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gojorgeous · 10 months ago

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"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!”

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said.

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind.

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers.

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.”

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path.

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back.

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket.

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.”

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?”

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t.

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s.

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?”

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you.

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying.

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong.

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches.

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment.

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you.

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike.

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now.

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him.

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside.

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it.

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet.

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face.

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease.

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo.

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night.

“Yeah. Long day at work.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?”

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you.

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there.

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance.

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.”

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?”

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.”

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life.

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight.

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around.

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder.

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines.

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs.

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.”

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool.

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone.

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride.

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention.

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish?

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman.

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself.

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive.

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?”

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.”

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours.

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps.

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says.

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet.

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.”

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?”

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?”

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like.

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then…

“So, what’s your technique”

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual.

“Bet I could find out.”

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.”

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…”

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.”

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks.

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job…

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.”

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?”

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth.

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing.

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?”

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal.

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.”

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to.

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit.

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now.

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone.

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid.

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines.

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle.

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans.

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever.

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles.

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to.

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs.

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now.

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please…

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land.

Fuck.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework.

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly.

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight.

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it.

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better.

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?”

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over.

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.”

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls.

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.”

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see.

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs.

Your lips part. “You knew?”

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?”

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him.

But you have one thing on him.

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.”

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.”

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.”

You freeze. He notices.

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–”

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation.

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.”

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo.

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?”

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced.

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display.

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin.

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes.

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?”

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree.

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…”

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides.

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone.

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again.

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.”

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.”

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased.

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.”

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.”

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue.

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right.

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you.

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault.

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes.

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away.

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?”

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone.

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick.

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole.

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out.

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.”

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages.

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.”

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut.

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.”

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.”

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you.

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth.

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him.

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.”

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same.

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant.

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs.

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind.

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be.

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you.

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death.

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest.

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?”

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.”

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?”

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe.

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.”

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?”

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been.

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free.

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position.

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind.

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you.

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.”

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @fushironi, @enchantedsylveon, @keiva1000, @complexivelovely, @httpstoyosi, @bbyxxm, @6kabuki.

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 2 years ago

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Hi hi!!

Okay so I was thinking what about a task 141 + big man konig with a reader that likes to slap their ass cheekily or just plain ass grab them,any time is fair game,the boys are all in the barracks or in a meeting room? Better line up. 😂

Only if you're comfy ofc!!

Aha! This is perfect, lol. Hope this does what you were looking for justice😊 did a little twist as the reader doing it for the first time.

Warnings: sexual references, mild swearing

141 + König x GN Reader When You Slap/Grab Their Ass Playfully.

Simon "Ghost" Riley-

You'd seen videos circling the internet of people slapping their partners asses randomly to see their reactions, and you wanted to try it on Simon. While you were mildly terrified of what his reaction would be, you decided you still wanted to go with it.

The two of you were cleaning up after a home cooked meal, and you knew now was the time to strike. He was wearing a tight-fitting pair of sweats, and his ass looked just too good not to hit.

You sauntered up to him with a smile and gave his ass a loud "SMACK".

He set the dish he was holding down in the sink before turning head slowly to look at you, a dark look crossing his face.

You gulped at the look on his face before backing away. "I-I had to. I'm sorry."

"Had to?" He asked, and you nodded meekly in response.

"Or wanted to?" A smirk started to form on his lips.

".....both?" You mumbled sheepishly.

"That so?" The smirk lining his face was terrifying to you. He moved closer to you, effectively trapping you against the counter. "Why don't you head on upstairs, yeah? I'll up in a few. "

It seemed Simon, too, enjoyed smacking your ass, as evident from the large red handprint that was left on your ass cheek later that night.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish-

You and Johnny had a little bet going on who out of the two of you would be the first to crack without sex. Johnny had said he'd be able to last longer, and you desperately wanted to prove him wrong.

It started out simple enough, soft arm touches, thigh squeezes, "subtly" grinding yourself against his crotch. Nothing seemed to be cracking him, to your surprise.

Determined to win, you had one final card up your sleeve. Johnny was out working on his car, minding his own business. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find the sight incredibly attractive.

He was bent over, wearing a tight muscle T-shirt and tight workout shorts. You bit your lip in anticipation and walked over to carry out your plan.

"Hey baby. Looking good out here." You cooed as you walked up behind him.

As he peered around to look at you, you slid your hands down his waist until you reached his bum and squeezed the flesh there firmly before smoothing your hands up and down.

"I uhhhh, fucking hell Y/N." Johnny shook his head and moved away from your wandering hands. "Nope not falling for it. Nope."

You moved closer to him once more and gave his ass a harsh smack, before walking away.

Johnny set the tools he was working with down and came over to you, throwing you over his shoulder as he made his way to the bedroom.

Needless to say, he lost your bet, but not that you or he were complaining.

John Price-

John was giving a debrief to 141 in the conference room, and you couldn't help but let your eyes drift to his backside. He was walking back and forth while talking, giving you a perfect side view of his ass.

You turned to look at the boys and saw not a single one of them were paying attention, as they were probably all beyond exhausted.

Deciding to have some fun, you peered one more time to make sure you didn't have an audience and waited until John made his way past you before you made your move. He started to make his way past you, and when he came within arms reach, you slapped his ass.

Truly, you hadn't meant for the smack to be as loud as it was. You appeared to have misjudged the pressure, as everyone in the room, including Price, stopped and stared at you.

Rather than being embarrassed about it, you smiled widely and settled back into your seat as if nothing had happened, ignoring the looks of horror from the boys.

"Y/N, a word, outside if you will?" Price said sternly as he promptly forced you up and escorted you out of the room.

The minute the two of you made it outside, he pushed you up against the wall with a loose grip around your neck. "Thought that was funny did you?"

"I couldn't help myself, sir." You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing, as Price dragged his eyes up and down your figure.

"Couldn't help yourself? You won't be laughing later. I'll guarantee you of that."

Price kept to his word later that night. You surely weren't laughing as he took you from behind, slapping your ass repeatedly as you took exactly what he wanted to give you.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

141 was getting ready to be sent out on a mission, and the 5 of you were getting on your gear. You could feel your nerves bubbling in your belly in anticipation of the mission.

Looking over, you saw Gaz putting on his gear, particularly the band around his thigh for his knife. You couldn't really say why you wanted to slap his ass, but unable to help yourself, you walked over to him, giving a resounding smack to his ass.

Shocked, Gaz turned to you with wide eyes before looking around to make sure nobody had seen what you just did. "Babe?"

You gave him a small smile before returning to your gear. Feeling Gaz walk up behind you, you looked to him. "What's up, love?"

"I think you know what's up. What was that for?" He asked.

"Just a good luck smack, that's all." You put both hands up in mock innocence.

"A good luck smack? That right?" A smirk formed on Gaz's face. "Well, I think I need a good luck smack of my own."

You turned to try and flee before Gaz wrapped his arms around you. "Nowhere to run, sweetheart."

The slap to your ass that ensued had everyone in the room turning to you and Gaz with wide eyes, much to your amusement.

König-

Poor König. He was minding his own business cleaning his weapons in the armory when you walked in. He was bent over staring in concentration at the gun he was in the middle of cleaning, giving you a perfect view of his ass.

You'd always wondered what his reaction would be if you were to go up and hit it, but you were always too nervous to try it. You were in a particularly playful mood, so you'd walked up to him with a polite smile before slapping his ass with all the force you could muster.

"Maus...have I done something wrong?" König asked timidly, standing up to his full height as he turned to you. His face was scrunched in confusion.

You bit your lip to contain your laughter at his reaction. "No? Baby, why would you think that."

"Oh. I um. Well. You spanked me, so I thought I must've done something to upset you." König's cheeks were red from embarrassment.

"Oh gosh, no Kö! You just.. looked really good, so I.... felt the need to slap your backside?" You now felt unbelievably awkward, not expecting this reaction.

"I see." König stood and contemplated your words for a few moments, before moving behind you. You felt a harsh smack on your ass, and heard a small giggle erupt from your boyfriend.

"Kö?"

"You look good too, so I smacked your ass." A tiny smile appeared on his lips.

From then on, König made it a point to slap your ass any time he deemed you looked good, so your ass was constantly imprinted with his large hand prints.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: thanks for reading!!!😊🩷

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xoluvx · 5 months ago

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can you do 5 with billie<3333

uhhhh yes!! this one is a little longer so -

☆ { calling } them late at night to come over

reaching for the phone, you dialed the familiar number. you'd been thinking of her all night. you tried getting rid of the thoughts coursing through your head, but you simply couldn't. your touch couldn't satisfy the craving you had for hers.

"hi," you whispered when you heard her voice roar on the other side of the line. she'd been laughing. she wasn't alone. fuck. there went your plan.

"what's up?" the sound around her lowered a little, you could tell she'd stepped away from the crowd. it didn't hurt to try.

"can you come over?" you asked biting your thumb hoping the answer would be yes. billie heard the shift in your voice. you didn't just want to hang out. no, she could almost hear the desperation in your voice.

"yeah, i'll be there soon." her voice filled with the same lust. was she a bad friend for leaving her friends to get some? fuck no. she didn't give herself much time to think about it. "i gotta go," she announced grabbing her cap flashing a peace sign as she walked away. they'd understand. - "hi," you whispered again holding the door open for her. your eyes were big as they met hers. she was biting her lip and you knew what that meant. there was no point in trying to have a conversation. she knew what you called for so she came in kissing your lips as your hands went up to her face. she closed the door with her foot not wanting to separate from you.

you pulled off her jacket, she took off her cap which only messed up her hair and you drooled a little as you stopped kissing to remove your shirt. hers came off soon after until a trail of clothes led to your room.

"it's under the bed," you breathed and billie reached under. her lips pressed on yours again, body molding with yours. her hand shuffled under the bed a little until she felt the box. she didn't leave your lips until she had the strap in hand.

you breathed heavily scanning her body, fingers digging into her thighs watching her.

"ready?" she asked and you nodded desperately as she lowered herself flipping her hair to the side so it was out of her face when her lips found yours again. you wrapped your arms around her shoulders kissing her desperately. she slid in slowly as your tongues clashed. her hand caressed your thigh as she moved her hips; you whimpered into her mouth each time she moved.

"you're taking it so well," she sneered and you moaned at the compliment. she knew you loved it. she smirked kissing your jaw as her strokes grew rougher, whimpers escaping your lips repeatedly.

minutes later you were face down, ass up as she fucked you roughly taking in the way your ass bounced on her. she reached out for you holding you flush against her body. her hand came up to your neck, her lips peppering kisses on your shoulder. "such a good girl," billie whispered in your ear and your body quivered as one of her hands sprawled across your torso. it was going to be a long night.

#billie eilish #billie eilish smut #billie eilish request #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #billie eilish imagine

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safination · 24 days ago

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Bringing the Rain to You

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Adam x Reader Warnings: None! TLDR: It doesn't rain in Heaven, but sometimes all you need is that one, special person, and maybe, fake rain isn't so bad after all.

Wow, would you look at that? A non-Alastor post! I'm surprised as well, but this is for the biggest Adam simp ever @redvexillum. You feed me Alastor, and I feed you Adam. It's a mutualistic relationship. Enjoy my short one-shot. I would make this longer but if I keep writing I might have to go into overtime. I only spent like an hour or two of this, don't judge too hard. I have yet to achieve god level of writing

It doesn’t rain in Heaven – maybe, it should, honestly.

There’s something comforting about the soft pitter-patters when droplets hit the roof. Or the drip of cool water down flushed skin. The memories call out for you, teasing you with reminders of days spent under the clouds, hand in hand long before the concept of rings was invented. Most of all, it reminds you of golden-yellow wings.

Association is a weird thing. It doesn’t listen to rationality – it just is.

Maybe, if it rained up here in Heaven, the floods within you would filter out your chest and seep into the clouds and flush down the streets.

You curl your legs closer to your chest, sulking on the park bench. Children’s laughter echo between the trees, and are lifted high up into the clouds. So much happiness in one are—

Drip.

Water droplets hit your skin, and slide down your cheek.

It’s . . . raining? That’s impossible. It never rains in Heaven, but here it is, drops of water kissing your face.

“Hey, babe.” There it is – the most beautiful golden-yellow wing. It hovers above you, shielding you from the rain. Adam smiles down at you, standing with such a proud puff as he uses his wing to shield you from the rain. “What’s a fine bitch like you doing out here alone?”

“I wouldn’t be alone if I had my husband with me.” You lean back on the bench, cocking your neck back to look into him. “You’re going to get wet, honey.”

“I know!” Adam laughs, and his wings extend as he does. “But it’s fucking hot—admit it, you’ve always wanted me to do this.”

You beckon him closer, and wipe away drops of water from his helmet with a smile. “How is it even raining, baby?”

“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Adam says. “Rain is a no biggie. For you, I can make it storm.”

“How sweet.” You clutch your heart and swoon into him. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Adam moves his wing, far enough to show you what’s above but still close enough to shield you—nothing more, nothing less. “It doesn’t rain in Heaven,” he says. “But I can bring the rain to you.”

Lute hovers above, a garden hose in her hands. There are three other angels next to her, each with their own garden hose. Lute gives you a thumbs up, and you give one back. Sweethearts. That’s what they are—each and every one of them.

“Baby, you can’t keep using them for personal use,” you say, but still . . . it’s a smile that appears on your lips. “Sera will be furious.”

“Nah, these bitches don’t mind—they love us! And technically, you’re also using them for personal use.” Adam gives them a thumbs up, and they all salute back with a proud puff. “I didn’t find you when I got back from He— uhhhh . . . I came from the house, and I didn’t see you.”

“And your next guess was to go here?”

“I assumed you were moping as usual,” he says, and despite the helmet you can see how he rolls his eyes. “Figured you were here. What are you doing here anyway?”

You show him your brightest smile. “Thinking of divorce.”

Adam’s wing flicks a little. Still, he keeps it above your head to keep your dry from his rain. “Fuck . . .no!” He removes his helmet, and those golden eyes stare straight into you. “I’m not letting you divorce me.”

You press a kiss on his cheek, letting your lips brush him with each word. “And why not?”

“Babe, I’m not letting the baddest bitch in my life leave me.”

“Baby, you disappeared for twenty-four hours again.” You kiss his nose, and a bit of that fake rain transfers back to your lips. “I would have liked a good-bye before you left for wherever it is you go during this time of the year.”

Adam brings his hands under your armpits, and lifts you to stand. He pulls up part of his robe and brings it over your head until you’re snuggled into his clothes and flushed straight into his squishy chest. You can feel the heat of his skin.

Those wings of his hover above, shielding the both of you from the rain he commanded.

“What a stupid fucking thought.” Adam pulls you, setting you on his lap. “Moping because I didn’t say good-bye.”

You lean into his chest, snuggling under his robe. “Baby, you mope when I forget to kiss you good-bye during the mornings.”

“That’s different,” Adam tells you, and leans his chin over your hair. “I’d fucking combust if I don’t get my good-byes. Guts and blood would just be everywhere. It would splatter on some poor fucking kid.”

“What a sight that would be.” You bring your legs up, and curl as deep as you can into him. “ . . . Thank you for the rain. I love it.”

“I’d make a thunderstorm for you if you stop thinking of divorcing me.”

“Me?” You press a kiss on his cheek. “Divorce you? I would never do such a thing.”

Adam brings his arms around your waist. “Fuck off,” he says. “You just said you were thinking about it. This is . . . fuck, what’s it called? . . . You’re gaslighting me!”

“Baby, I was just pulling your leg.” You cup his face, squishing his cheeks as you do. “Who in their right mind would leave you?"

“I can think of a few.”

Adam grabs your chin, and presses his lips straight into you. Kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss. That’s what happens during twenty-four hours of not seeing each other. It’s like you’ve become newlyweds once more.

He traces the gold ring around your finger. “Marry me?”

You kiss his jaw. “I already did that.”

Adam rolls his eyes, but still . . . he settles his chin on your shoulders and stares straight at the Winners who smile and laugh. There’s a far away look on his face – it’s the same look he gets every single year without fail – and you know he’s thinking of the Sinners down in Hell. Sometimes you forget, those Sinners were his children too.

“Come back to me, baby,” you mumble against his neck, pressing a little kiss. “You’re drifting off to a place I can’t follow. What do you need?"

Adam’s wings flutter a bit, and he presses you deeper into his squish. “Stay with me.”

“Done.” You kiss his cheek. “What else do you need?"

“Keep cooking for me.”

The second kiss goes on his other cheek. “Always.”

“Listen to me play,” he says. “I thought of a new riff. I think you like it.”

“Whenever and wherever.” A kiss to the nose.

It’s funny to see him scrunch his nose a little. It’s not often he takes off his helmet in public, but you’re not going to complain. Not when there’s that boyish grin spread across his lips. “Love me.”

“I do.” You press one, single kiss on his lips. “Always and forever.”

It doesn’t rain in Heaven, and it never will. Gone are the days of those grey clouds, and the sound of the droplets during the night. But . . . maybe, it wasn’t the rain you were chasing because despite garden hoses flinging water above you, you’re perfectly happy.

#adam x reader #hazbin hotel x #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #adam firstman #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin adam #adam hazbin hotel

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a-ikuoliver · 1 year ago

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tw: alcohol mention, uhhhh stalking suggested kinda???? lmao w/c: 1.0k notes: uh inspired by the fact that i will lie to anyone and everyone when im drunk for the laughs especially about my name bc what are u gonna do?? say its not lmao?? might come back to this teehee

katsuki has watched the second guy walk away from you with a self-assured smirk, fiddling with a slip of paper between their fingers, numbers and letters scribbled down, and you with a victorious smirk of your own, a drink in front of you without your own purse in sight.

now, with the third approaching, and you smiling the same as you did at the two before, sucking the straw between your lips while glancing over at them through your eyelashes, repeating the same routine with the last two, you had the blond hero's attention. studying the way you played dumb, selling another lie about being from out of town; your first was you were here for your friend's wedding, the second a job interview, this guy got told it was your friends birthday, and she was in the bathroom.

katsuki had no idea how these guys didn't see through your act, the way you played with the necklace on your chest to draw their attention down, how you wrapped pretty lips around the straw to make them forget whatever it was they were saying, or how you'd adjust your legs on the soft leather seat to reveal a sliver of soft skin, sliding them your number after they'd buy you a drink. this guy buying you two, one for your friend of course.

"i'll show you around, next time you're in town," there it was again! you scribbled down a new set of numbers, the guy calling you a third new name! his red eyes narrowed watching you nod, standing up with the excuse of searching for your friend, leaving your empty cup on the bar, and the full one, "for your friend" in your hand. your latest victim walked back to his group of friends, waving the paper like it was a trophy.

katsuki watched you walk around the corner of the bar, behind a pillar decorated with overlapping papers, sitting on a chair one away from him. he couldn't help but stare, trying to dissect you like you were an experiment in highschool, watching your boot-clad legs cross, your bracelet sliding down your arm when you raised the glass to your lips, marring the new straw with your lipstick.

"take a picture, blondie, it'll last longer."

red eyes widen, looking back up from your hands to your smiling eyes, realising they were staring back into his, a smirk plastered on those pretty lips.

"hah?"

you throw your head back in a laugh at his embarrassment that you caught him staring at you, nothing but confidence in your demeanour, not a hint of anger that he'd been looking you up and down. i mean what else were those dress and boots for if not to get a little attention from a burly hero?

"too busy eyeing me up to listen?" his ears flushed, hardened eyes boring into yours, but you weren't intimidated by his glare, only finding humour in the situation.

"i heard you." his voice is gruff, eyes darting back down to his drink when you slid a seat over, reminding him of a snake with your silent, fluid movements, the start of your routine he realised. you'd selected your new victim, your cup half empty and in need of a top up.

your knuckles brushed his when you leaned an elbow on the bar, eyeing him the same way he had you, noting the flash of orange under the collar of his hoodie, "so what, blondie, you want an autograph or something?"

your lips were upturned at the edge in a teasing grin, eyes glinting with mischief, "or should i be asking you for one, dynamight?"

his eyes flicked back to yours, your eyebrow quirking at his response, your smirk dropping to make way for a knowing smile.

"what about you, huh? what's your name?" you shuffle closer again, opening your mouth to respond when he interrupts, "an' none of that shit with those other guys,"

he lists off the names you'd told them, his voice slightly higher, poking fun at your flirtatious tone when you'd lied to the other men.

"you heard all that?" your head was thrown back in a laugh again, eyes crinkling at the edges, "you wanna know my real name, hero?"

he nods, trying to look as bored as possible as you spoke, as if the mystery and confidence surrounding you wasn't like a magnet, like your voice wasn't a siren call.

you say a name, a shocked look flashing over your features when he shakes his head, "not a chance, snake."

you narrow your eyes, but your smile remains unchanged when you say another. he shakes his head again, making you playfully roll your eyes at him.

"why don't you believe me? these usually work." you're crossing your arms over your chest, one of your tactics, he's sure, your tits pressing together under the fabric.

he smirks now, knowing you didn't remember the blond from months ago, saving you from some low level extra in your street, probably only three streets away from here. katsuki remembered it like it was yesterday, the way he'd pulled you to his chest, out of the way of a car barrelling down the street, one you hadn't seen, your head low, tucked under a thick hood for winter. he was dressed similarly, a thick hood shielding his face when he'd caught you, the only recognisable feature his eyes under it.

you'd told him your name then, when he'd held your shaking body still and made you tell him your name, the date, and if you were hurt.

"why don't we do this, snake? i'll buy you a drink then you slip me your number like those other extras?" your face lights up, missing the mischief in his own tone, your arrogance blinding you when you agree.

he waves down the bartender, asking them to add one of your drinks to his tab, and then close it. you smile like a cheshire cat when the glass is placed in front of you, taking a sip before reaching over for the pen placed in front of katsuki.

your chair tips toward him when you move, your perfume clouding his mind, your soft fingers holding his wrist to write on his arm, scribbling down your phone number under a name. a name that wasn't your own.

katsuki grins looking down at it, heavy boots locking around the legs of your chair to drag you closer, your hands falling to the bar and his arm to steady yourself, "nice try, y/n."

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

#divider by me #「mercury writes」#「kat <3」#uh idk what this is #i was vacuuming and like teehee #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader

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aealzx · 2 months ago

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

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It took some time to get Jazz to calm down enough that the others didn’t feel like they might scare her again accidentally. But by that time Alfred had come upstairs to fetch everyone for lunch, so they decided to wait just a little longer before they started looking more into Danny’s condition. Maybe after a good cry and hearty meal Jazz would be more at ease with the investigations. And once Damian was able to convince Jazz to leave the bedroom by having Titus and Ace watch over Danny they were all heading to the dining room.

“You guys didn’t find anything you like?” Tucker asked when he and Sam joined them again with Stephanie and Duke alongside them.

“Got distracted by the dogs,” Danielle claimed, knowing he was wondering why she and Jazz were still wearing the clothes they got from the safehouse. It was only part of the truth, but she didn’t want to dig into the mess that they were still trying to smooth over. Jazz didn’t need more opinions on her behavior to worry over.

“They have dogs?” Tucker asked, looking around in interest.

“Yeah, they’re watching over Danny while we get lunch,” Danielle confirmed, having to pause when they entered the dining room and noticed a few unfamiliar faces.

“Heyyyy, welcome back guys,” Stephanie chimed, cheerfully skipping slightly over to the four newcomers.

“YOU!” Tim accused, pointing his finger at Stephanie, offense saturating his posture. “You were supposed to come with us, and you ditched us! Do you know how annoying it was to pretend like Clark had no idea that I knew that he knew about the kids but I wasn’t going to say anything even if he asked?”

“Uhhhh…. No, because I have no idea what you just said,” Stephanie retorted shamelessly. “Also of course I ditched you. I knew you could handle it and I wanted to see how long everyone could last pretending the kids didn’t know them. They lasted about a minute and a half, if you were wondering.”

Tim seemed about to scold Stephanie more, but then got sidetracked by her announcement of the time it took. “Wow, that fast? What gave everyone away?”

“Jay jay,” Stephanie admitted easily. “Dani picked him out like a red apple in a barrel of grapes.”

“Hey! You’re the one that laughed first, so I say you get the blame,” Jason retorted, already finding a chair to claim for lunch.

“She knew it was you before I laughed,” Stephanie countered.

While they bickered Tim rolled his eyes and followed Cass’ lead in more formally introducing themselves to Jazz and the others. “Hey. Good to see you guys are settling in okay. My name is Tim, and this is Cass,” he greeted, holding a hand out to each of the four.

“The one in the black and red that wasn’t Jason?” Jazz asked, just to clarify.

“And you’re the one that almost dislocated my arm after I kicked you in the ribs when we first met. Nice,” Sam recognized, taking Cass’ offered hand and giving her a mildly amused smile.

It could have been seen as an accusatory comment, but Cass could easily see Sam wasn't feeling malicious about it. So Cass just nodded with a smile, shaking Sam’s hand before pointing at her face. “I like your makeup. Steph’s?”

“Yeah, I asked if I could borrow some since she had the colors I like. I have to say I’m really loving the lip gloss,” Sam confirmed. It was nice to feel more like herself again, having her hair brushed and pulled into an elastic, and face properly decorated.

“It looks good. So you like black and purple, and not just black?” Tim added, noting that Sam was also wearing purple in her clothes.

“As long as it’s dark enough,” Sam confirmed.

“Okay, so are we just supposed to keep pretending we don’t know about them, or are you going to introduce us?” The question came from one of the others who had returned with Cass and Tim, leaning in towards Dick after having conversed with him shortly and whispering loudly.

Dick just snickered, but Bruce was the one that responded first. “You two weren’t supposed to be here until this evening,” he chided, giving the two of them a stern stare.

“Ehhhhh, afternoon, evening, it’s only a few hours apart,” the blonde visitor dismissed, shrugging. “We figured we'd just follow the family home. Besides, this way we can get a headstart on what you wanted us for.”

“And we get some of Alfred’s cooking,” his companion chimed in, snatching a small sandwich from the platter.

“Iiii knew that’s why you followed Tim home,” Dick grinned, folding his arms and shaking his head at his friend. “Wally, this is Jazz, Sam, Tucker, and Dani with an I,” he finally gave in, gesturing to each of the guests in turn. “Guys this is my friend, Wally, and his mentor Barry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Barry greeted, offering his hand.

“Finally,” Wally chimed in, the sandwich already gone.

“Yeaah figures you already knew. Stalker,” Tim jabbed at Wally, earning a snort from Danielle.

“Stalker? What earned you that nickname?” Danielle asked, knowing there was a story behind it if they were still friends despite the accusation.

“Wally gets bored, so checks in on all of his friends throughout the day,” Dick explained, starting to usher everyone to join the others at the lunch table.

“Only because my friends like to get shot at, stabbed, thrown off buildings, and engage in various other activities that are generally detrimental to their health,” Wally counters, flicking the bandage on Dick’s head. “Seriously. I just checked on you this morning and then you went and got attacked by Slade.”

“Should have been on time instead of early then,” Dick brushed off, “We handled it.”

“Well, as far as the Justice League is concerned, you did. But I’m betting she helped,” Wally snickered, pointing at Danielle.

“You bet I did,” Danielle confirmed proudly while dishing up her plate with way more food than the others.

“Aw, you have a new sidekick, Dick,” Wally snickered, then noticed just how much food Danielle had. “Hey wait- She’s not another speedster is she? You’re not replacing me are you?”

The accusation caused Dick to snort, shoving his hand in Wally’s face. “As if,” he declined with a huff. “She’s not a speedster. Just eats a lot.”

“Bet I could eat more than you,” Danielle challenged, not fully knowing what she was getting into.

Wally belted a laugh at the response, but didn’t immediately turn her down. “HA! I doubt it, but it’s been a while since someone tried. You’re on!” he accepted, even if he wouldn’t actually compete with her. No one else would get any lunch if he ate everything he could after all.

While Dick and Sam shifted away from the two children who started devouring their food as Stephanie started taking pictures, Sam looked over to Barry. “So… why are you here?”

Instead of answering Sam, Barry just passed her question onto Bruce by also looking to the man for an answer. Tim told them to stop by this evening, but he hadn’t told them why.

“Barry works as a forensic chemist. I wanted a second opinion on the analysis I have of ectoplasm,” Bruce responded easily. He wasn’t above using the resources he had, especially when someone’s health was on the line.

“Ectoplasm?” Barry repeated, face scrunching in confusion. “Why would I know anything about that? Shouldn’t you ask someone like John for ghost related stuff?”

“No,” Bruce answered simply, not caring to elaborate while Jazz and the others could overhear, even if Jazz was currently updating Sam and Tucker about the diluted ectoplasm that he had managed to obtain.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but having known Bruce for as long as he did Barry wondered if it was because of reasons better not discussed right then. “Fair enough. Sure, I’ll take a look,” he agreed with a shrug, filing the conversation away for later and returning to the meal.

______________

The rest of lunch was just another meal at the Wayne Manor. Once everyone had finished eating, with Wally deliberately making the challenge with Dani a slight win on his side, the kids helped Alfred clean up. Bruce was quick to head back upstairs with Leslie, Barry and Jazz, eager to start making more progress on getting Danny taken care of. It ended up being like they had thought, and now that Jazz had had a moment to cry and be comforted, and a good meal in her belly, she was a lot more patient and receptive to their explanations. It helped that Barry could explain the more chemical side of things when Leslie’s medical knowledge wasn’t quite enough. Because of them Jazz was easily able to accept them using a burn cream Bruce had added a plant toxin neutralizer to on Danny’s injury when Leslie changed the bandages and inspected it this time. And, with a little more explanation for why a blood draw was necessary for a metabolic panel to make sure they weren’t giving Danny too much vitamins as well as to help Bruce and Barry isolate a true sample of ectoplasm, Jazz allowed them to fill the vials they needed. Though it did take longer than Leslie was used to considering the ice fueled stasis appeared to be slowing his blood flow as well.

Something they would soon find was a good thing for more than just prolonging any natural deterioration from being in a coma.

“Huh, so this is the substance you’re looking for,” Barry commented, the tiny sample of blood enlarged under the microscope he was gazing into. Even without having seen various forms of contaminated blood and having to pick apart the details before, it was easy to focus on the brightly glowing green substance.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. “When the others treated the kids the first time they were able to get dead tissue samples from all of them, but only enough to run DNA tests to try to pinpoint their identities. There was residue of ectoplasm in the samples, but this was all I was able to gather for it based on that,” he recapped, passing the bottle with the remainder of the diluted ectoplasm to Barry when he looked up.

“Makes sense why she said it was like skim milk,” Barry noted, looking at the bottle as well as the microscope images of its substance that Bruce had pulled up on the computer. “I have to admit, I don’t think it’s a chemical. At least not in the sense that I’m used to. It isn’t like anything I’ve seen before- honestly it looks more like the magic saturated fragments I run across sometimes working on League stuff. You sure you don’t want to contact John, or even Zatana about this?”

“Constantine is an exorcist,” Bruce reminded tersely, “Manipulative personality aside, I don’t think bringing a ghost hunter to help with an injured ghost child would be a wise decision, nor make a good impression on the others.” Not to mention he just didn’t want to deal with the magic user if he could help it. “And Zatanna is trying to keep her distance from the Justice League. I’d like to respect that.”

“Good point,” Barry agreed with a wince, refraining from commenting that Bruce was doing surprisingly well about not completely avoiding the supernatural part of this situation.

“Should I contact Raven then?” Damian spoke up from where he’d been silently watching the process. He was curious about how this ectoplasm substance was apparently so different from the Lazarus pit water, but the current conversation had made him think of his friend.

“Raven?” Bruce repeated, prompting Damian to continue.

“She’s an experienced mage, who is also familiar with living and traveling between dimensions, like Zatara. She also has high empathy, and is closer to the others in age. They might be more receptive to her,” Damian responded.

Bruce was silent as he thought about the proposal, but eventually nodded. While Bruce knew Zatanna would help if she found out it was for Danny, someone who was severely injured, he would still respect her need for a break since they had other options.

“Bruce,” Leslie suddenly called over to them as Damian turned to his phone, sounding tense, borderline afraid. “Is that antitoxin you made safe for intravenous injection?” she prompted when Barry and Bruce paused to listen to her.

Instead of answering her immediately, Bruce stole the microscope from Barry and adjusted the dials. It was hard to tell at first, but there was definitely something else unfamiliar in the blood other than the ectoplasm. Something much smaller, but familiar enough to Bruce from his studies of the blood blossom toxin while he was trying to create an antitoxin. “...It hasn’t been tested for that. We shouldn’t risk it with the state he’s in,” Bruce finally answered, pulling back from the microscope with a furrowed brow as he realized what had Leslie so stressed.

“What’s wrong?” Barry asked, taking a peek at the microscope again, but figuring he should just ask to see if they would give him a quick answer.

“The toxin is in Danny’s bloodstream,” Leslie responded, raising her hands to her arms in stressed discomfort. “That topical cream isn’t going to be effective enough.” And they didn’t have an antitoxin they could give Danny either.

“Ohhh, that’s not good,” Barry agreed. So that’s what the bright red substance he’d seen was. “You said this toxin doesn’t exist in our dimension?” he asked, getting a confirming nod and hum from Bruce. “Trying to figure out an antitoxin injection would take way too long then. What other options do we have? Dialysis? If we can’t neutralize it then we should try to strip it out, yeah?”

“Dialysis is for fluids. But…,” Leslie half corrected, but the question did bring up another possibility. She had to take a moment to consider the effects it might have though, speaking up semi hesitantly. “Hemoperfusion could potentially work if we can find which resin the toxin will attach to.”

“Hemoperfusion resin, got it,” Barry nodded, ready to run off and find whatever he could get for them to test. They already had some of Danny’s blood, they could just test it under the microscope to make sure they were using the proper resin. But Bruce reached out to grab his shoulder.

“Hang on Barry. We agreed to talk to Jazz first before we tried anything with Danny. Don’t run off just yet,” Bruce scolded lightly, ignoring the subtly pleased expression Leslie got about him sticking to his promise to keep Jazz included.

“I’m worried about the side effects as well. If he needs ectoplasm then we have to make sure the resin doesn't also filter that out. And it’s common for hemoperfusion to strip out a percentage of platelets, white blood cells, and other components of blood that should stay,” Leslie admitted. There was a reason hemoperfusion wasn’t commonly used.

“We can monitor him closely during and after the treatment. And we can ask Danielle if she’s willing to give some of her blood for a transfusion if he ends up too deficient in anything,” Bruce offered as a potential course of action if the side effects were too much. Low platelets, blood sugar, or the like was better than being poisoned.

“Danielle?” Leslie asked, extremely uncomfortable with asking someone so young for a blood donation when they should have been looking for a compatible adult.

“Danielle is a clone. Obvious differences aside, she and Danny have the closest DNA match we could ever get. Plus her blood is already saturated with ectoplasm, so we won’t risk diluting what he already has,” Bruce responded, though it seemed just mentioning Danielle was a clone was enough for Leslie to understand.

“Very well,” Leslie sighed, accepting the proposed course of action. “Let’s talk with Jazz then.”

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IIiiiii hit this story WAY too hard in the beginning and gave myself a slight burnout X'DDD whoops. And then this part just did not want to make pretty words in my head or on page, so I'm just dumping it like an overcooked potato

Having too many characters in a scene is haaaard yo. Also Wally seems to have an inconsistent appearance, so I hope he looks okay 8'D

I learned that hemoperfusion is a thing that exists because of researching for this X'DD

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02,@oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics,

#my art #writing #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #phantom rogues #tw medical #injury #blood #poison

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chores4days · 4 months ago

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unnoticed ੈ✩‧₊˚ prologue

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary; in which the girl who's never been noticed by anyone, not even her family, finds herself being noticed by the second son of the bridgerton family—the familly who is the utter opposite of her own.

notes; uhhhh i wanted to get something out so here is a prologue of sorts. this is really short i am so sorry this was not edited of read by anyone else. let me know if anyone wants to be a beta reader because i am very open to one!!! + let me know what yall think of this please ( begs and pleads ) !!!!

word count; 767 ( will eventually get longer i promise !!! )

warnings; cursing? i think, there’s not too much to this one folks

unnoticed masterlist.

prev. | cont.

you were coming to the conclusion that having siblings was possibly was just a different experience for everybody, because as you walked behind your elder brother and sister in the park it was almost as if you weren’t apart of their family but merely one of the many bystanders that roamed—you were just the one weird enough to follow them through grassy area.

you expected that it didn’t help too much that your two siblings were much older than you, the two of them however were closer in age and bonded easier with one another than you could with them. so when looking at other families, you almost felt envious..

like when you took glances at the turner family at the most recent ball and noticed the two sisters gossiping with one another, you always wondered to yourself that if you and your own sister were just a year or two closer in age—would you two be that close?

or perhaps at one of the many balls last season when you saw a bridgerton brother crowding around the most recently debuted sister—daphne you believed—your thoughts would wander to if your brother had ever given any thought to your own debut that same year. did he ever feel a sense of protectiveness over you when there was a potential suitor? you groaned aloud at even the memory of the thought, you highly doubted it. both of those thoughts.

“what are you on about now?” you heard from the front, your eyes focusing on your sister. you swallowed before putting on a ( fake ) small smile, although she couldn’t see it. “nothing to worry about, sister.”

“when it involves you, y/n, we should always worry.” your brother said with an exasperated sigh, injecting himself into a conversion that probably did not need to happen so publicly—or even at all really. “it is your second season and still no reliable suitors have come to court you, that is what you should be thinking about. the new season is soon to start.” you looked at the back of his head shocked.

“our sister is a borderline spinster and you believe that i have something to worry about?” you snapped, not quite thinking before speaking. you didn’t think being a spinster was a bad thing but for your brother to insinuate that you had more of a problem than your dear sister who was well past her debut date and was still unwed had angered you to what you believed might just be your breaking point.

brother abruptly stopped in his tracks, your sister stopping with him just as due to their arms being interlinked. he turned around to face you, taking his arm out of your sisters and taking a predatory step towards you. “sister.. you know better than to speak to me that way, and very well you know nothing of our sisters affairs. she could be getting married this season to lord rosenturn and it would not be any of your business. and as the man of our household, i highly suggest you keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong and your mouth shut.”

was it too much for the lord up above to come and kill you where you stand? it was not enough that the words your brother spewed were embarrassing but for him to announce them like this in such a public setting was on a different level. and what were you to do if he was telling you the truth? was she to be married? it had to be arranged if so, there was no man willing to court her at this point—at least the younger men of ton were not willing to and those were the only one’s she was after.

“are you really to be married this season?” you could not help it, you really could not. your brother’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the question, “do you not listen, girl!” he hissed lowly as to not draw attention. “she is not getting married but even if she were to, it would be none of your business. start learning to stay in your lane and find yourself a husband.” your brother looked at you up and down, “now.”

you swallowed, looking down at the ground as you gave the man in front of you a small nod, not quite being up to the task of looking up to his eyes. the impulsive confidence form earlier withering way very, very quickly. “yes, sir.”

you had a sneaking suspicion that the ball tonight was not going to go so well.

#chores4days ☆#unnoticed ❀ ( a bridgerton fic series )#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton series #bridgerton #prologue #x reader #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n

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funlovinzara · 4 months ago

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Reigen Arataka x Gyaru! Reader

Requested by - @whyisummmuknow

(Heads up: the type of gyaru isn’t specified! You’re free to choose whatever!)

Intro: Reigen and Mob were assigned to complete an exorcism at an abandoned hotel, however there was a 90s throw-back festival that ended up slowing them down.

Warnings: None/Fluff

*brrrrr* *brrrr* Mobs phone rang, he picked up to see Reigen calling “Hello?” Mob says monotoned. “Hey Mob, it’s the usual, we have an exorcism down at the abandoned hotel from the 2000s.” Mob nods “Oh okay, but Master Reige-.” Reigen feeling exotic, cuts off Mob. On the other side of the phone he does his classic arm movements, “Don’t worry Mob, it’s going to be a breeze.” Mob was actually going to mention the fact that there would be a festival today and that there normal time would be slowed trying to bypass everyone. But as usual, he said nothing and went with it.

Mob showed up to the office, Reigen already prepared to leave. “Ah hey Mob! Is dimple with you?” Dimple appears out of hiding from Reigens annoyance. “Yup…right here.” “Alright let’s go!” Reigen takes a look at his phone while walking to check the newest news and he was the only one who didn’t know about the throwback festival, at the exact time they left the office.

“Hey….hey did you guys know about this?” Reigen says showing his phone to Mob and Dimple. “Yeah everybody knows, it’s an event that happens every decade.” Said Dimple, unfazed. Reigen shrugged a little disappointed, “We might go through some trouble, let’s hurry.” The group moves quickly towards the abandoned hotel, but it was too late. The festival had already begun so they had to slow down, however Mob and Dimple didn’t mind slowing down and watching. Mob was in awe at all the cultures and sub-genre’s of clothings from years before.

“Wow master Reigen, these people are really having fun!” Reigen sighs in an unpleasant tone, “This is not what we came here to do, we wont get all the money if we don’t finish in time, lets get a move on and-.” Reigen turns while talking and walks into someone a part of the festival, your drink falls out your hand and onto the sidewalk. “Hey!” You say booming towards to group. “I hope you’re going to help me pay for that.”

Reigen with his eyes on the ground, says “listen ma’am we don’t have time….time…TIME…?” He looks up and takes a look at your flashy physique and makeup. Mob and Dimple look just as astonished. “Uhhhh” Reigen is at a loss for words. Mob however really wanted to speak to you, everyone at this festival has seemed so unique and joyous. “I really like your style miss..” you look at the boy and grin slightly, still a bit angered your drink was spilled. “No need to be formal, im y/n!” Reigen butts in “Well y/n we have an important job to do, really i do apologize for the inconvenience but we really gotta go.”

You take a look at the man,

Hes quite handsome..

His suit is ironed with a tight fit around his chest and legs, showing very slight muscle. His eyes with a bland but seemly seductive aura beams towards your own eyes. His hair, a bit frizzled but still neat. Taking a closer look he appears to have tiny freckled spots and smooth lips. “Ah right.” Reigen may or may not have a soft spot for your cute face and exaggerated eye makeup, he finds it attractive. “Well y/n, heres my card. Anyway Mob let’s go! We’re gonna be late!”

“Oh..bye y/n!” Mob waves, you wave back with a smile.

The group runs off and you stand there with the card and look down, ha. Fake business card, its just his number.

Dimple swoops over to Reigen. “I definitely saw that, looks like someone is trying out new things these days.”

“Shut up dimple.”

Sorry for the short stories guyss i will keep trying to make longer ones

#SoundCloud #mp100 #mob psycho reigen #mp100 reigen #mob psycho 100 x reader #reigen arataka x y/n #reigen arakata #reigen arataka x reader #reigen arataka #shigeo kageyama #mp100 dimple #mob psycho 100 #reigen arataka x gyaru reader #x gyaru reader #gyaru reader #mob psycho

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thechekhov · 13 days ago

Note

I kind of remember someone asking you that a long time ago, but can't really remember your answer (could be a totally fake memory actually)

Do you have any other stories you wrote and would be ok to share with us? Your writing is amazing!

Oh man.... The truth is, I've written tons of things. Not all of it is good! I've been writing for a long time - both fanfiction and comics. I don't know if I can recommend all of them, and I don't know if you want longer comics or shorter ones, but just as a few examples I guess there's these:

Pearls Before SW1N3 is my first long-form SU AU comic. I started it pre-Single-Pale-Rose. Looking back, the art isn't really all that great, and the story could be better, but I still think of fondly, because it was the first comic I did that surpassed 100 pages!

The Tale of Greatscale is a little comic about a DnD character I never got off the ground. I still think it's a neat venture into original comics for me.

And if you enjoy AUs and know anything about pokemon and Critical Role - I have another pseudo-AU that is basically a mashup of the Mighty Nein and Pokemon.

This is less a story - it's only a few pages. But I still think of this comic as a huge success, because I love the concept. However, I rarely go back to it because every time I look at the comments, I tend to go into a fugue state and commit atrocities.

And of course, if you weren't aware, I kinda accidentally drew uhhhh........ 5 seasons of a Steven Universe AU. Whoops.

I am also possibly maybe trying to work on an original story, a long-form comic. However, I haven't had a lot of time to work on it, so it's still very much being developed.

buuuuut I can't talk about that yet, because otherwise I'll stop working on it.

#chekhov answers #i also write a lot of fanfiction #but uhhhhh #i dont tend to talk about it openly a lot of the time #because if im being honest most of it is at least partially 18+#like with plot #but also #a bit of sex #anyway you can probably find my AO3 without too much effort

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stonesilhouette · 8 months ago

Text

Feline Fiasco

Hetalia x Reader

This is written for a female reader but there isn't really anything specific that would suggest that besides a few references. If you want to read, I'm not going to stop you.

Also (Y/n) is completely uninterested in the countries for the majority of this, all she's interested in is the cats. This is way fluffier than anything else I've posted, which is two things, and this part is relatively America-centric because (Y/n) works for him. This is also way less quality work than those two posts but idk deal with it?

There is more to this but it's unfinished and I'll probably never post it. My friend also helped with the cat names so if you don't like them... uh assume that they chose them. One last note, I thought it would be funny to write the accents so you also have to deal with that.

As one of the many secretaries working in the White House, it was actually quite a surprise to you that you ended up as the main secretary to the human personification of the U.S.A.

Because of this, you had become quite close to Mr. F. Jones and more importantly: his cat.

You couldn't help but coo at the adorable and floofy feline. Sure, you should probably finish filing those papers, but national security can wait a few more minutes. Besides you couldn't resist the allure of the purr. It would be an understatement to say, when you learned that the other personifications also had furry friends of their own, you were excited.

America didn't want you interacting with the other countries, especially not Russia. But you honestly didn't care and you weren't the recording secretary for those meetings, so it's not like you were in attendance anyways. That somehow didn't stop you from having to tag along and meeting more nation cats; of which you weren't sure why they had brought them along in the first place. It's not like you were complaining.

Ball of fur after ball of fur. No cat went un-petted. Except for Germany's cat; he had evaded you time and time again. But no longer! For today was the last day and you were going to pet that cat if it was the last thing you did.

There it was. It's sleek black fur, the ribbon in Germany's signature colors around its neck, and that always alert look on its face. He would evade you no more. You crouched down in your very inflexible pencil skirt and prepared to pounce.

"Vhat are jou doing?" A voice thick with a German accent called out, startling you and the cat who decided to bound back towards him and into his arms.

"Uhhhh." You blanked.

"You're America's secretary right? Vat vere jou trying to do to my cat?" He questioned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You gulped and tried to explain your actions in a way that didn't sound absolutely ridiculous.

"I-uh. I wanted to pet your cat and… he kept evading me and I thought if I snuck up on him that I could pet him." You looked away and pitifully whispered, "Sorry."

"If jou vanted to pet him, all you had to do was ask."

"Really!?" Your eyes lit up and you looked up at the German with pure and unbridled excitement. He coughed and looked away with a slight blush resting on his cheeks.

"Of course." He held the cat out. You, with no hesitation whatsoever, immediately started to adore and love the cat, even shifting it from Germany's arms to your own.

As you continued to pet the cat, who despite his earlier refusal, seemed quite happy, you asked Germany a question. "My name's (Y/n). What's yours if you're willing to share? No pressure though."

His eyes widened a bit before he shook it off and gave you an answer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." He responded, studying his cat. "Germouser seems to like jou."

You could barely stifle a laugh at the name he had given to the black cat. He sensed your amusement and gave an explanation.

"Feli- Italy named him. I vas going to name him Johann or something similar. Italy was zoroughly horrified by my suggestions and vould not rest until I vent vith his."

You smiled at the Italian's antics and shook your head with amusement. "Germouser is a fine name for an absolutely wonderful cat."

Germany seemed to get flustered again as he watched you coo at his cat, completely ignoring his presence. He would have just left him with you, but the meeting was starting soon and he didn't want to be late. Luckily for him, America decided to pop around the corner, demanding your attention. So you were forced to give up the precious kitty cat and return with Mr. Jones.

Alfred was annoyed. Not at you but at everyone else. Why did they have any right to be around you? You were an American citizen. His citizen. Sure, all you were really interested in was their cats. But what if you thought that they and their cats were so cool that you left him and went to live in a different country instead? He couldn't let that happen.

"So, (Y/n), dude, broette." He said on the way to the meeting room. "Here's the deal."

You gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

"I need someone to watch Hero for me and my sitter flaked so you're gonna be watching him." He fingered-gunned at you and stars seemed to shine in the air around him. This, of course, was nothing new to you. It wasn’t like you would have rather been attending the meeting anyways.

So you stayed in a different unoccupied meeting room with a lovely, furry friend. It wasn't until he started hissing at a corner that you were in trouble.

"Hero, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned at the agitated cat. His tail bristled up and his ears flattened down as he took a defensive position. Out of nowhere another fluffy cat waltzed in from the very corner that Hero had been hissing at. It was Boris, a cat that belonged to Russia.

You hadn't actually gotten to pet him yet because to be honest, you were also scared of Russia. But… He wasn't around… and his cat was. And his cat was purring.

That was about all the reasoning that you needed to brush past Hero and scoop Boris up into your arms. The former started yowling for your attention and followed you as you went to sit down with the Russian cat.

You laid down on the plush carpeted floor and lifted the cat that you were holding up above you. Boris’ fluffy body was placed onto your chest and he immediately started purring louder once he got comfortable. He nuzzled his face into your neck, much to the annoyance of the American cat. Hero yowled at you and pawed at Boris, desperately trying to get him off.

Boris only gave him a smug look in return and kneaded into you, further solidifying his spot. Hero decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and that he was going to get his owner to remove the Russian cat and put him back into his mother’s lap: aka you.

The surprisingly smart and agile cat leapt around the room and pushed down the door handle, slipping out through the crack. You didn’t notice this as you were currently immersed in the bliss of a cat sitting on you and letting you pet it.

Eventually the purring lulled you into a peaceful and warm slumber, the two of you deciding to take a cat nap.

It would be Russia who found you first. Ivan realized that his cat had gone missing and he honestly didn’t care enough about the meeting to stay. It's not like anyone would try to stop him.

So as Hero bounded down the halls towards the meeting room, Mr. Ivan Braginsky came from the other direction; his sense of where his cat was at any one moment was completely uncanny.

The Russian gradually opened the wooden door and it quietly opened without any resistance. He turned his head towards where he heard purring and was met with a surprising sight. It was America’s secretary, with his cat, lying, with his cat.

You were breathing softly and the movements of your chest moving up and down also moved Boris. Ivan couldn’t help but faintly smile at the sight. Said cat opened a singular eye to acknowledge the new presence in the room. He flicked his tail and settled back into his spot. Not wanting to bother you or the cat, Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down.

He pulled out some paperwork, seemingly from nowhere, and began to work on it. The sounds of your quiet breathing, combined with the light purr from Boris, made for a calming work environment.

As the three of you remained in peaceful bliss, another kitty cat was running around the corner on the never ending search for food. Itabby trotted up and down the corridors looking for an open door that might lead to some food that didn’t come from England. Her golden fur glimmered as the sun shined through the many windows in the building. She looked over at a door that had opened slightly and was too blinded by the thought of food to notice the scarily familiar scent coming from the room.

Itabby scampered over to the door but screeched and meowed as she was sent flying by an American blonde and his equally irritated cat. She tentatively peered around the door at the scene forming.

“HEY!” Alfred yelled, startling both you and the cat. You shot up straight, Boris falling into your lap. “What are you doing with her?!” He yelled again, getting his face up into Ivan’s. The other man gave him an unamused look and stood up, towering over him. Alfred, despite this, did not back down and continued to stare angrily at him.

“Go away.” The white-haired male said, his accent heavy as he crossed his arms. “You have startled them with your unnecessary noise. You are just like the rest of your country.”

The air tensed and became heavier as the seconds went on. They began to size each other up as Hero, ironically, “heroically” walked proudly over to you and with his front paws, pushed Boris off of your lap. He quickly took his place and started purring. Boris’ fur began to puff up as he hunched down and prepared to pounce. His back legs flexed and he made the jump, sending both him and Hero flying towards their fighting owners, who were remarkably somehow not in a physical fight. Yet.

You very quickly realized that you did not want to be in the middle of two superpowers fighting and quietly took your leave. (E/c) eyes met feline amber ones and you swept up the cat and made your escape, leaving behind the feuding men and cats.

Itabby snuggled into your arms as you finally slowed down to catch your breath. Her round tail whooshed back and forth as you tiredly walked through the long hallway. The two of you eventually ended up in the rose gardens of the meeting building. The area was well taken care of and beautiful if you did say so yourself. The meeting was taking place in England and Mr. Jones had told you about how the Brit enjoyed gardening, so it made sense as to why it was here.

Speaking of the British, you spotted a fluffy feline shape from the corner of your eye. It was deeper into the gardens and among the trees. Itabby finally decided that it was time to go and return to her owner. She gracefully leaped out of your arms and landed on all fours and trotted off to beg Italy for some pasta. You instead continued your approach to the cat, which at this point, you could tell was a Scottish Fold.

The left side of his face was brown and so was his tail. Alike to his owner, he seemed to have what you assumed were some kind of eyebrows and when he opened his eyes to look at you, his olive eyes stared into yours. He flicked his tail and layed back down onto the wall that he was laying on. His collar jingled as he moved and you quietly moved up to him. On the gold circle attached to the same olive color collar, was a name.

‘Scone’ You thought. ‘Oh my god. This is the most English cat name I have ever seen.’

You almost started laughing but the smoldering glare the cat gave you made you think otherwise. The stone wall was surprisingly cold for the summer sun and as you sat down, you took a look at Scone. He seemed to still be quite grumpy, but he knew you from earlier in the week, so he was not alarmed. You lifted up and moved your left arm forward to start petting him.

Scone was soft and clearly well-taken care of. His fur was clean and had no knots or dirt insight, despite laying around a garden for half a day. You continued your actions and the both of you started to fall back into slumber. Your hand hovered on the back of the feline and your head slumped alongside your body.

It was peaceful. With birds chirping and the wind lightly blowing. There was a river babbling somewhere in the background and it made for a serene scene. The only reason he had let you pet him was because you had fed him earlier in the week. He didn’t have his collar at that point so this was the first time you had gotten his name. Your eyes closed as you recalled the event from a couple of days prior.

The day after the plane landed you were on the hunt for felines. Armed with some cat food, a retractable mouse-on-a-stick and hope, you made your way around the building England had set aside for housing the rampant countries, and byproduct, their cats. France’s cat, Monsieur, was an absolute attention wh-. He really liked attention, and would rub himself against your leg anytime the two of you crossed paths. It’s not like France, or Francis, was much better.

It’s not like you minded petting him. He was adorable after all. The cat, not Francis. But you had wanted to meet as many other cats as you could and so you had to stop by Francis’ room multiple times to drop off Monsieur.

“Je suis désolé.” He said, taking Monsieur out of your arms. “He keeps getting out. But I guess he knows when there’s a lovely lady around.”

You ignored his attempts at flirting and instead scratched Monsieur’s chin one last time before leaving. He purred at you and while you felt bad about leaving him, you were on a mission! Besides, you had a certain Japanese cat to track down. Monsieur meowed at you as you walked down the hallway and if you didn’t know better you’d say so did Francis.

Either way, nothing was going to stop you from petting Tama, Japan’s cat. He was an adorable little black and white feline with the cutest little bob for a tail. You had actually spotted him earlier and was about to go up to him before Monsieur literally jumped into your arms, demanding attention. Of course you weren’t going to say no so Tama quickly left your sight as you went to return Monsieur.

Wait, isn't Monsieur just sir in French? Oh well there was no time to think about questionable cat names, this building was full of them.

Monsieur wasn’t the only attention whore of a cat. Prussia’s cat, Purrussia, wasn’t much better. He would follow you down hallways and meow with his scratchy meow at you while Austria’s cat, Allegro, whined behind him. He literally tried to jump up at you a few times.

Of course both of them were interrupted when Hero ran straight at you and tackled you like a professional linebacker. You had thought that it was mostly fluff, but no, apparently Hero could pack a punch. He knocked the wind out of you as you fell backwards onto the tiled floor. The cat sat proudly on you and looked around like he was waiting for something or someone. Whoever he was waiting for, however, wouldn’t show up fast enough to see Purrussia return the favor and tackle Hero off of you, much to Allegro’s horror.

The white cat had a German ribbon as well but it looked like it was fraying at the edges. The reason you were bringing this up was because Hero was currently using one of the edges to try to choke Purrussia and Allegro was using the other to try to pull Purrussia away from Hero. Neither was really working and all it was really doing was making Purrussia more and more agitated.

“PURRUSSIA!!!” A shrill voice yelled out from down the hallway.

The cats stopped their roughhousing to see two of the countries barrelling down towards them. Well Prussia was. Austria was slowly walking over, looking more inconvenienced than anything else.

“Purrussia! Purrussia!” Prussia reiterated, pulling his cat up by its arms. “Did jou vin?!”

Everyone but the two Prussians stared in disbelief at his statement. The albino feline furiously nodded his head and if he could have talked you would have imagined that he would have been saying, ‘I’m awesome!’

Hero angrily meowed down below, as if to oppose Purrussia’s non-verbal statement. Allegro just haughtily licked his paw and stuck his nose up as if to pretend that he was disgusted with their fighting as if he hadn’t just been a part of it. Austria picked up his in-denial cat and you picked up Hero who calmed down as soon as you did.

“Sorry about him.” You said, brushing his unruly fur down with your hand. “He gets a little competitive.”

“Ja. It’s fine.” Austria said, petting his own cat. “Purrussia is not much better.”

“HEY!” Prussia yelled. “My awesome Purrussia is doing his best! And besides, at least he actually does something!”

“Jour cat picked a fight vith a vall (wall) Gilbert.” Austria sassed.

“Vell jour cat’s piano playing is trash!”

Austria gave a gasp of horror before inching closer to the Prussian.

“Jou take zat back, RIGHT NOW!”

Prussia just laughed, still letting Purrussia’s back paws dangle as he held him like one would a toddler. He got in close to the Austrian’s face, smiling deviously at him.

“Nein.”

He suddenly, while still holding Purrussia, took off, running away from Austria. He wasn’t far behind though and you could hear the man yelling in German all the way down the far corridor.

“Well Hero.” You said, looking down at the cat who had made himself very comfortable. “That was weird.”

He just snuggled closer to you and you sighed. You scratched him once more before heading down the opposite hallway. The destination was clear, before you could continue your cat quest, you’d have to get this one safely back to its owner.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, still sitting on the wall. The sun was now high in the sky and the spot underneath you was no longer cold. You were especially warm as you now had a Scottish Fold sitting comfortably upon your lap. Quietly cooing at the cat, you looked to see if there was any way to escape your furry prison. The most important rule of cats: once a cat sits on you, you’re not moving until they do.

You sighed, legs uncomfortably stiff. Scone was far more content and his bushy tail occasionally brushed against your leg. It was incredibly cute but it didn’t make your back stop hurting from being hunched over for the last half hour.

Voices came from farther within the garden. There were two people currently engaged in a soft conversation. You caught bits and pieces of it; there was a man with a British accent and a man with what you thought was American until you heard him say ‘aboot.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at your own observation, disturbing Scone in the process.

He scornfully meowed at you and you offered pets in an apology. Around the corner turned Scone’s owner and a man who looked incredibly similar to America. They both turned to look at you when the Scottish Fold you were fondling stretched out to impossible lengths and complained like a cat while he did it. England looked down at your lap to see his cat very happily cushioned on your thighs. The man next to him was also holding a cat who again looked very similar to America’s.

They were clearly different though. This man’s hair was more auburn and his eyes were a shade of impossible purple. There was also more of a wave to it whereas America’s hair was as straight as hair comes. Familiarity lit up in your eyes, not for the man however.

“Maple!” You exclaimed, wanting to go to the cat but also not willing to disturb the one on you. “How have you been?”

The men stared at you, wondering if you were talking to them or the cat. Of course Maple himself answered this as he jumped out of his owner’s arms and darted over to you. He gracefully climbed up the small wall and placed himself down by you. Scone was on your lap and he was nicer than Hero so as to not push him off. You moved one of your arms to pet Maple and kept the other on Scone. They were so cute you felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh.” A quiet voice spoke out. It came from the man behind England. “You’re Alfred’s secretary right?”

You smiled and nodded at the man. “And I assume that means you’re Canada, right?”

He looked a tad taken aback before nodding himself. “Yeah…” He trailed off and England instead picked up the conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching his furrball cat, Hero.” He walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I was. But then he and Boris got into a catfight… and then America and Russia got into a catfight.”

Canada laughed in the background but quickly covered it up. England stared at Scone, looking to see if there was anyway to get him off of you without being scratched himself. He had enough injuries, that should have scarred had he not been a country, from the cat. He shivered a bit, though also began to pet the feline, scratching his under the chin.

“That sounds like those two.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing your affections. Canada also came over to pet his own cat who ironically did smell like maple syrup.

“Can I make you the villain of this story?” You asked England, gesturing to Scone. “I do actually have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh I suppose I can assume that role.” He mused, carefully picking up his cat. He was not happy to be moved but England just shushed him.

Canada also picked up his cat who was slightly nicer about the whole thing. He fidgeted with Maple’s ear as he held him.

“I’m Matthew.” He said, carefully shifting Maple so he could put one arm out to shake your hand.

You finished the formal greeting. “I’m (Y/n).”

The other blonde butted in from the background. “I’m Arthur, love.”

“It’s very nice to formally meet both of you. Seeing you from across a meeting room doesn’t really count.” You smiled and gave a small pat to each of the feline’s heads. “Well I wasn’t kidding about needing to get somewhere. I really didn’t mean to get stopped as long as I did.”

You playfully glared at the Scottish Fold sitting comfortably in his owner's arms. He promptly ignored you, instead turning around cutely. England apologized but you told him it was fine. You were at least 50% sure that Mr. Jones was probably still fighting with Russia. Those two really were like angry cats. You waved the two men off and went on your way to find out the answer to that question.

Instead of coming across two feuding superpowers, you came across two of the Asian nations’ cats. You had already met them both but this was the first time you were seeing them together. Tama was sitting up high on a shelf while China’s cat, Meowzedong, was angrily meowing at him from down below. Everytime he tried to climb up, Tama would use a paw and swipe a book or other object down at him.

You flinched as a very breakable, very expensive-looking, vase crashed down. It was this movement that alerted the two cats to your presence and Meowzedong wasted no time at all to come over to you and complain. Now you couldn’t exactly speak cat but you got the jist.

Bending down, you carefully picked up the cat. Meowzedong always had a weird clump of fur that looked almost like a ponytail that, no matter how much China cut it, always grew back. He yowled at you and pointed a furry paw in Tama’s direction. The other cat had already loafed on top of the high shelf and you looked at him, back at Meowzedong, back at Tama, and then back at Meowzedong again.

“I don’t know how tall you think I am but I’m not that tall.”

Meowzedong just narrowed his eyes and meowed at you again. You sighed, looking back at Tama. If he had a long enough tail to flick it at you he would’ve. Sensing the futility of his quest, Meowzedong instead spread himself out in your arms and if you didn’t know better you would have said that he was mocking Tama. And if you really didn’t know better you’d say that it was working and that the bobtail was getting more irritated by the second. The personifications might have had to act cordial but their cats had no such qualms.

Finally, Tama de-loafed himself and gracefully hopped down a few other layers before reaching the bottom. He gracefully walked over to you and sat on your foot… Well shoot. What were you supposed to do now?

So here you were, from one cat prison to the next. Standing in the middle of some random, out-of-the-way hallway because the nations’ cats were all attention-hogging, though very adorable, brats.

You didn’t know how much time had actually passed. There was no clock in the hallway, you didn’t wear a watch, and both of your hands were occupied so you couldn’t check your phone. As cute as they were, your legs felt like they were about to collapse in on themselves. You couldn’t even shift how you were standing because Tama had taken it upon himself to lay across both of your shoes. Your arms also felt like they were going to fall off at any second. Meowzedong wasn’t a particularly heavy cat but try holding anything over five pounds for longer than five minutes.

You were desperately hoping that either they would finally get bored and leave or someone would come to save you. Wow you guessed you really did need a “Hero” right about now… Dammit you thought that referencing needing a hero in your head would magically summon America or his equally hotheaded cat.

“Tama. Meowzedong.” You murmured. “Can you please get off?” You hoped to whatever god or gods were out there that they didn’t hear the desperation in your voice. Never show weakness to a cat.

The two cats made eye contact with each other for a moment and seemed to come to an agreement. Meowzedong stretched his body out before jumping onto the ground. Tama did the same but instead greeted Meowzedong when he landed.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said that you collapsed onto the wooden floor below. You quickly got up however as you didn’t want them to see it as another chance to sit on you. At least not right now. You pulled out your phone to see all of the messages and calls you missed. You had put it on silent while watching Hero and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

‘Oh my god Mr. Jones called me twenty-three times.’ You thought, frantic. ‘I’m gonna be in so much trouble!’

You raced down the hallway, startling a group of micronations as you went. There was no time to apologize! You had to keep your job! If not for you then for the cats!

Not even thinking to knock you burst open the door where America was staying, side note why wasn’t it locked? And were greeted with the sight of!... Mr. Jones… crying? His cat looked pretty dejected too and was currently hanging himself off the side of the bed like a rug.

“Sir?” His head shot up to look at you.

He quickly snapped his head back away, mushing at his face in an attempt to try to make it seem like he wasn’t crying.

“(Y-Y/n)” He stuttered for a second, before immediately going back to the hero persona. “Where’ve you been!?”

“Are you okay?” You ignore him, instead asking your own question.

You titiled your body to look at what he was looking at… Was that a framed picture of you?!

It didn’t matter because he was very quickly all in your face again. You could see what seemed to be a rapidly healing black eye and a tooth that hadn’t fully regrown in yet as he smiled at you. Just how long was he fighting with Russia for?

You sat him down on his bed, considering if you should even bother getting a medkit for him. Either way you ended up spending the rest of the day with him, watching movies and sitting what you considered a good ways away from each other on the plush couch. He apparently had a nicer room in all of England’s properties from when he used to live there during parts of the year.

Hero filled the gap in-between you of which America was mildly annoyed about. He kept trying to get you to use ‘Alfred’ but you insisted that it was unprofessional. He’d close the gap one day.

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