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lovetreats · 1 day ago

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what's wrong with my boss!?

pro-hero!boss!bakugou x fem!assistant!reader

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. bnha m.list.

content .ᐟ think "what's wrong with secretary kim?" (sorta) but with this blond menace, ur his personal secretary, he's annoying, he's a yearner, you don't notice shit, kirishima knocks some sense into him, pretty fluffy, did i mention he's a yearner? you two argue, reader is 27 ? bakugou is 29 ? #idk oh also swearing, ur both awks but its part of the plan trust

word count .ᐟ 5.7k+

you’ve been working as bakugou’s personal assistant for as loooong as you could remember.

when you first applied, you were ecstatic! you managed to snag an extremely high paying job with little problems. it honestly felt like it was too good to be true.

… well, it sort of was.

you knew that bakugou was hard to deal with—it was always apparent in the few interviews he had with tv hosts, reporters, and especially with paparazzi. but you thought that it was probably because he disliked the fact that most of them always tried to get their hands on some information in his private life. he rarely attends events, and if he did, it was only an extremely short appearance—so naturally a lot of people, including you, thought that he was just an extremely reserved person.

and sure, he has a temper, and he is a reserved person, but he’s also just. quite hard to deal with. more than you thought he would be.

he wanted everything to be organized, he wanted you to be extremely organized. he expects you to know all the specifics of his work life: all of the events and interviews and meetings and photoshoots and whatnot. when and where, why do it in the first place, who will be in the same room as him, how long do you estimate it’ll take, take care of the ones that he deems “unnecessary”, etc.

at first you thought you were doing everything right, but apparently it wasn’t good enough in his eyes. he told you off for getting certain information wrong (it was right, it just wasn’t as detailed as he wanted), he told you off when he had to attend a “stupid, unnecessary event” (it was a pro-hero ball), and he told you off when you couldn’t catch up with the amount of emails and calls (it was literally your first week on the job).

still, you stayed and put up with it all.

at first, you talked back because of your pride. after those moments, you would always go home crying and scared, thinking that you might’ve lost your job for good this time. but he never fired you, even when you called him an “ungrateful asshole” one time.

bit by bit, you just got used to it. you start to smile, nod, and apologize when you did something he didn’t like. it surprised him at first, and sort of bugged him, but he never told you about it. bit by bit, day by day, you would perfect his wants and needs with work, leaving him with nothing to complain about.

“oi, did you cancel that stupid ph—“

“did it yesterday, sir.”

“… the pro-hero meeting tod—“

“8:30am, the meeting will be about catching a group of villains that have started to cause more and more damage everywhere they go. i’ve asked deku’s secretary, and they’ve told me that the villains had some sort of power-up that’s made them stronger and more dangerous.”

“..? who am i meeting wi—“

“pro-heroes deku, shouto, red riot, pinky, uravity, mirko, ingenium, best jeanist, lemillion, phantom thief, cellophane, and grand.”

he just stares at you after that. his eyes bore into you, but you paid him no mind. you continued fixing his schedule for the week and answering some emails. he blinks once, he blinks twice, and he blinks another couple of times before grumbling to himself.

“anything else, sir?” you ask without looking at him, busy with typing away on your laptop for the report he wanted done by 2:00pm. the only reply you got was him opening and closing the door.

and this was how your days would usually go. your short replies were either met with grunts or closed doors instead of the fighting the two of you were once used to.

but you started noticing something.

he’d make coffee for two instead of one, making sure that the other cup was just right, just to your liking. he would tell you to ‘take a damn break’ more often than not. he would walk you to your car and would watch you leave the parking area from the side before going in his own vehicle. he would ask for your advice on more things than before, and most of the time, it’s the one he’d always go with. when there’s events, he would always make sure you’re there as his plus one (and in these cases, he stays longer than he usually would).

but you never really put more thought in it. you just assumed he was more lax now because you knew how to do the job right in his standards, and this is him being grateful that he didn’t need to waste more time arguing with you and correcting your mistakes.

you never really thought about finding another job or even just taking a long vacation, until one of your friends mentioned how you rarely went out and would always be busy with work. well, they always do, it’s just this time it… made you think.

“c’mooooon! just this once! and you don’t even have work tomorroooow!” one of your friends cried as she shook your right arm. you sighed and tilted your head, thinking.

they were right. every day your only focus was to ensure that the work you did was to bakugou’s standards. every day you ensured to be the very best out of spite and for that sweet, sweet paycheck. but… you didn’t live. you didn’t party, didn’t go to clubs, and you barely go out for dinner with your friends.

“we should go out and meet some people! you’re 27, girl! we should be out and enjoying liiiife!”

you chuckle and playfully shove them away from your arm. “fine, fine. let’s go out tonight.”

you went on to buy a dress just for tonight, did your make-up and hair all pretty, and had a fucking blast with your friends at the club. you danced and danced and drank and drank, going back home when the sun was already up. sure, the morning after was unbearable and annoying, but you still had a ton of fun.

you wanted to live for fun rather than for work. you wanted to hang out more with your friends. hell, you wanted to travel the world! but you couldn’t do any of that if you were still going to be stuck as bakugou katsuki’s personal assistant. because every day, every waking moment, you would be focused solely on your work and nothing else, like a programmed machine that does not know anything but what was coded in it to do.

you didn’t want that anymore.

you have enough money, more than enough if we’re being real honest. if you want another job, you could probably go on and open a nice little book café. but working again was far from your concerns at the moment.

right now? it’s telling bakugou that you want to quit.

“what’s the event later tonight?” bakugou asks with crossed arms. he glances at you, quickly typing something on your laptop before pushing pushing your specs up on your nose.

“it’s a charity event, sir.”

“you’ll be with me f’ tonight,” bakugou states, like it’s a matter of fact.

you fidget with the buttons on the sleeve cuffs of your blazer, taking in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to break the news to bakugou.

“of course, sir. but tonight will be the last time i accompany you to such events.”

“huh? and why is that?” he asks with a raised brow.

here it goes. you stand up from your desk and walk over to him. you bow low and long, which made bakugou clench his hands into fists. he already had a feeling.

you stand up straight and look him dead in the eyes.

“i would like to quit as your personal assistant. i believe i’ve given more than enough of my time here. i will ensure that your next assistant will be able to manage everything according to your standards before i put in my notice.”

a moment of silence passed. you didn’t move or speak another word. another moment passed, and he still didn’t say anything. it was like time froze, and you started fidgeting with your fingers, feeling a drop of sweat drip from your forehead even in the cold room.

another stupid moment of silence passed and you felt antsy. he wasn’t saying anything, he wasn’t reacting. you didn’t know if he was mad or what, you couldn’t read him this time. he just stares at you blankly, not a single shift in his expression.

“… sir?”

“do you need a pay raise?”

now that just ticked you off.

“… no, sir, i don’t.” you say with a forced smile.

“ya know you can take a vacation, right?”

“yes, sir. but i’d like to try new things, too.”

“like?”

you try your hardest to maintain your professionalism, it honestly looked like you had that little angry emoticon on your forehead right now. you didn’t expect him to be so hardheaded about this, you assumed that he would shrug it off and tell you to ‘do whatever the fuck you want’. you didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn with this.

“i don’t understand why you need to know, sir.”

you swore you just saw his eye twitch.

“well, since yer still stayin’ to get another assistant—“

“a new assistant,” you interject.

he grumbles, his expression forming into a scowl. “—another assistant, why can’t you accompany me for future events?”

“that will be the new assistant’s role, sir.”

you could sense his growing frustration. it was obvious with his scowling expression, one of his legs jumping up and down over and over, and his arms crossed together tightly against his chest as he leaned back on his chair.

“i don’t want or need a new damn assistant!” he yells as he stands up and smacks his hands palms down on his wooden desk.

“well i! want! to live! my life!” you shout back, your tone was sharp, jabbing each word at him. you had one hand on your hip and the other on your chest, breaking away from the professionalism you tried to maintain so as to not turn this into a heated fight. well, too late! good god he was being more stubborn than usual and it felt irritating.

“i want to travel the world!—“

“take a damn vacation!”

“that’s not the point, oh my god!”

you pant slightly before covering your face behind your glasses with your hands. you took a moment to gather yourself, to bring back the ‘you’ that you worked so hard to create for this stupid job. you lost all of that in this moment, and it felt like the two of you reverted back to when it was all still new and fresh. the bickering and arguing and complaining—

“i want to live, sir. i want to enjoy life. i went out with my friends a couple days ago and it was fun—i hadn’t done that in years,” you chuckle dryly.

“in all these five years, i focused on my work; i focused on you.”

his eyes slightly widen, as if slowly realizing that you were right. you’ve always tended to everything that was related to him. he would sometimes notice that you would even sleep on your breaks. he didn’t bother with changing anything because you changed yourself for it, and because of that, you probably grew tired of it. tired of him.

you’ve spent five long years dedicated to him, and was too content with your presence to even realize that if you left, it would never be the same again. you knew everything about him, how he liked his coffee, how he liked to organize, how he liked to dress, how he liked to relax, his favorite food to calm him down, and even his favorite fucking shoe brand. but he barely knew anything about you. sure, he knew how to do your coffee, but that’s only because he watched you make it one time. you didn’t talk about your personal life, your feelings, when you were at work (it was work, after all).

but still, he felt like he took you for granted.

again, it was silent. neither of you broke it, your eyes were locked on each other as the both of you waited for the other to speak with bated breath. after a while, bakugou clicks his tongue and closes his eyes.

“do whatever the fuck ya want. ya don’t have to join me later tonight, go rest.”

you didn’t reply—not like he wanted to when he turned his attention back on the papers on his desk. you bowed your head before walking back to your own desk, already planning on putting up the role on a site to find good candidates to be bakugou’s assistant.

“what’s up with you, bro?” kirishima asks as he puts on arm around and on top of bakugou’s shoulder. the blond grumbles, his annoyance extremely apparent on his face, which made kirishima even more curious and concerned.

after yesterday, bakugou took a quick glance at his schedule and cancelled meetings for the day. he practically forced you to take the day off. he was due for patrol later tonight, so he, surprisingly, told kirishima to come over. he’s slowly regretting it.

“fuck off ‘f me,” he mutters with little venom in his tone, but still shrugging off the arm on his shoulder.

“is it your secretary?”

bakugou’s head whips around to face kirishima. he squints his eyes and, once again, scowls. kirishima sighs and pats his back. “c’mon, you can tell me.”

“… she wants t’ quit.”

kirishima accidentally pats his back a little too hard after hearing that. “OI!”

“sorry! sorry! i just—i didn’t expect that…,” kirishima says, smiling sheepishly and rubbing the nape of his neck.

“what did ya expect?” bakugou grumbles.

“y’know, you’re finally admitting to yourself that you like her.”

“what the fuck are ya talkin’ about!?” bakugou throws a cushion right to his face. kirishima lets out a slight yelp and pouts as he hugs the pillow

“bro, it’s obvious!”

“i don’t have any feelings for her, shitty hair,” he spat, glaring daggers at his red-haired best friend.

kirishima sighs deeply as he scratches the back of his head. “don’t you realize the only reason why she’s the only secretary you’ve had for so long is because she practically pushes through all of your bullshit? and because of that, you basically don’t have anything to complain about and have it as a reason to push her away.”

this is another one of those moments where kirishima would keep him grounded, where he’d talk some sense into him. for how proud bakugou can be, it blinds him too much sometimes and kirishima’s the only one who practically smacks him back into reality. kirishima knows that deep down, bakugou needs someone to ground him. he wasn’t as bad as he was when they were still students at UA, but he was still quite headstrong.

“you told me before again and again how personal assistants were too annoying to deal with because you already had your own way of handling things, but she was able to do it all and more.”

“the only reason i kept her around was because she knew how i worked. i don’t want to have to teach another new fuckin’ person my standards.”

“then tell her she should do it.”

“she already said she will.”

kirishima raised an eyebrow. “… then why are you so worked up over it?”

bakugou only grumbles, turning his head away from kirishima, as if feigning ignorance. kirishima had to hold back in a snort so as to not annoy the short-tempered man beside him.

“and you keep telling me you don’t like her, huh?”

bakugou doesn’t reply. kirishima sighs before standing up and walking over to the mini-fridge bakugou has in the living room. he grabs two beers and tosses the other one to bakugou. he catches it swiftly, opening it up with no hesitation. this practically proved to kirishima that he’s stressing out over losing you. he knows his friend more than enough to know that when he doesn’t complain of drinking ‘too early’, something is amiss.

“why don’t you go on and take her out to dinner?”

“are you fuckin’ insane—“

“just do it, man. go to a nice restaurant! you can do other stuff too, just tell her it’s your way of thanking her for those five years. you can’t exactly force her to stay, that’d be messed up. so just, y’know…,” kirshima shrugs. “show her how grateful you are.”

kirishima plops down beside bakugou and takes a big gulp of his beer. “no matter how much you wanna try to deny it, you like her. this is practically a wake up call for you to make a move on her before you lose her to someone else.”

“you fuckin’—“

“don’t try to deny it, man. i know that you know that i know you better than anyone else. it’s why you invited me over in the first place.”

bakugou doesn’t try to retort this time. he can’t, anyway, not when kirishima’s right.

“i’m—i’m sorry?”

“dinner. tonight.”

you blinked. you blinked again, and again. it’s been a few days after you announced that you’d be quitting. he was distant for a while too, so him telling you that he wanted to have dinner with you tonight obviously shocked you.

he just stares at you and waits. tick tock tick tock goes the clock. he clicks his tongue and turns his head away as he feels his embarrassment creeping up on him. “if you’re too busy or you just don’t wanna, that’s fine too.”

“no, it’s fine. i just, um, didn’t expect it from you… is it—is it work related?”

he fully turns away, making you look at his back. he was in full hero gear because he was going out for patrol for the afternoon. you quirk an eyebrow, confused enough with his sudden behavior, but your eyes widen when you realize his ears had a pinkish hue to them. ‘was he blushing?’ now this just made you even more confused.

“i wanted to thank ya for the five years… for puttin’ up with an asshole like me.”

the way he said it sounded different from how he usually is. it was like he was trying hard to find the right words with how he spoke slowly, deliberate. you’ve never heard, or even seen him, like this before. it was… endearing?

“ya don’t hafta find another assistant, i’d much rather work on this shit by myself.”

“i doubt you can. after all, you have been relying on me for the past five years.” it can be interpreted as you teasing him, but you also kinda did say it like it’s a fact. and, well, it is.

bakugou huffs, he was ready to retort, but stopped himself from doing so. he walked towards the door instead; he didn’t really want to ruin the mood today and for tonight, he’d rather just let you be.

“i’ll pick ya up at eight, go on ahead an’ clock out at two, there’s not much to do today anyway. that ‘nuff time for ya t’ get ready?”

you just hummed in response as you scroll through the list of candidates carefully. “it is.”

you were nervous. so nervous that you were ready two hours before the actual time of him picking you up. how could you not be nervous? he already told you that the dinner wasn’t work related. he wanted to thank you for your service, and yet it felt like something more was there. why else would he turn around as if he was embarrassed? as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings?

wait. his feelings? there shouldn’t be anything, right? it would be sudden anyway, you’re sure of it. that’s what you keep telling yourself as you scroll through your instagram account. one picture caught your attention: it was the one where he invited you to one of the events he attends for the first time. you smiled politely at the cameras with your hand on his bicep, it made you chuckle how awkward looking you looked back then. you didn’t think anything was odd when you first posted this, but when you inspected it once more… bakugou was looking at you.

your heart skipped a bea—

NO. no way. no fucking way. no shot.

you saw this picture before, but why did it feel different now?

you closed instagram and stood up from your couch, gently tossing your phone on it. you paced around the coffee table, arms crossed against your chest. you were probably just overthinking things, probably just overcomplicating shit for yourself. it didn’t mean anything, he probably just didn’t want to look at the cameras and they just got the perfect shot where he’s looking at you—

you grabbed your phone and plopped down on your couch with a heavy sigh. you opened instagram again, this time you were on his account. you scrolled through his pictures as you hug one of your cushions. this was insane. why were you scrolling through his instagram? it wasn’t like you were gonna find something else to feed your assumptions—

oh. one of his posts had a couple of pictures that were just you. you and no one else. all those pictures were of you laughing and smiling. this post was when there was a fun little event for agencies and their heroes and staff to have fun. the pictures weren’t all you, but there was enough that made your mind get all messed up with unrelenting thoughts.

but there was one post that nailed it in the coffin for you. it was one picture of the sunset, but on the bottom right of the photo, there was a silhouette of a woman. it was dark enough that it wasn’t obvious it was you, but you know it was.

the caption?

beautiful.

you closed out of the app.

why were you having assumptions anyway? it’s not like you like him in that way. you never really thought about it, too busy meeting with his demands. you never thought of him in any other way other than him being your boss, and why would you? he was a stubborn ass who always tried to find something to tell you off about. this shouldn’t change anything, it’s just dinner with him. it’s not like you haven’t eaten with him before. it’s just dinner.

nothing more, nothing less.

bakugou has never been this nervous his entire life. he didn’t know why he was nervous, it was just dinner with you. it’s not like this was any different from eating lunch with you at work. so why the hell did he feel so antsy? like he couldn’t shake this shit off of him.

(he knows why, but like you, he doesn’t want to admit it.)

he was parked right in front of your place. he taps on the steering wheel while he stares at your front door. he shakes his head after a few moments, grumbling incoherent words to himself. his mind suddenly goes back to all the things kirishima told him a few days ago, it was all repeating in his mind over and over again. he grits his teeth before clicking his tongue in annoyance, checking his wrist watch for the time.

7:58PM

he leans back on the headrest and closes his eyes as if to mentally prepare himself. what for? he doesn’t know (he’s scared he might look like a fool in front of you).

he gets out of his car and walks towards your front door, taking a moment before pushing the button on the intercom.

“who is it?”

“it’s me.”

not even a second later, you opened the door. and god you looked fucking gorgeous. you wore a pretty little black off-shoulder dress that went down below your knees, your hair was styled perfectly, and your make-up made you look like an angel. he liked how you still wore your glasses even when you dresses up all fancy and pretty.

“sir?”

he shakes his head slightly to snap back to reality. “bakugou. bakugou’s just fine. we aren’t at work anyway,” he states absentmindedly.

“you… you look nice. beautiful.” he murmurs before quickly turning away and walking towards his car. “c’mon.”

you follow him quietly, your fingers gently pushing up your glasses. the walk to his car felt way too long for some reason, long enough for you to shoot a glance at his ears, wanting to see if they changed to a certain hue. a corner of your lips quirked upwards when his ears were in fact, pink.

bakugou opens the passenger front car door for you, all the while avoiding eye contact. you thank him softly as you bend down to get in the car. you try to make yourself comfortable, fidgeting around the car seat as bakugou goes on to get in the driver’s seat.

“before we go on ahead, i wanted to… give you something…” this was the second time he talked slowly, hell you’d even say softly, to you. you were too busy staring at him that you didn’t notice him reaching out to open the glove compartment and taking out a dark red velvet box.

bakugou shows the box to you and opens it slowly. it was a bracelet—a ruby and diamond bracelet to be precise. it was intricately designed and it looked so delicate, so elegant. the rubies were cut like teardrops while the diamonds were cut rounder, six rubies circled around one diamond, forming a tiny flower. it repeats all around, and it danced around the warm light of the car, shimmering like the stars above. you couldn’t help but let out a gasp with one hand hovering over your mouth.

“sir—bakugou, you didn’t have to—“

“none of that shit.” he tutted as he gently grabs the bracelet out of the box. he motions for you to lift up your hand while he unclasps the bracelet. you can’t help but catch how bakugou katsuki looked small, which is probably an insane thing to say, but you couldn’t find any other word to describe how he looked right now.

he was waiting for you to lift up your hand, but his eyes still haven’t made contact with your own. you swear to yourself that he looked like he was pouting, in a sense. his shoulders slumped, his head slightly lowered, he looked as if he wanted to make himself look small. bakugou katsuki is a proud man who is sure of himself most of the time, so seeing him like this—so vulnerable and even shy, it was enough to surprise you.

you finally lift up your hand, palm facing upwards. he wordlessly snakes the bracelet around your wrist, fastening it with ease. he watches you admiring it; took note of your eyes getting bigger, even seemed like they were shining prettily.

after a moment, you finally looked at him, and thankfully this time, he doesn’t look away from you. he notices the shy smile forming on your face as you bow your head slightly. you opened your mouth and said:

“thank you…”

in the softest way imaginable.

he mumbles a ‘yer welcome’ as he turns the keys to his car, letting it start to life.

he drove for about thirty minutes, and the whole ride was slightly awkward, but bearable. bakugou put all his focus on the road, and you were just looking out without really thinking of a way to start a new conversation with him—not that he minded all that much. when you finally arrived, he told you to stay put when he saw you gathering yourself to get out the car. he quickly gets out and speed walked his way to your car door, stretching out a hand for you to take.

now you’re the one who keeps avoiding his eyes.

you take his hand and get out, clutching your purse tightly as a way to ground yourself to what’s happening. though you’re out of the car, he hasn’t let go of your hand, he actually holds it tighter as he led you to the restaurant.

it was so quiet between the two of you now. silence wasn’t all that uncommon, you would be too busy focusing on your work to talk to him, and he’d be busy with his own. when you managed to practically surprise him with how well you work as his personal assistant, everything was peaceful. the only time it went back to the way it was was when you told him of your plans of quitting.

but it was back to quiet after that. the one the two of you were more than familiar with. but this quiet? this silence? it’s different, it has tension.

bakugou talks with the host for the reservation he made for the both of you, your hand still in his grasp. after a few moments, the host tells the both of you to follow them so they can lead the way.

the host leads you to your table which was located pretty deep into the area. it was much more secluded, something bakugou would definitely pick out. the host tells you to take your seats while they go and get two menus for your table.

“where d’ya wanna sit?”

“anywhere’s fine,” you murmur, too busy with gawking at how your table looks so pretty and different from the others. the cloth had a different type of fabric that had all sorts of intricate patterns sewn on it. the table mats were rectangular in shape, with flowers sewn in on the corners. to the plates, the glasses, even the flowers that sat prettily on the center of the table seemed to you as if this was all meticulously planned.

or maybe you’re just thinking too much into it again—

“if you’re wonderin’ why our table is different… i made a request,” bakugou ushers you to walk towards the seat in front of you. he pulls the chair back, lifting it slightly so as to not make a sound, motioning for you to sit down with a tilt of his head. you walk in front of him, bending down as he pushes the chair gently towards you.

“looks like you put a lot of thought into it.” you watch him walk around the table to sit down in front of you.

“i did. wanted ya to like it,” he says as he sits down.

“so… do you?” he looks at you with eyes that tell you ‘i hope you do’. he looked like he was a little nervous to hear what you think. you smile and nod your head and watch him exhale, as if he’d forgotten how to properly breathe. how come he's become easier to read now?

“here are the menus,” the host pops up from behind you and hands the both of you menus. they guide you with the dishes within the menu and mention their specials to help you out with what you want to order. after a few more moments, they leave you in the hands of a server.

“order anythin’ ya like, alright?”

dinner was… surprisingly nice.

bakugou made it clear before, and way more clear now that this dinner wasn’t about him trying to get on your good side to get you to stay as his personal assistant. all of this was simply because he wanted to.

while eating, he asked you about your plans, and he listened carefully. you went on to tell him about the book café you’d been planning, but with no plans of rushing in to it. your first goal was to explore, live life to the max; travel to different countries and party to your heart’s content. he didn’t reply much, but he made sure that you knew he was listening with how he kept looking at you.

time passed by like it was nothing. the appetizer was good, the main meal was delicious, the desert made you feel like you were in heaven with how light it felt in your mouth. the two of you kept chatting on (mainly you) until you needed to leave.

there was one thing you noticed before leaving the restaurant.

when the two of you stood up from you chairs, bakugou walked around the table and right towards your side. he tried to subtly eye your hand, and you watched him as he stretched out his own before telling you to follow him out. you almost wished he took your hand in his.

now back in his car, he wasted no time in starting up the car and drove away from the restaurant. you closed your eyes and leaned your head against the headrest of your seat, trying to process everything that happened tonight. you couldn’t help but admit that you did enjoy it, every single thing. from the bracelet, to the arranged table, to the food, to how attentive he was to you…

“hey, you okay?”

his voice snaps you back to reality, making you immediately open your eyes. you turn to look at him and chuckle softly.

“i am, don’t worry.”

bakugou let out a long exhale, like he was relieved.

“did ya… enjoy it?”

you turned your head away to face the window, smiling to yourself as you watch buildings and city lights pass by.

“i did, a lot.”

the rest of the ride was silent, only broken through once bakugou suggested that you play some music. even with the melodies, the both of you were still quiet. but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, it was… nice. good.

arriving at your place, bakugou still didn’t miss the chance to go and open the car door for you. he walks you to your front door, hands in his pockets and his head hanging low. you glanced at him, and he looked as if he was deep in thought. his brows were slightly furrowed together, and his lips formed a small pout. how cute…

“bakugou?”

“yeah?”

he turns his head to look at you, there wasn’t anything special about it, he was only looking at you like how he was earlier, but—

you think it made your heart flutter.

“thank you, for tonight. i… i really appreciate it.”

he merely shrugs in response, but you can see how shy he is. the pink hue on the tips of his ears, his back was slightly slouched, and that pout still wasn’t wiped off of his face. he really was just wearing his heart out on his sleeve.

you walk towards him, inching closer bit by bit. your hands were behind your back, clutching your purse. you murmur for him to lean down slightly, and he does so with no hesitation. you whisper for him to take care, and before he knew it, you kissed his cheek and ran away, unlocking your door quickly and closing it with a SLAM!

what the fuck just happened?

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softskyburial · 11 hours ago

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I took care of a friend in hospice who was dying of cancer and had her brother mortgage his house to pay a natural health consultant to cure her cancer. I am actually trained as an herbalist to work with people that have serious conditions and I was shocked by the amount of ignorance and fraud this guy was committing. (His name is Jeff Bell btw if you ever encounter him)

In the herb and natural health community there’s a lot of “the government won’t let me talk about herbs that cure cancer” and well it’s illegal because of the sheer amount of fraud and negligence people used to do especially around cancer treatments.

There are herbs that are traditionally used to treat some types of cancer at an early stage and there are studies on rats about vitamin C or whatever having an effect on cancer cells. Any of these things that work well enough are already incorporated into pharmaceuticals. Medical researchers from all over the world are constantly searching for some rare exotic rainforest herb that can be used for the next new cancer treatment. This is a big business.

Drinking a cup of tea or doing an enema or putting detox pads on your feet will do absolutely nothing for terminal cancer and the only ethical and responsible way to use natural remedies at this point is for care, comfort and symptom management.

She had also hired a “mindset coach” to convince her that she wasn’t dying. This ended up causing a lot of problems with her friends and family because she was telling everyone that she was better when she very much wasn’t. Thankfully i could see what was happening and got her brother involved in setting up the estate and getting her affairs in order because she kept insisting she didn’t need it.

scientists wont tell you this! (because it's not true)

experts don't want you to know this! (because it's made up)

doctors HATE this one trick! (because it's dangerous and unhealthy)

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pakhnokh · 2 days ago

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Update

Hello guys! What’s up? 😁❤️

My life has been a real roller coaster. On one hand, I think that I can handle it all and that it’s not that hard, on the other, I do have many breakdowns.

I’m dealing with 2 kids of the most challenging ages. My eldest daughter is a toddler who’s now entered her rebellious search of independence and limit-testing, and she can really drive us crazy!!

At the same time I’m still learning my newborn son and what his cries mean. He’s breastfed and can’t fall asleep without feeding or being held in the arms and rocked for a good amount of minutes. Then, he gets annoyed by half-soiled diapers so he constantly needs to be changed, and really I think all my life with him is change, feed, rock, change, feed, rock etc, and don’t even get me started on how frustrating it is when he falls asleep in my arms only to be woken up immediately as I put him in his crib. He refuses to take pacifiers 🫠

And just imagine dealing with all that when my daughter is still behind with the potty training and still can poop and pee in her underwear right in the middle of our living room 😫😫😫

We’re not getting any help either. It’s just my husband and me. I took a break this month but my husband is still working and he’s so stressed 🥲 but even with all he does, at least he isn’t attached to another being who must be fed using his own body. Arghhhh 😣

But I’m really getting the hang of it. I just need more time and confidence. AND MORE SLEEP.

I thought that I’d be able to draw, but I really wasn’t.

BUT I FINISHED WRITING THE ENTIRE PLOT AND DIALOGUES OF HOG ARC 3!!

And added a whole scene that wasn’t there in the first draft! I can’t wait to draw it all and share it with you 😍😍 it’s gonna be much longer than previous arcs, so please bear with me 🙏🏼❤️ the Wangxian mess is really around the corner!!

#artist #life #Pakhnokh #house of gentians

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swtheartz · 14 hours ago

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“ LIKE STRAWBERRIES. ” — M. Grayson

Part two

Info : Reader is a healer, canon typical violence, slow burn, one sided beef to lovers type beat W / C : 1.6k.

A / N : silas actually uploading an entire fic??? this is unheard of!! uncharted territory!!!!! jk though. i was burnt out for NO reason and suddenly got a surge of spite against my depression and wrote this. lol. it WILL in fact be a series, this is only part one i fear

The first time Mark meets you is after the fight with his dad.

Cecil had told him he’d be fixed right up—in the physical aspect, at the very least. “The kid hates sob stories. Try not to say too much.”

So, he took the old man’s advice, and hadn’t said much to you while you were healing him. He’d argue that the silence was awkward. Foreign and strange, and he didn’t know how to not sit there and manage to not look out of place. The room you primarily worked in wasn’t like a hospital room, no.

It didn’t have those weird posters of kittens with something that said ‘believe in yourself,’ or something dumb like that, it wasn’t just pristine white walls with blinding fluorescent lights that gave patients headaches, and it didn’t smell like pure bleach and chemicals. No. It smelled of something floral and sweet, almost like fruit; but not quite there. The walls were more a peach color than anything, easier on the eyes than the standard American hospital. Not to mention that the walls were decorated.

All in all, it was strange. Like someone as bruised and bloody as Mark didn’t belong in there. Somewhere sweet and almost gentle, and the wounds that had made him feel as though they’d stay forever—stay etched into his skin, down to the bone, alongside the blood that wasn’t just solely his—mended themselves back together. The bruises and aches faded away.

The smell of blood lingered.

“Well,” the sound of your voice nearly startled Mark off the bed you’d had him laid across. “Take a shower and do a rain check with Stedman, and you’re all good to go, Invincible.”

“. . . What? Just- that’s it? That’s all?”

You’d stared blankly at him, arms crossed in the chair you were seated in. Though you were a healer, you did look as though you belonged amongst the official medical staff that’d be seen literally anywhere else. The slightest tilt of your head had him shifting uncomfortably.

“Did you want there to be more?” The question comes across as somewhat annoyed. Mark could see why you’d probably be agitated—but it was a genuine question!

“It’s just, uh,” he starts, swallowing nervously. “I expected it to take longer or something. Like an actual healing process, precautions I’d have to take and stuff.”

The hum of acknowledgment you let out as you nod your head makes him look at you again, and you speak. “Not when I’m the one healing you. My power is called that for a reason, and it’s so heroes like you can get back out on the playing field. To skip the healing process. If I hadn’t been here, it would’ve taken you months.”

Right. A healer. Mark himself had never really thought someone like you could exist. He’s seen powers like that only in his comics, and there weren’t any other supers capable of doing whatever you just did. The way you move is skilled and practiced, years of experience and heroes in and out of your ward showing through it.

“Huh. Okay, wow. Thanks?”

“Go home, Invincible.”

“Invincible.”

Mark grimaces. “I am begging you—literally just call me by my government name.”

He doesn’t miss the way your nose scrunches ever so slightly as your eyes never leave the clipboard in your hands, clearly focused; but not too focused. “You and I are not on friendly terms. We’re associates by definition.”

“Okay, okay,” he puts his hands up slightly in mock surrender, contemplating his response. Over the past few months, he’s noticed that you don’t quite like him. At all. You’re annoyed by how thick his file has grown in such a short amount of time, annoyed by all the times you’ve documented the amount of injuries he’s had, how much energy it takes you, and whether or not you want to quit working for the GDA after making his acquaintance all those months ago.

“. . . But hear me out.” Mark adds on, noticing the way your hands clutch even more at the wood and paper. “We’re associates when we’re on duty. By definition.”

“And I am on duty,” you retort, setting your papers down and pressing a hand to the bridge of your nose. “Constantly. The same way I’m on duty while watching you get your ass beat on live television, all because you seem to love pulling your punches. Like a fucking idiot.”

He winces at that, unable to deny the blatant distaste in your tone as you remind him of all the times Cecil has sent him your way, all the times you’ve scolded him and downright berated him because you watched as he actively held back.

“Your strength went up over one hundred percent, and you don’t even use it properly. Every fight you have, your file gets ridiculously thicker, Markus.” The way you say his name—

“Don’t say it like it’s a slur.” Mark pleads, a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks, “and it’s Mark. Just. . . Just Mark.”

“Get. Out.”

“Markus.”

“Mark.”

“Why are you here?” You sigh out the question with exhaustion, annoyance, and a dire need to rip your own hair out as Mark sits there on one of the patient beds, uninjured this time—shockingly. He’s sitting there like a lost puppy, just. . . Much larger, more awkward, and disgustingly pathetic.

He hesitates for a moment, choosing his response carefully. “I’m benched for a while. At least until Cecil figures out what to do with me.”

The sound you make is unsurprised. “Good. Sick of seeing you bleeding whenever you come here.”

“I know.”

“So stop doing it.”

Mark’s lips purse into a thin line. You’re so mean, and it’s not like he can’t see why. But you haven’t asked him to exactly stop talking to you (yes you have), and it’s not like you genuinely hate his guts. . . At least, in his eyes, you don’t. The Teen Team would beg to differ after seeing the way you speak to him.

“I’m just wondering,” he starts, unwilling to leave. “Are there like, any other heroes you’re sick of seeing? Besides me?”

You pause at that, and turn your head towards him. As always, your eyes are narrowed and tired, a little scrunch in your brow and a slight frown on your lips as you look at him. He’d really give anything just to see you smile—just once. He wonders if you have dimples. What your laugh sounds like, what you look like when you’re peaceful and calm for just a moment.

“Why?”

“Morbid curiosity,” Mark states simply. And to be fair, it is just that. Surely you don’t just dislike him and solely him, there has to be another hero you hate. Maybe even multiple. Mark likes hearing your voice, even if you’re just talking about the things you dislike.

He wonders what you do like. What you find solitude in.

“Hm.” For a moment, you exhale, and push away from your desk to think about your answer. “. . . Immortal,” you hum, thinking about it. “Can’t seem to keep his head on. Or stop charging into fights he can’t handle.”

“Like me?”

“No,” you shake your head and go back to focusing on your work. “You can handle your fights. It just seems to be a deliberate choice of yours not to handle them.”

“Ouch.”

“I hate it when Rex comes in here.” You ignore his little comment and continue, actually giving some thought to your responses. Usually, your conversations with Mark consisted of you insulting him endlessly before telling him to go home and sleep it off. Rinse and repeat.

“He can talk someone’s ear off. It’s sickening, really,” the last part is a mutter as you sort through a barrage of papers, clearly going back to focusing on what you were doing before he’d come and interrupted your rather quiet day. He’s been dropping by more often, and over time, you’ve began to hold actual conversations with him that didn’t involve you telling him how you should let him heal on his own, and him begging you to not leave him stranded in such a state—

“What’s your favorite kind of food?”

You pause for a second, pretending to not have heard, before ultimately you set your papers down again and turn your swivel chair to face Mark. “What?”

“Your favorite kind of food,” he repeats, staring right back at you. “Like, do you like spicy, or?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.” You grumble, rolling your eyes as you shake your head. Just for a moment, you glance back up at him, watching him pout ever so slightly at your answer.

“I’m serious. It’s just a genuine question, y’know?” The two of you enter a staring contest of sorts when you glare at him, looking genuinely offended at the fact he was asking about something so minuscule and stupid. As though the two of you were friendly. . . .

“Fruit.”

Mark blinks at your response, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again, gears turning in his head. “Okay. . . So, sweet stuff?”

“Sweet stuff,” you mutter, turning back around. “Not artificial sugar. Natural. It’s better for my energy, helps me heal better.”

He nods as though that makes sense. You seemed the type to prefer natural things over the overproduced, sickeningly and overly sweet candies that left a bitter aftertaste. It makes sense in Mark’s mind—as though he should’ve known, should’ve been able to tell. The room you work in smells soft and sweet, just like honey and strawberries.

You smell like strawberries. Ripe, sweet. Tinted a dark red and soft when bitten into.

“Okay.” Mark whispers, more to himself than anything. A confirmation. A new alignment in the stars, the very universe itself as a whole. “Yeah, that seems like you.”

“Don’t stereotype me, Invinci-Boy.”

“Oh my god.”

TAGLIST : @lxluvsmoney @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @koilikesthefishy @tokoyamisstuff @pookiei-bookie

#ʚ — heartz : fic #ʚ — heartz : love letter #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible #mark grayson x gn reader #mark grayson imagine #mark grayson x fem reader #mark grayson x male reader #invincible imagine #invincible fic #black reader #poc reader

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sirxlla · 2 days ago

Note

OKAY IVE SEEN SOO MANY BATBOYS SHOWING READER THEIR SCARS

BUT

Reader showing batboys their scars!!!

Could be from anything preferably past abuse something

Showing Him Your Scars (Batboys)

------------------------------------------------

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: above ^^^^

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

Dick: Working together on the force for so long allowed the both of you to get close. Your doctor recommended that you have someone take care of you and the Captian told Dick it's his job to make sure I won't do anything stupid or try to heal from a stab wound you got in your arm, it's nothing bad, it'll heal in time but its making doing just about anything a pain in the ass including changing.

"I can help, Y/N. Let me. It's got to be painful. Let me help you change...Look, I'll even close my eyes if you want." Dick closed his eyes to show you he was honest, even covering his eyes like a kid which made you smile.

"No, it's fine, Dick. I'd rather you have your eyes open to do this. The last thing we need to do is irritate this wound any further." You said before Dick uncovered and opened his eyes and gently guided your shirt off making sure to be incredibly careful of the wound on your arm. His eyes scanned all the other scars on your torso; he's surprised at the sheer amount of scars you have.

"I think you might look more badass than I do." He gently traces a scar on your back. "I remember almost all of these, I didn't know your wounds were this bad."

"Yeah, but you know...sometimes you can't stop just for the sake of it; bad guys need to get caught."

"Yeah but not at the expense of you. You're way too valuable to keep getting hurt"

"Yeah? To who?" You asked with a bit of anger; you felt like you were always taking care of everyone else, but no one took care of you, and Dick answered you with one single word that meant everything.

"Me." His blue eyes gazed into with nothing but pure sincerity.

Jason: Jason was always nervous about anyone seeing any of his scars; once you happened to see them, he froze in nervousness. Would you think he's weird or ugly because of the scars that litter his skin? As you noticed the worry in his eyes, you very slowly brought your eyes to meet his as you slipped your shirt off.

Jason's eyes widen as he sees the scar that runs down the middle of your chest and disappears between your breasts.

"I had open heart surgery when I was a teenager. I used to hate it, but without it, I'd be dead or a much different person. Scars tell a story, a path to now." You said as you reached your hand out to touch his autopsy scar; it's so similar to yours but different. Just as beautiful.

"Can- Can I?" Jason asks as he reaches his hand out slowly to the scar on your chest. "It- It's beautiful."

"Well, if mine are, then yours have to be too. They're pretty badass." You smiled and showed him a few smaller ones that you'd gotten for dumb stuff but the way you embraced them made him feel so much better about his. You gently kissed the scar on his chest and in time he'd see his scars the same way you see yours.

Bruce: Anyone who's been around Bruce for any amount of time knows how many scars he had. Little did he know you had plenty of your own, so one day, as you were over at his place, you had asked him about scars and what he'd think if you had some.

"I suppose that depends on the scars, Love." His blue eyes gazed into yours with a bit of worry. "You have scars?"

"Don't judge okay?" You asked as you lifted your shirt and showed him the scars on your back; they looked like burns. Bruce's fingers grazed over what appeared at a closer glance to be cigarette burns.

"I wanted to show you before you found out when I was changing or sex or something...My dad he- he used to put them out on my back when I was a kid. Every guy I've ever been with just kinda laughs a bit."

"They laughed? Darling, this isn't something to laugh at; I mean, if you want to, then by all means, that's fine, but no one else should laugh at your pain." His fingers graze over them gently; he doesn't know what to say, so he says the first thing on his mind. "They don't distract from your beauty for even a second."

Your shoulders fall as you relax against his touch; he isn't blaming you or laughing or making you think you're ugly for the ugly actions of your father. He's amazing, he's reassuring and he's one of the best men you've ever known.

Tim: "What's the scar above your lip?" He asks you randomly as he rests his head in your lap, looking up at you.

"What sca- Oh! Um...It's super stupid, but when I was a kid, I liked to dance on the coffee table at my Grandmas and I busted my lip open...Grandma said I barely cried, and the next day, I was back to dancing on the table." You laughed as the memories flashed behind your eyelids.

"You never told me you were such a good dancer." Tim smiled back as he teased you.

"No, I was awful." You pulled down your shirt a little to show off the scar on your collarbone. "This was from ballet class, I did too many spins and smacked into the mirror. There's so many all over, just my clumsiness or dancing or both."

"So no dancing for you, I suppose. Either that or I get some really thick shoes, and then you can just stand on my feet, and I can do all the work." Tim teased a little as his eyes scanned your scars slowly as he took a moment to imagine the things you told him.

Damian: Training in the League isn't for the weak; real swords are used and real wounds are created. Damian knew you probably had several scars but you'd never showed them to him. He was curious and wondered if the number he had might be similar to yours.

"Can I see your scars?" He asked while the both of you were spending quality time reading together.

"My scars?"

"Yeah, I just wanna see if we have about the same amount."

"Yeah, I don't mind. I guess?" You pulled your long-sleeve shirt off as he pulled his off. Damian's eyes widened as he noticed how you had at least triple the scars that he did from training.

"They didn't put Lazarus water on the deep ones?" They had usually put Lazarus water on Damian's wounds if they were deep enough, he thought that they did that for everyone.

"Only if it hits bone." You corrected him, they never wasted a drop of Lazarus unless it was life for death for the regular soldiers in the League.

"Oh." Damian was surprised but also not. His grandfather wouldn't have wanted the Demon's Head to be littered with scars; he needed to look like he was better than them all. Damian runs his fingers over your scars on your back and he made himself a promise as well as you. "Things are gonna be different when I'm leading the League."

-> Masterlist

-> Send me prompts if you'd like

#batboys #batboys x reader #jason todd x reader #damian wayne x reader #jason todd #dick grayson x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red hood #batman x reader #batfamily #batman #batfam #dick grayson #red robin x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne #tim

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rostekhorn · 3 days ago

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Getting older gen-X and up people nostalgic for, say, 1980s and 90s culture and boom times with some 50s postwar nostalgia baked in is a game that can be played by any side, why let the right wing monopolize those emotions with their bigotry-on-steroids version?

I've thought for years that Democrats should absolutely go all-in on 1990s nostalgia in the same way Republicans fifty years ago went all-in on 1950s nostalgia.

It was the last time when there was a reasonable amount of widely shared prosperity (all the problems Reagan had put in place were on the rise, but they hadn't quite come to a head yet). Politics, similarly, was beginning to break down, but it wasn't the constant 24/7 existential crisis that it is now. There was no big and scary Outside Threat like communism or terrorism for people to be terrified of. ... And most of today's working age population were children, teenagers, or at most young adults during the 1990s, so on top of that, they're also going to have all the usual nostalgic feelings that most people always have for the simpler days of youth, before arthritis and mortgage payments.

And the president for most of the 1990s was a Democrat.

Politicians could practically run ads of themselves standing in a bedroom with Jurassic Park and Independence Day posters in the background, a table with an IBM PC on one side, and a shelf full of CDs and VHS tapes on the other, while holding a Gameboy. "Remember this? Remember the good old days with all the peace and prosperity? Before 9/11? Before the endless wars? Before the economy went in the toilet and never came back? Before the pandemic? Before the government broke completely? Before Nazis were a thing again? That was Democrats! That was when Democrats were in charge! Republicans took all that away from you! The Supreme Court gave the White House away to their favorite failson and then everything went to hell! Aren't you pissed? Wouldn't you like the good times back?"

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 hours ago

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The enshittification of tech jobs

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2, and in WELLINGTON on May 3. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Tech workers are a weird choice for "princes of labor," but for decades they've enjoyed unparalleled labor power, expressed in high wages, lavish stock grants, and whimsical campuses with free laundry and dry-cleaning, gourmet cafeterias, and kombucha on tap:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhUtdgVZ7MY

All of this, despite the fact that tech union density is so low it can barely be charted. Tech workers' power didn't come from solidarity, it came from scarcity. When you're getting five new recruiter emails every day, you don't need a shop steward to tell your boss to go fuck themselves at the morning scrum. You can do it yourself, secure in the knowledge that there's a company across the road who'll give you a better job by lunchtime.

Tech bosses sucked up to their workers because tech workers are insanely productive. Even with sky-high salaries, every hour a tech worker puts in on the job translates into massive profits. Which created a conundrum for tech bosses: if tech workers produce incalculable value for the company every time they touch their keyboards, and if there aren't enough tech workers to go around, how do you get whichever tech workers you can hire to put in as many hours as possible?

The answer is a tactic that Fobazi Ettarh called "vocational awe":

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

"Vocational awe" describes the feeling that your work matters so much that you should accept all manner of tradeoffs and calamities to get the job done. Ettarh uses the term to describe the pathology of librarians, teachers, nurses and other underpaid, easily exploited workers in "caring professions." Tech workers are weird candidates for vocational awe, given how well-paid they are, but never let it be said that tech bosses don't know how to innovate – they successfully transposed an exploitation tactic from the most precarious professionals to the least precarious.

As farcical as all the engineer-pampering tech bosses got up to for the first couple decades of this century was, it certainly paid off. Tech workers stayed at the office for every hour that god sent, skipping their parents' funerals and their kids' graduations to ship on time. Snark all you like about empty platitudes like "organize the world's information and make it useful" or "bring the world closer together," but you can't argue with results: workers who could – and did – bargain for anything from their bosses…except a 40-hour work-week.

But for tech bosses, this vocational awe wheeze had a fatal flaw: if you convince your workforce that they are monk-warriors engaged in the holy labor of bringing forth a new, better technological age, they aren't going to be very happy when you order them to enshittify the products they ruined their lives to ship. "I fight for the user" has been lurking in the hindbrains of so many tech workers since the Tron years, somehow nestling comfortably alongside of the idea that "I don't need a union, I'm a temporarily embarrassed founder."

Tech bosses don't actually like workers. You can tell by the way they treat the workers they don't fear. Sure, Tim Cook's engineers get beer-fattened, chestnut finished and massaged like Kobe cows, but Cook's factory workers in China are so maltreated that Foxconn (the cutout Apple uses to run "iPhone City" where Apple's products are made) had to install suicide nets to reduce the amount of spatter from workers who would rather die than put in another hour at Tim Apple's funtime distraction rectangle factory:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2017/jun/18/foxconn-life-death-forbidden-city-longhua-suicide-apple-iphone-brian-merchant-one-device-extract

Jeff Bezos's engineers get soft-play areas, one imported Australian barista for each mini-kitchen, and the kind of Japanese toilet that doesn't just wash you after but also offers you a trim and dye-job, but Amazon delivery drivers are monitored by AIs that narc them out for driving with their mouths open (singing is prohibited in Uncle Jeff's delivery pods!) and have to piss in bottles; meanwhile, Amazon warehouse workers are injured at three times the rate of other warehouse workers.

This is how tech bosses would treat tech workers…if they could.

And now? They can.

Writing for the Wall Street Journal, Katherine Bindley describes the new labor dynamics at Big Tech:

https://www.msn.com/en-us/money/companies/tech-workers-are-just-like-the-rest-of-us-miserable-at-work/ar-AA1DDKjh

It starts with Meta, who just announced a 5% across-the-board layoff – on the same day that it doubled executive bonuses. But it's not just the workers who get shown the door who suffer in this new tech reality – the workers on the job are having to do two or three jobs, for worse pay, and without all those lovely perks.

Take Google, where founder Sergey Brin just told his workers that they should be aiming for a "sweet spot" of 60 hours/week. Brin returned to Google to oversee its sweaty and desperate "pivot to AI," and like so many tech execs, he's been trumpeting the increased productivity that chatbots will deliver for coders. But a coder who picks up their fired colleagues' work load by pulling 60-hour work-weeks isn't "more productive," they're more exploited.

Amazon is another firm whose top exec, Andy Jassy, has boasted about the productivity gains of AI, but an Amazon Web Services manager who spoke to Bindley says that he's lost so many coders that he's now writing code for the first time in a decade.

Then there's a Meta recruiter who got fired and then immediately re-hired, but as a "short term employee" with no merit pay, stock grants, or promotions. She has to continuously reapply for her job, and has picked up the workload of several fired colleagues who weren't re-hired. Meta managers (the ones whose bonuses were just doubled) call this initiative "agility." Amazon is famous for spying on its warehouse workers and drivers – and now its tech staff report getting popups warning them that their keystrokes are being monitored and analyzed, and their screens are being recorded.

Bindley spoke to David Markley, an Amazon veteran turned executive coach, who attributed the worsening conditions (for example, managers being given 30 direct reports) to the "narrative" of AI. Not, you'll note, the actual reality of AI, but rather, the story that AI lets you "collapse the organization," slash headcount and salaries, and pauperize the (former) princes of labor.

The point of AI isn't to make workers more productive, it's to make them weaker when they bargain with their bosses. Another of Bindley's sources went through eight rounds of interviews with a company, received an offer, countered with a request for 12% more than the offer, and had the job withdrawn, because "the company didn’t want to move ahead anymore based on the way the compensation conversation had gone."

For decades, tech workers were able to flatter themselves that they were peers with their bosses – that "temporarily embarrassed founder" syndrome again. The Google founders and Zuck held regular "town hall" meetings where the rank-and-file engineers could ask impertinent questions. At Google, these have been replaced with "tightly scripted events." Zuckerberg has discontinued his participation in company-wide Q&As, because they are "no longer a good use of his time."

Companies are scaling back perks in both meaningful ways (Netflix hacking away at parental leave), and petty ones (Netflix and Google cutting back on free branded swag for workers). Google's hacked back its "fun budget" for offsite team-building activities and replacement laptops for workers needing faster machines (so much for prioritizing "increasing worker productivity").

Trump's new gangster capitalism pits immiserated blue collar workers against the "professional and managerial class," attacking universities and other institutions that promised social mobility to the children of working families. Trump had a point when he lionized factory work as a source of excellent wages and benefits for working people without degrees, but he conspicuously fails to mention that factory work was deadly, low-waged and miserable – until factory workers formed unions:

https://www.laborpolitics.com/p/unions-not-just-factories-will-make

Re-shoring industrial jobs to the USA is a perfectly reasonable goal. Between uncertain geopolitics, climate chaos, monopolization and the lurking spectre of the next pandemic, we should assume that supply-chains will be repeatedly and cataclysmicly shocked over the next century or more. And yes, re-shoring product could provide good jobs to working people – but only if they're unionized.

But Trump has gutted the National Labor Relations Board and stacked his administration with bloodsucking scabs like Elon Musk. Trump doesn't want to bring good jobs back to America – he wants to bring bad jobs back to America. He wants to reshore manufacturing jobs from territories with terrible wages, deadly labor conditions, and no environment controls by taking away Americans' wages, labor rights and environmental protections. He doesn't just want to bring home iPhone production, he wants to import the suicide nets of iPhone City, too.

Tech workers are workers, and they once held the line against enshittification, refusing to break the things they'd built for their bosses in meaningless all-nighters motivated by vocational awe. Long after tech bosses were able to buy all their competitors, capture their regulators, and expand IP law to neutralize the threat of innovative, interoperable products like alternative app stores, ad-blockers and jailbreaking kits, tech workers held the line.

There've been half a million US tech layoff since 2023. Tech workers' scarcity-derived power has been vaporized. Tech workers can avoid the fate of the factory, warehouse and delivery workers their bosses literally work to death – but only by unionizing.

In other words, the workers in re-shored factories and tech workers need the same thing. They are class allies – and tech bosses are their class enemies. This is class war.

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/2025/04/25/some-animals/#are-more-equal-than-others

#pluralistic #labor #proletarianization #tech #tech industry #monopoly #ai #precaratization #class war #class struggle #big tech #enshittification #i fight for the user

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leighsartworks216 · 17 hours ago

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Cookies And Kisses

Zayne x gn!Reader

I am YEARNINGGG for a Zayne kiss so badddd (and also cookies) I also wrote this like minutes after my friend sent me the trailer for the new banner cuz ough Zayne why you gotta kiss like that and NOT BE REAL

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, kissing, baking, established relationship

Word Count: 1,229

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

It was only a matter of time before the sweet fragrance of baking cookies beckoned Zayne to the kitchen. Even though he was in his office, working away on his reports and research, it's the most surefire way of getting him to take a break. You've only just put in the second batch when he wanders in with that round-eyed interest, honing in on the fresh tray of sweets.

"You're baking today?" he asks. You hear the excitement in his voice, even if he's trying to act natural.

You slip off the oven mitt with a smile. The counter is a bit of a mess - flour, baking soda, vanilla and almond extract, sugar both powdered and crystalized. You tried to keep it contained, for what it's worth. Cooling racks are spread out on the kitchen island, empty for now. A full one sits beside the oven. Twelve golden sugar cookies, with coarse rainbow sprinkles pressed into their tops. You are the only thing between him and the cookies.

"They're still hot," you warn, walking over to meet him so you can hold him back for as long as it takes to let them cool for just a couple minutes. You wrap your arms around his neck. His hands rest comfortably on your waist, slipping around to your back to hold you close. Eyes focus down on you, momentarily distracted by the one thing he loves more than his sweets. "I thought it would be fun. I was going to bring some to Yvonne and Grayson."

He glances back at the cookies. "How many are you making?"

"The recipe makes about 50 cookies. I don't think either of us need that many to ourselves."

He hums noncommittally and asks, "How many are you giving them?"

"Eight each. Will 30-something cookies be enough to satisfy you?"

"With your baking, no amount could satisfy me."

You laugh softly. Your fingers begin caressing the back of his neck and playing with the short ends of his dark hair. His eyes soften behind his glasses, warm with affection as he soaks in your touch. "With your sweet tooth, no amount of anyone's baking could satisfy you."

His ears grow warm, but he just smiles. His long fingers trace light patterns against your spine and lower back. He glances at the cookies once more. You try not to laugh at how obviously he's restraining himself. "Can I have one?"

"Just one?"

"Mm, or two, or three?"

You peck his lips with a snicker and pull away. His hands slide away, falling down back to his sides. You miss them immediately. Still, you grab a napkin and carefully settle two cookies on it. The third you take for yourself, taking a bite as you turn to rest your back against the counter, holding out the napkin for him. He stands close, comfortably within arms reach, as he eagerly accepts the cookies and takes a bite of one.

Still warm, the sugar cookie crumbles in the best way possible. The subtle vanilla, the sweet almond, the added crunch of sugar crystals. He hums in content. You reach up to wipe away the crumbs at the corner of his mouth, and he looks at you with a smile.

"They're delicious," he praises after he swallows his first bite. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. "Thank you."

You catch his lips again before he can fully pull away. A quiet sigh escapes him as he reciprocates, fanning across your cheek from his nose. He tilts his head. Sets his partial cookie back in the napkin to hold your cheek as he licks the seam of your mouth, tasting the cookie's lingering sweetness on your lips, on your tongue.

Zayne kisses like he'll never kiss you again. It wasn't always like this. When you first started dating, kisses were hesitant. Light pecks, chaste and quick. Even your first make out, there was always something restrained in the way he kissed. He allowed you to lead, to take what you wanted from him. Now that you've grown as a couple, discovered each other's quirks and habits, moved in together, begun intertwining your souls, his kisses aren't the quiet, reserved pecks they used to be. He's always aching to kiss you deeper. Tilting his head from one side to the other as his hands hold you in place, pull you closer. His breaths grow heavy with excitement, soft sounds escaping the back of his throat. He devours you. Kisses you as though it's the last kiss you'll ever share and he needs to make the most of it. Kisses you like a soldier off to war, saying goodbye to his partner before he's shipped off. Kisses you like you're sweeter than pure sugar.

The oven beeps. You pull away with a sigh, sad to see the moment end. He smiles reassuringly as he kisses your cheek, silently promising to continue this later, before he steps away to lean back against the island. Those lithe fingers slipping from your cheek to pick up the cookie again, bringing it to his kiss-swollen lips and-

The oven beeps once more and you push away from the counter to stop the timer. You slip on the oven mitt, open up the inferno to let its dry heat caress your already-warm cheeks, and retrieve the tray of fresh cookies. Zayne watches as you hold the tray in one hand and pick up the spatula with the other, one by one depositing the cookies onto a cooling rack.

He's halfway through his second cookie when you begin scooping an array of dough onto the tray. Sneaking a third from the first batch when you're pressing divots into the center of the dough-balls and dispensing pinches of sugar in them. Finishing the third when you're slipping the tray on the top rack of the oven and setting a new timer. You grab his hand before he can grab a fourth, tugging him away and toward the kitchen doorway.

"You're gonna make yourself sick one of these days," you playfully chide. "No more until after dinner. Or at least until I've boxed up the ones for Yvonne and Grayson."

He chuckles as you drag him all the way back to his office. Smiles like a lovestruck fool as you push him into his chair. He grabs your hips before you can pull away, settling you to be standing between his legs as he looks up at you like you're the moon itself.

"Will you tell me when you've finished?"

You brush his bangs aside from his forehead. Trail your touch down his cheek. Hold his chin as you run your thumb along his lips. "Finished baking or finished separating theirs out?"

His eyes close as he presses a kiss to your finger. "Both."

You lean down and kiss his forehead. "So long as I don't catch you sneaking out before then."

"I won't."

"Mm-hm."

He tilts his head back, eyes flickering to your lips. "I won't," he insists.

"You won't get caught, you mean." You brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He turns to fully catch your lips again. Draws you into him, until your knee is resting on the chair right up against his crotch. He murmurs breathlessly against your mouth, grinning with a subdued playfulness, "Now, I never said that."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @whisteriaremembers @leiakitty

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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ccazimi · 2 days ago

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White Chrysanthemums

Part 1

plot: you are sukuna's most puzzling job to date. why would anyone hire a professional assassin for some ordinary woman? wc: 1.4k a/n: this part is kind of just a teaser :3

Sukuna has never been one to ask questions, not where it doesn’t matter. Which is probably part of why he’s so successful at what he does.

Assassination is about efficiency, and lethal precision. His job is to eliminate, not wonder.

And still, this job — this might just be the most odd job he’s ever been given.

The file said you lived in a building just off a quiet residential street, surrounded by plum trees that had long shed their blossoms.

Sukuna didn’t need much to locate you.

You live on the third floor, balcony door always unlocked. A few half dead potted plants sitting there. Your curtains are too sheer to matter even if they do happen to be pulled closed. No pets, no roommates, no boyfriend, just some freelance graphic designer that lives alone.

Your life, according to the dossier, is painfully uneventful.

And yet, there’s a bounty on your head for 225 million yen.

The first time he sees you, you arrive home late in the afternoon — arms full of groceries (why you didn’t just get a grocery bag is anyone’s guess), oversized hoodie slightly damp from the rain. He watches as you kick the apartment door shut, a lemon falling out of your hands and tumbling onto the ground.

For a second, you just stand there staring at it like you’ve watched your soul escape.

And then, you put the groceries in your arms down on your dining table. Sukuna, who’s crouched across the street on a rooftop, just expects you to immediately go and pick up the lemon, like any sensible person would.

You don’t.

Instead, you decide to put away every single other grocery first.

And Sukuna just waits there, watching through his binoculars, unable to remember the last time he felt so stressed at the sheer inefficiency of how someone lived their day to day life.

And finally, finally, once everything else is put in its place, you go and pick up the fucking lemon.

He breathes a sigh of relief, before putting down the lenses and deciding what to think.

You move like someone with no predators — no paranoia, no fear, no unease.

Your apartment has just one lock, your phone password is four digits — probably your birthday.

You live like you have no idea that someone like him even exists.

But he’s checked the file countless times, he’s followed you enough to make sure that this is the person. Without a doubt, it is you, with that exorbitant bounty on your head.

Sukuna doesn’t have questions about his targets.

But this? This is something he can’t wrap his mind around — something that makes him uncomfortable.

So, he watches some more.

It doesn’t take Sukuna long to figure out your schedule. You have a few freelance clients, and work from home. Sometimes you’ll go to the park with a sketchbook, other times you’ll buy yourselves flowers or sit outside convenience stores inhaling onigiri.

You smile at strangers, and seem to be rather fond of stray cats — feeding them tidbits of your food, scratching and petting them — but strangely enough you don’t ever speak to them. Or to yourself, like he might have expected from someone like you.

You love plants, clear from the amount of random ones you bring home, which Sukuna finds mildly humorous considering they always seem to end up dying within a few days of your care. You drink coffee, usually with so much milk and sugar he’s not even sure if it should be allowed to be called “coffee”. You try to cook, whether the meal will be a success or not is entirely up to chance. Maybe partially because you don’t use the gas stove ever — if you cook things it’ll either be in the microwave or oven.

Sukuna feels himself starting to grow more and more uncomfortable.

Because for some odd reason, despite the suffocating mundane nature of you and your life, you don’t feel like prey.

It’s another rainy afternoon, and Sukuna’s once again tailing you as you stop by the convenience store by your house. He’s been watching from a distance, planning to get closer but not quite sure on how to do it yet.

He knows it's not a good idea considering he's planning to murder you, but something about all this simply doesn't sit right. Maybe if he actually meets the target, he'll be able to understand better.

You run into the store without an umbrella, hoodie slightly soaked, and grab your usual- a pack of onigiri, canned coffee, and some white chrysanthemums from the convenience store rack.

You rush out, juggling everything in your arms as you always do, no matter the fact that it never gets easier. Unsurprisingly, one of the cans of coffee slips from your grasp and rolls down the pavement — straight to where he’s standing at the overhang, smoking a cigarette, acting like just another nonchalant guy avoiding the rain.

You chase after it, a little breathless, just to look up and find him holding out the can to you.

“You dropped this,” he says, cool and unreadable.

“Oh.” You blink up at him like you’re not used to being seen, raindrops glittering in your lashes. “Thanks.”

You take the can carefully, fingers brushing his for a second too long.

And as you start to leave, a grey tabby trots up out of nowhere—wet and scrawny. It meows.

“Oh, Cement,” you murmur, crouching down to open your onigiri and break off a piece. “I told you salmon wasn’t good for your kidneys.”

The cat takes it anyway, evidently holding no concern for the wellbeing of its kidneys.

Sukuna furrows his brows in confusion. “You named it Cement?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You pause and look up at him like he’s asked the most stupid question in the world. “Uh…because he’s the color of cement?”

Sukuna looks at the cat, and now he’s not sure why he even asked that or what answer he really expected.

Cement finishes his morsel of food, and then to both yours and Sukuna’s surprise, he brushes against his ankle.

You glance up, half-joking. “He doesn’t usually like people.”

Sukuna shrugs. “Maybe he’s got bad taste.”

You snort. “Rude.”

Your nose twitches a bit as you suddenly glance over to he cigarette between his fingers, before commenting, “You smoke the same brand as… someone I know… used to. I hate it.”

He blinks. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You stand up again. “He died in a fire.” And then as if you’re already expecting some awkward answer of pity, you jokingly add, “Not your fault, unless you’re secretly an arsonist or something.”

There’s a faint smile on your lips, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. You adjust your groceries, pause, then extend your hand like you just remembered how introductions work, and give him your name before asking for his.

Sukuna gives his real name.

Should he give a fake one? Probably.

But his pride wouldn’t allow such a thing. Besides, you don’t really seem like much of a threat anyway.

“Well,” you say, glancing at the cigarette again. “You shouldn’t smoke near cats. It’s bad for their lungs.”

It’s bad for humans’ lungs too, he almost wants to say, but you’re already walking off, disappearing into the rain, flowers crushed slightly under your arm.

He stays standing there long after you’re gone.

“I’m telling you,” he says, voice clipped, trying to keep his irritation in check, “you’ve got the wrong woman. This doesn’t make any sense.”

His employer’s voice crackles through the phone, dry and mechanical. “You’ve been given the target. Proceed as directed.”

“No,” Sukuna interrupts, running a hand through his hair, his impatience flaring. “I’m serious. You sent me after her. But there’s nothing special about her. She’s... harmless. She doesn’t even look like she knows what the hell’s going on.” He stares out the window, narrowing his eyes as the rain pelts against the glass, a sound that almost drowns out the gnawing confusion in his mind. “Why the hell is she worth so much money? What’s the catch?”

The employer’s response is cold, as if they’re reading from a script. “Do the job, Sukuna. Payment will be processed when it’s complete.”

Sukuna’s frustration grows. “Fuck. Just tell me something — anything. Do you know what she named her cat? She named it Cement. She fucking named the stupid cat Cement because it’s the color of cement! And this is the person you want dead?”

A long pause on the other end of the line. Then the employer, unfazed, replies flatly, “I mean... I guess that’s a pretty decent reason to name a cat Cement.”

“I-” Sukuna growls in aggravation, raking his hand over his face. “Just forget Cement! Don’t you think this entire job is kinda off? It’s like you just tossed me a random target, and now I’m supposed to play along.”

He leans against the window, staring out at the rainy street, the soft thrum of water hitting the glass doing nothing to calm him. He exhales sharply through his nose. “I get it, you want it done, but come on... Something doesn’t sit right with me. Why her?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, Sukuna wonders if they’ve hung up.

Then the employer speaks again, as monotone as ever, “Your assignment is not to question the target. Proceed with the mission, Sukuna.”

Sukuna closes his eyes, annoyed, but he doesn’t hang up. He knows this is pointless. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I want full payment, up front, once it’s done. No more bullshit, no more waiting.”

He pauses for a beat, thinking, before finally muttering, “And if anything happens... If something goes wrong with this, I’ll be coming for you. No one gives me a job this shady without consequences.”

The line goes dead, and Sukuna stands there for a moment, his thoughts swirling. He hasn’t let it go, not yet.

He’s not sure if he’ll be able to anytime soon.

a/n: so. i intend for this to be a fic with multiple parts, and ofc a multichapter fic means i just have to... play around with certain elements. meaning i probably won't start regularly posting the other parts until i plan a bit more, finish my other fics, and of course start writing. this was me just testing the waters hehe

taglist: @thequeenofcurses

#sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk au #ryoumen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk ryomen

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dont-lick-my-foot · 12 hours ago

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i never thought about how different things are, but i also work a lot with shipping and receiving (mostly receiving) packages! not much for me to comment on, but:

we just use the regular ol packing tape you get from like office depot (literally where we get it from) when we send stuff out, and most of the time we place the labels on the top of the box (as long as they fit).

it’s kind of a mix whether the packages we receive have the label on the top or the side as it depends on the company (for example, a package from thermo fisher scientific would most likely have its label on the top, but from genesee scientific they seem to like to put them on the side a lot? sometimes genesee does do the top too though i think).

i couldn’t tell you the size of the packing tape used on the packages we receive because i mean i’ve never really paid attention to that specific detail? that’s not really important to me or my job.

most companies we get stuff from seem to just do one line of tape to seal the flaps shut and that’s it. it’s almost always sufficient.

i would comment on damage to the box if it looked pretty beat up, like, more than average. but you should expect at least a small amount of damage to anything you ship or receive because shipping companies be wildin’.

i also only look at package weights if they seem heavy.

hazards are something i would pay attention to at work, but that’s because we also receive a lot of perishable items so i’m usually looking at all the stickers and labels to see if something is marked perishable. if i were receiving something for myself (not for work), i doubt i’d pay attention to that.

guy who does unboxing videos but he only talks about the boxes

#shipping and receiving #something i can weigh in on a little!#genuinely surprised people pay attention to the size of the tape used #is it a particular interest?#or does it actually matter to y’all’s jobs?

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postcardsfromheapside · 3 days ago

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I'm going to put a video here where a published author and content creator is talking about the way readers frequently interact with the book world, and specifically Sarah J Maas readers and their ilk. The video isn't hating on readers, or Maas or the types of books Maas & clones write. I am not posting it in relation to the topic of plagiarism. The reason I'm posting it is because of the way people have responded to Veilguard. It's not very long, and I'm sharing it because he summarizes and briefly discusses the following points:

anchoring bias

schema theory

cultural myopia/commenting on things when you have limited cultural exposure

other people dealing with the consequences of a critical poster getting 15 minutes of attention

I thought the video was a good poke into problems coinciding with people criticizing (not critiquing, there's a difference) Veilguard, where anything from themes, plot points, characterization or even costume elements in the game are being torn apart...and the people doing the tearing are approaching the topics with often *self-admitted* lack of experience on what they're criticizing, and zero curiosity.

A concrete example: there was a discussion swirling recently in which there was an attempt to criticize Veilguard for the funerary practices Rook and Bellara go through. This in spite of the fact that a Dalish Rook and Bellara can have an in-the-moment discussion about the differences between their clan practices, and in DA:I Solas can mention how clans are different from each other, and there have been many, many posts on this site discussing from a lore perspective how the elves are not a monolith. I don't have to tell you that the posters criticizing the scene were myopic on both a cultural and personal preference level in their criticisms of the scene.

Critical posters have also frequently spoken over users who attempt to explain the diverse cultural, political, or queer experiences and influences which align with Veilguard's portrayals.

I thought it was great that this creator brought up how authors are affected for a considerable amount of time by shitty online takes. Recently there were screenshots where Trick mentioned that making Veilguard was traumatic, and folks passed them around with bioware/EA/Veilguard critical tags, but didn't include that maybe the fans themselves continue to bear some of the blame for this experience.

I don't think Bioware/EA are blameless as companies, or that Veilguard is a perfect game, but there's been a distinct trend where 'fans' claim to be critiquing things and are really only whining (and sometimes harassing creators) that they didn't get what they personally wanted. And if pressed about what they wanted, the examples they give aren't coherent narratives meant for published or produced media - if they were, those fans would already be working in those fields making art. Social media has made it very easy to 1) get access to and attention from creators, and 2) get validation (and very little pushback) from other fans for pithy remarks. In other words, it's easy to feel undeservedly "right" for shitposting.

#datv #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #fandom critical

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bagdaddyb · 1 day ago

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Predator or Prey

Summary: All her life Natasha has been the predator. Hunting for the red room, hunting for money, and then hunting for shield. What happens when the rolls are reversed?

Pairing: Natasha x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+, small amount of smut, shorter than you’d like.

Predator. That’s what Natasha had always been. The black widow an elite predator on the hunt. She’d spin her web perfectly as she slowly lured prey right into her trap. She was smart, feared, but most of all deadly. Shield recognized the threat that she was and naturally when she was recruited they took advantage of it. Natasha didn’t mind though somewhere along the line she actually began to like what she could do. She saw how if used the right way her skills could save lives and in those moments it helped her forget about the lives she’d taken, the red that stained her name.

Natasha was no longer just a predator, she was the predator. For the first time in her life she’d felt like she had somewhat control. Like if she worked hard enough, pushed hard enough, perhaps she could make up for the things she’d done. She began donating all her time to shield becoming a hand to hand combat instructor, operation specialist, and infiltration master.

No one crossed the black widow, but now she wasn’t a red room assassin, she wasn’t a mysterious criminal on the run from police, she was an elite shield operative. A predator.

The day you were recruited to the Avengers there was a shift in the air, a turn in the weather. Natasha remembers exactly where she was standing the first time you entered the Avengers compound. You were tall, your features striking, you held yourself confidently. You didn’t speak much but it didn’t seem like you needed to, Natasha found that most of the shield trainees couldn’t even meet your eye. Your presence disrupted something in Natasha. She couldn’t quite figure out what it was. (Y/F/N Y/L/N), you were only 24, recruited to shield after a top secret mission, and you had electric abilities that was all Natasha knew from your file. You showed up to every Avenger meeting but when training time came for the group you were escorted away. It only took a week for Natasha to decide she didn’t like your presence. Something wasn’t right, she felt it in her gut but she still couldn’t put her finger on what exactly this feeling was.

A rather calm month of the world deciding it had its shit together passed and you’d remained the same cold, distant, and aloof. Yet tonight, at this Avengers banquet Natasha has that same turning feeling in her stomach when you walk in and your eyes immediately land on her. She still wasn’t sure what this feeling was and for that reason your presence always put her on edge. You were dressed in a deep blue suit, hair pulled back into a bun, your ever present aura of confidence. You commanded the room from the moment you walked in, and you didn’t dally. Walking a straight path through a room full of people to stand here at Natasha’s side.

“You look beautiful.”

It’s the first words that leave your mouth and for a second Natasha doesn’t know how to respond.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

You say smoothly slightly leaning down into Natasha’s space. The red head clears her throat trying to compose herself.

“The drinks are free.”

You smirk in response.

“What’s your poison?”

You don’t hesitate, not even slightly detoured by her remark. Natasha glanced up at you, and that seemed to be the only invitation you needed because you wrapped your arm around her waist resting your hand on her hip before escorting her to the bar. Natasha fights back a blush at the action and swiftly mask her face with indifference. Her stomach flops again and Natasha squirms as if trying to escape the feeling. Once at the bar you pull out a seat for Natasha, a chivalrous act that she tries to pretend isn’t affecting her before leaning against the bar. Your proximity has your scent filling her nostrils, her eyes flowing across your body, and her thoughts occupied by you. She doesn’t even hear you order the drinks but she sees them placed in front of her. The moment the drinks are delivered your eyes are on her.

“I didn’t think banquets would be your thing, I half expected you to be upstairs sparing.”

You say before sipping at your drink. Natasha can’t help the small chuckle in response.

“They aren’t my thing, but sadly I consider Tony my friend.”

You chuckle in response to that. A deep laugh that makes a feeling surge through Natasha. She’d never heard the sound from you before and this feeling made her uncomfortable. Your presence made her uncomfortable. Yet she didn’t look away, didn’t move away.

“And sadly I feel the same way about Fury.”

You joke. The small talk you lead her on with is effortless, smooth. Natasha finds herself actually enjoying the conversation but still that feeling inside never subsides.

“Dance with me?”

You ask after the drinks are gone and Natasha is surprised by how fast she agrees. You hold out your hand helping her stand before that same hand returns to her hip walking her through the crowd to the dance floor. You swept her up into a dance, and for a second Natasha felt like a princess. Your eyes were soft as you stared down into hers.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You say and Natasha breaks eye contact. She’d heard that phrase a million times from a million people, why did the words from your mouth make her blush. Once the dance was over you walked with a small smile on your lips to the side of the room, your hand never leaving Natasha. Despite her instincts Natasha found herself following your lead, enjoying your presence. So when you said.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate to agree. It wasn’t until the two of you walked into your room in the tower that Natasha stopped to think for a second. A second was all you allowed.

“Movie?”

You ask grabbing a bag of popcorn from a box and putting it into the microwave you apparently kept in here. Natasha nodded.

“Want a change of clothes? I can give you some shorts and a tee if that makes you more comfortable. Don’t want to ruin your pretty dress.”

Natasha finds herself turning her head and blushing again. She’d blushed more tonight than ever before in her life she was sure of it. While her head was turned you closed the gap, entered her space. Both your hands coming to rest on her waist. Natasha’s eyes rose to meet yours again in response.

“So tell me, am I gonna get a kiss tonight? Or am I misreading things?”

More heat spread through Natasha’s face. She felt like a teenager with their first crush and that was all the opportunity you needed to lean down and press your lips against hers. Natasha’s arms immediately found their way around your neck. You deepen the kiss, your hands gripping at Natasha holding her closer before falling to grip her butt. Natasha moaned into the kiss involuntarily, surprising herself and you take advantage kissing her deeper. It wasn’t until this exact moment that Natasha realized the feeling inside her. The feeling that she’d never felt before. Prey. Her whole life Natasha had been a predator, no one daring to even cross her path but from the moment you’d joined the Avengers, for the first time in her life. Natasha was made prey.

You break the kiss. Biting your lip before smirking down at Natasha and smacking her ass. Natasha lets out a surprised noise and you kiss her lips softly in response.

“Beautiful.”

You mumble against her lips.

“Let me have a taste.”

You grunt before picking her up. You easily carry her you your bed laying her down gently before pushing her dress up. Natasha was breathless, heart pounding in her chest. Prey. It was thrilling the way her blood pumped through her body. The way she seemed weak to your actions.

“Oh you’re soaked.”

You groan and Natasha releases an involuntary whimper. You don’t hesitate removing the thin layer of lace holding you back from your prize. The moment the item is gone your strong hands grip her thighs holding them wide open. You dive in like a woman staved. Moaning into her and Natasha loudly moans in response. She tries to grip the sheets at first but after a while it isn’t enough her fingers fly into your hair as your strong arms move to wrap around her thighs holding her down. Natasha’s moans filled the room as you enjoyed your meal. You knew every little spot, just how to roll your tongue to make Natasha go wild. Natasha is surprised by how fast the coil in her stomach tightens.

“I’m gonna cum.”

She moans out and you respond by sucking hard her clit sending her over the edge with lound moans and whimpers. You eat her clean eager for all of her juices that you can get. And when you sit up removing your suit jacket and shirt before leaning over Natasha and gripping her throat, kissing her deeply. Natasha feels like prey. Your prey, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

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