfounded.

"Exactly, my cousin... He spent a year in Italy studying and just last week he returned to the city without saying anything, to surprise everyone"

He remained silent at that statement.

"The only person I want to be with is you Donatello, and there will never be someone better than you" you grab his face with your hands and look him straight in the eyes "Open your little head and insert this very important information... I LOVE YOU, and I wouldn't leave you for any other boy in the world. And then... Where would I find another boy as handsome and intelligent as you??" you giggled teasing him.

"But I don't respect the stereotype of human beauty, I'm biologically a turtle with mutated DNA, by humans I'm considered a monster"

"You can't argue with my statements, you don't know and you can't see how you appear in my eyes" you smile at him "Donnie, if you still want to be my boyfriend then accept my love and when you have any doubts talk to me please" you give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

As soon as you separate from the kiss he brings you back to him to hug you hiding his face between your neck and your shoulder "I love you so much, and you can't understand how you make me happy every day"

You stroke his head smiling leaving him a little kiss "I love you my love".

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By the time I had reached the end, the text began to no longer convince me but by now I had written and arranged everything and I really put a lot of effort into it.

I hope you still like it ♡

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If you want to read something specific feel free to ask me any request. ♡

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A big hug ♡

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cope-to-anime · 10 months

Text

the hashira and their phones

☆ what’s their phone like? what’s in there?

tomioka giyuu

does NOT name his contacts

has games but they’re the type of games you’d think are boring like snake and sodoku

his phone is always on silent mode because the ringing shocks him

seen-zones your messages often, either replies in 5 seconds or in 5 days

he uses his note app to make grocery and to do lists

himejima gyoumei

has cats as his home and lock screen

sometimes forgets that siri/alexa is enabled so he gets spooked

one of his fondest memories is when he first got his phone and all the other hashiras entered their number in it

phone has been dropped a couple of times but it’s so sturdy

he has a little cat keychain plugged into the headphone jack of his phone.

rengoku kyojuro

has the latest model phone but doesn’t know how to fully use it

loves to take photos

his lock screen and home screen are the same: rengoku family pic

has premium everything like Spotify premium, YT premium, etc

food delivery app gold membership holder

iguro obanai

has those tempered glass covers that are dark and tinted so you don’t see what he’s doing with his phone from where you’re standing

at first he didn’t want to have a phone case because he likes the grip he has on his phone, but mitsuri insisted he get one so he did

slither.io master

gallery has a lot of pictures of nature but rarely has ones with him in it

phone always on silent, mitsuri in his important contacts

tokito muichiro

uses moving phone lock screens, minimal motions like clouds in the sky or shapes floating around

always forgets to turn off their mobile data or wi-fi so their phone drains fast

blue phone case with mist details, doesn’t have a pop grip

he drops his phone often but coincidentally he either drops them on a soft surface or the fall isn’t strong enough to leave a crack

he says the most satisfying thing about his phone is him taking off the plastic cover from the screen when he first got it

shinazugawa sanemi

sanemi actually takes very good care of his phone

he knows how expensive they can be so even if his phone is old it still looks good as new

his lock screen is a default image but his home screen is a family pic during genya’s high school graduation

he doesn’t really have games on his phone because he’s too busy but he used to play fruit ninja

his messages are mostly him checking up where his younger siblings are and when they’ll get home

uzui tengen

the noisiest ringtone EVER

has 1000+ unread emails

phone gallery has multiple folders but mostly it’s selfie and groupie folders

when he listens to music he listens to it in full volume

is part of Kyojuro’s premium account family plans

kocho shinobu

butterfly phone case with wavy body for a better grip

overall theme inside is purple and white

family photos in her phone are in her favourites folder

has that beaded hand grip that tangles and hers are made with butterfly beads

phone on silent most of the time but when it isn’t she has a violin cover of a song as her ringtone

kanroji mitsuri

cute games like neko atsume and hungry hearts

she would definitely let kids borrow her phone to play games

her phone gallery is filled with pics of people she loves, food, and pretty clouds

all of her contacts have nicknames and corresponding emojis

she’s the type of person to give her password away to her friends

#mio #anime #anime imagines #anime scenarios #anime headcanons #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer headcanons #headcanons #hashira #tomioka giyu #tomioka giyuu #demon slayer imagines

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bluesylveon2 · 10 months

Note

for the 500 follower special, idia + 75?

I love how all of my gamer knowledge reappeared as I was writing this lol.

Prompt: 75. I’m an insomniac who calls my best friend at 3am except I misdial on my landline and I tell you all about my nightmare before letting you talk and now I’m mortified but you don’t hang up (I changed it a bit)

Note: Modern au. Fainaru Fantajī XV is Final Fantasy 15 but in Japanese. I was gonna use FFXVI but idk how the story goes and I might just watch it on Youtube lol. I DO know the story for FFXV and I love it so much

Word Count: 959

Warnings: not beta read and possible OOC characters

500 Follower Event

Idia's day typically goes as follows: 1. Wake up, 2. Collect his dailies, 3. Stream in his room for hours (while snacking during it). 4. Use the bathroom. 5. Eat sweets, 6. Stream again. 7. Stream. What's sleep anyway?

Idia sighed after setting his headphones down. He just finished playing the latest Fainaru Fantajī XV game since its release. His body ached from the long sitting position, but it was all worth it for him. The story was good, and the gameplay was phenomenal! Idia needed to tell someone about it!

Usually, he would rant about it to Ortho. Still, his little brother was currently out of town because he was starring in a movie with the Vil Schoenheit. Idia was proud of his brother and wanted to keep his much-needed rest.

Idia grabbed his phone and sorted through his list of friends.

Azul? No, he would only talk about board games.

Riddle? No, they both had a mutual dislike for one another.

Cater? HECK NO! NO NORMIES! (Idia made a mental note to delete his number later. How his contact information got on his phone was a mystery.)

Lilia? Idia's eyes widen. Yes! Lilia was perfect! They both share a love of games and often play co-op together. Surely he would be awake at, Idia glanced at the time, 3 am! Idia quickly typed his number, too excited to click on Lilia's number, and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" A clearly feminine voice replied, but Idia had already started his passionate ranting.

"Lilia! Did you get to play the newest Fainaru Fantajī XV game?"

"Who is-"

"I love the open world concept, and did you see the Regalia? That car screams luxury, and it has to be my dream car. I need to get one ASAP. That would show those lame normies I deal with, ugh."

"Lilia" laughed but continued trying to speak, "That's nice, but-"

"And the chemistry between the main characters! Luna was pretty, I guess? Lowkey women still scar me after the whole Eliza incident." Idia shivered at the memory of his "self-proclaimed" (and crazy) girlfriend (it was one-sided, and Idia didn't consider her his girlfriend anyway) in high school. Never again. "But the bond between Noctis and the other guys was top-notch! It made the gameplay even better!" Idia sighed and leaned back in his chair. "If only Noctis survived to the end, ya know? I guess the developers loved angst. The song choice at the end was the cherry on top. I actually shed a tear."

"Uhh, that's very interesting, but who is this?" "Lilia," asked, and Idia frowned. Now that he was partially done with his rant, he noticed the strange pitch in his friend's voice.

"Lilia, it's me, Idia. You know? The super cool guy who you spend playing League with. Are you sick? Your voice sounds off."

"I don't know a Lilia. My name is Yuu, and no, I am not sick. I am very healthy." Yuu's voice replied, and Idia froze. OH NO, NO, NO

"YOU'RE A GIRL?"

He could imagine the stranger frowning and thinking he was some creep. "Yes?"

"Eep!" Idia squealed and immediately pressed the big red "end call" button. He threw his phone at his bed, jumped face down on his bed, and groaned loudly. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! You just embarrassed yourself in front of a stranger! In front of a girl!" Idia was ready to bury himself in a hole.

Idia's phone rang just as he made the decision to do it. He groaned at the annoying ringtone, picked it up, and brought the phone to his ear without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?"

A female voice laughed. "You hung up on me, Idia."

"Ah!" Idia screamed. He looked at his phone and raised his finger to hang up the call.

"Wait! Don't hang up!" Yuu exclaimed, causing Idia to freeze. He slowly brought his phone back to listen. The girl sighed after a minute passed. "Look, before you hang up again, I wanted to say that I love that game too."

Idia blinked, and his mouth opened in shock. "Y-you do?" he managed to say and wanted to facepalm.

Yuu laughed. "I'm not far into the game, though. I got distracted by fishing and playing with chocobos."

Idia felt himself relax, and he laughed with Yuu. "They are adorable. I liked racing them."

"Me too! Hey, Idia, can I ask you something?"

"Uhh, sure…What is it?"

Yuu sighed, and Idia could hear some shuffling on her end. She was probably adjusting herself to get comfortable. "Can you tell me more about the game? I need some help getting through it and would like some advice."

Idia felt a smirk grace his face. "Of course, you would need my help. I'll help you beat all the bosses with 0 deaths. You're good to talk for tonight?"

Yuu chuckled. "Yeah, I don't have anything planned. Oh great, Idia. Give me your wisdom."

Idia ended up not sleeping that night but made a new friend instead.

Bonus:

"I heard the Child of Man made a new friend." Malleus looked up from his Gao Gao Drakon-kun to speak to his father.

Lilia paused his game and turned to Malleus. "Oh? Did she say who?"

Malleus nodded. "It's actually your friend Idia. The one you often play games with." He said and gestured to the monitor that currently had Fainaru Fantajī XV.

Lilia smiled, feeling happy for his friend. "What a coincidence. It is a small world, after all."

Malleus nodded and smiled, thinking about Yuu's happy rant that morning after staying up to talk to Idia before passing out from exhaustion. He was also delighted for her that she had met him. "Indeed it is."

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #idia x yuu #idia shroud #thank you again!!!#bluesylveon 500 follower event

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mirahuyooo · 1 year

Note

Prompt 1 with joon? Throwback in the baby au hehehhe

001. “Can I come over?” + kim namjoon

— Namjoon’s baby now has an actual baby

word count: 1,338 contents: FLUFFY FLUFF, roMANCE, whoLESOME VIBES, established relationship (husband & wife), KIM NAMJOON as YOUR HUSBAND AAAAA, joon calling you baby ✋😩, Jimin & Tae being absolute menaces but they’re your absolute menaces, baby on the way! Y/N is planning a reveal soon uwu (Takes place before Baby) pairing: kim namjoon x reader

[masterlist] | check out more of [Four Years with Mira]!

A/N: ANON!!! I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGGG I’m going through the last of my semester rn and I have to complete some requirements 👉😭👈 I’m back writing again tho!! I also assumed you meant the “Baby” imagine I wrote two years ago lmao I hope y’all like this one! 💖💗💕

The gold band now bound on your ring finger glints under the light of the side table lampshade. The sight of it elicits butterflies in your belly, along with a soft, giddy smile you had to bite back.

Seven months have passed since you heard the hushed awes and soft piano music.

Seven months have passed since you saw him waiting for you down the aisle.

Seven months have passed since you became Mrs Kim, wife to your other half.

Married life with Kim Namjoon, you find, has paradoxically changed and didn't change a lot of things in your life. Love with him is still so consistently devoted and wholesome that you hardly felt any drastic change between the two of you, and yet your heart has never felt more secure, more safe, and more loved than ever before.

“Joon, can I come over?”

“Of course, baby,” your husband gladly says on the other line. You can almost feel the warmth of his dimpled smile. "Let me know when you're here so I can come down and fetch you, hm?"

It was something of a habit that'll never die, you suppose—one of the many things that didn't and will never change.

Like before, you would go to his studio if you had time to spare, and like before, you would bring along some food for the both of you to eat while he gives you a little insight on what he's working on. A hand of his habitually rests on your thigh, as the two of you chew on jajangmyeon while one of his latest works play faintly in the background and you both share thoughts.

"I've been thinking of changing the bea—"

A ringtone sounds through the air, cutting Namjoon's words short and soiling the serene atmosphere. You lift your head from his shoulder and anticipate what the call meant as he picks it up, especially when you know the ringtone is the one he has for work.

"Hyung?" he says to what you assume is one of their producers.

You don't understand much of the conversation aside from the somber expression that seizes your husband's face. Namjoon's brows are furrowed, his tongue prodding at his cheek as he digests the words of whoever was at the other end of the line, humming in agreement and responding once in a while.

You have a feeling you already know what's going to happen next.

The apologetic smile he flashes you mid conversation confirms your brewing thoughts, far before he ends the call. “I’m sorry, baby,” Namjoon begrudgingly sighs, tucking his phone away as he rests his head on your shoulder for a moment, not wanting to leave in spite of having to. “I have to go to a meeting about the album.”

As expected.

Namjoon, ever an artist of his craft, still keeps most of his masterpieces under his sleeve until he’s satisfied with them, the two of you having made a tradition out of spending a night together at home to react to his work in full. (Mostly, the time is spent with you gushing and squealing over his songs while he sits beside you in a mess of bashful dimpled smiles and shy deep giggles.)

You press your lips where you could—the crook of his neck left a bit open by his loose-fitting sweatshirt. “It’s okay, Joonie,” you sweetly assure him, in spite of your crestfallen heart already sick with needy longing. “I’ll just hang around here, until you’re done.”

You two exit his studio, Namjoon taking his time walking on his way to the meeting when Jimin and Taehyung come to the hallway. Their eyes light up at the sight of you, wide grins as they skip towards you both.

“Noona! Hyung!”

Namjoon feels a bit better with leaving you, really, knowing well that the boys are great company until he’s done with his meeting. "I'll be back, baby," he smiles, lips pressing a tender kiss on your forehead before the two boys link either of your arms with theirs.

“Don’t worry, hyung,” Jimin huffs, light-heartedly rolling his eyes as he tugs you over to them. “We’ll be at the practice room when you need us!”

The two of them don’t wait for Namjoon’s response, pulling you along with them towards their practice room, where the faint thrum of music already reaches your ears. “Noona, I forget your name at this point, really,” Jimin is quick to tease, jokingly sighing and shaking his head.

“How could you?” you dramatically gasp with a smack to his back, the young man only laughing in response.

Taehyung clearly agrees, poking at your side to join Jimin’s little teasing game. “He’s right though. Namjoon-hyung only ever calls you baby,” he muses, the two of them grinning like they heard the juiciest gossip in the building. “Heck, I have no doubt the baby will think that, too!”

In spite of the blush that sets your cheeks on fire, you merely scoff. "Don't be ridiculous," you say as you shush Taehyung, “and keep your voice down, will you?”

Though you and your husband certainly have your fun, Namjoon assured you he was in no rush to have children. His baby fever has waned in the recent years, but you hardly had any doubts your husband wouldn't step up to the responsibility of being a father, especially to you, whom he swore his forever to.

The universe, knowing this well, saw it fit to give you its blessing to parenthood. Jimin and Taehyung were the first to know, having seen your pregnancy test results by accident before swearing to keep the news in secrecy and helping you plan the reveal.

Jimin gasps quietly as he realizes it. “Right,” he whispers, leaning in to scold Taehyung in a meager, secretive hiss. “We haven’t made plans for the reveal yet, remember?”

The man in question, too, gasps and covers his mouth, the three of you looking like idiots bunched in a circle together outside the practice rooms. “Oh, shit,” he curses under his breath, “sorry. I’m just excited to be an uncle.”

“Why would you be an uncle?”

It must’ve been ridiculous how your souls left your bodies for a moment, the three of you whipping your heads toward the familiar voice who caught wind of Taehyung’s excitement. Your husband stands, not far from you all, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “Nothing, hyung,” Jimin—bless him—quickly pipes, covering the fact that their leader and his baby are going to have an actual baby. “What brings you here so soon?”

In Namjoon’s hands were your phone and a hard drive, which he must’ve retrieved from his studio for the meeting. He shows your phone to you, the screen displaying a notification from a missed call. “You left your phone on the table and it was ringing,” your husband says, “It’s from a Doctor Young? Are you still sick, baby?”

You thank the stars your husband doesn’t seem to realize what the call means. He must’ve not been able to answer it in time to know about the ultrasound sonogram you asked for your doctor to print out. “I’m fine,” you assure him as you take your phone, giving his cheek a kiss to further ease him. “I just went to Doctor Young for a check up last week, remember?”

Worry swims in his eyes as he looks at you, some doubt still lingering. If your doctor had to call you back, then there must be something wr—

A squeeze to his hand knocks him out of his stupor. “Trust me, Joon,” you smile up at him, before nodding to the hard drive disk that remained in his hold. “Besides, don’t you have a meeting to go to?”

Reminded of his agenda, Namjoon’s eyes go wide. “Oh shit, you’re right,” he gasps, looking at his own phone for the time. With a fleeting kiss stolen from your lips, your husband sprints off to another direction. “I’ll fetch you as soon as I’m done!”

God, you love that man.

#happy 4 years to me writing shit <3 #bts fluff scenarios #bts au #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts drabble #bts scenarios #kim namjoon imagines #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon drabbles

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