#I'm probably going to get assassinated now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojorgeous · 3 months

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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.

link: 1k followers event

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

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complete-clownery · 4 months

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Hahaha okay rant about this amazing fanfic (you probably heard of this one already but still)

So whenever it comes to explaining and writing under my posts I just get lazy but I need to push through this cuz I need to talk

So the fanarts were made for the lmk fanfiction sunbreak, that a lot of you (probably mostly shadowpeach shippers) had read, and it is amazing, I read trough it as fast as my brain let me and as you can see it has pleasantly scratched my brain so much so that I even (attempted) to make fanart for it

Ngl if I wasn't a major pussy I would try to illustrate the whole thing or make covers for each chapter but Im unable to work on something more than 2 hours and I would want those to look good, but good looking art (if I don't mess up) takes 6 hours ughh--- annoying much---

Anyways I'm not good with literature but man is this fix a masterpiece *chefs kiss* its everything its amazing, I was unable to put it down once I started it

Okay i dont think I have the brain capacity to explain how much I worship the writer of this masterpiece @ladygreenfrisbee , so i'm just going to talk about the drawings a tad

So first picture with Red Son and MK its sort of like an au in the fic where the whole lbd plot is somehow nonexistent and after Macaque gets to his sisters domain they settle down and raise the kids together without much of an issue aside from assassinations keep happening and trying not to get in trouble with the heavens

Id like to think that Gongzhu still wouldn't let the court tailors to put any form of red or gold on MKs outfits and only allowed the yellow after when MK was old enough to declare that yellow was his favorite color, but even now she would insist on some form of purple and shadow motives to let others know who the mother is

We also got baby MK and toddler Red Son and sassy LIF and Mac

Third pic with the lion: I don't know what it was or why but I just love general Song so much--- he's a major dickhead but sgvshshsevkdididhr (actually I kinda love all the original characters in this one, from the generals to the old lady in the beginning of the book, (gosh I also wanna draw some scenes from those chapters I loved how Mac and she interacted hshsjsj))

so chapter 34 was probably my favorite so far I re read it about two more times cuz it was amazing to see Macaque being the schemer he is and try to piss of Song lol

Last picture: its a sketch/a wip or whatever (probably not going to finish it but im still putting it there cuz its somewhat decent looking)

Its the part where Wukong remembered of Macaque finally finding him and asking for him to come back to flower fruit mountain.

I tried to make Macaque look more unhinged on this one but since I didn't finish it I dont think its that noticable so fuck that but I also gave him a halo like the saints to symbolise his suffering and what not (thought it looked cool and fitting think whatever you want about it lol)

And that all ((((hollly mother))))

If you read this trough, thank you and congrats👏👏

#clown does art #lego monkey kid #lmk sunbreak #sunbreak #shadowpeach #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #lmk mk #lmk red son #fanfiction #lmk #lmk pif #princess iron fan

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superhumanfoods · 4 months

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We need to talk about Sending Rocks.

You probably don't understand what that means. That's fine. It's a weird little example I made up, and I'll explain.

I'm the creator of the near-future cyberpunk podcast SINKHOLE. SINKHOLE is weird, short-form, nearly impossible to explain to people, and utterly unmonetizable. It's also got a very healthy listenership for something so esoteric. (I promise season three is coming; life just keeps happening, constantly.)

Because of that, I have a reputation as a weird little indie creator. And if I were to run a crowdfund, I could set up a donation tier that was literally just

"I will go outside, find a rock on the ground, and mail it to you."

and most people would find that funny and charming. I think, at worst, people might find it puzzling, but they'd still opt in out of curiosity.

A lot of you would let me send you rocks.

Now we need to talk about the re: Dracula crowdfund- about the zines. A handful of people got very upset about the perceived lack of quality present in the zines.

That caught me off-guard. To me, a zine should always be kind of janky. You should be able to tell exactly how far down the pile your specific zine was based purely on how committed to hitting the fold lines the person folding it was. Zines are handmade and should feel handmade.

So it seemed like people were complaining about the zines being zines, and I didn't get it.

And then I realized something: it's not about the zines. It's about the fact that they were coming from Tal Minear.

If Tal Minear ran a crowdfund and set up a donation tier that was just

"I will go outside, find a rock on the ground, and mail it to you."

I would give it about a day before someone found a way to turn that specifically into a talking point about how Tal doesn't respect the audio drama community.

Tal Minear cannot send rocks. The zine was never the problem. The way people think about Tal is the problem.

We need to talk about how this community keeps trying to reinvent classism based on nothing but vibes and follower numbers.

I'm going to tell you something you already know but probably don't want to admit: the independent audio drama scene is to the independent film scene what a fish tank in a dentist's office is to the ocean.

The biggest names in this community are just a step up from being nobodies.

If you went outside right now and spoke to the first person you saw on the street, the only non-BBC fiction podcasts you would have any realistic hope of them knowing are Welcome to Night Vale or Archive 81- and the latter only because it got turned into a Netflix show, which means that they might not even realize it was a podcast first. There's also a chance they'll have heard of The Magnus Archives, but it's not a guarantee by any means.

Now, this last one I've mentioned to a few people, and was surprised to get a lot of pushback. There seems to be this thought that no, of course everyone has heard of The Magnus Archives.

No. No, man.

You're doing the Homestuck thing. I hate to hurt you like this, but you're doing that thing people did where they assumed everyone had at least heard of Homestuck.

There are people in your life that have never heard of Homestuck.

The Magnus Archives was a mini-zeitgeist in which the fandom engaged in wild speculating, plentiful shipping, and lots and lots of aligning yourself with a specific Fear.

And it was never as big as Homestuck.

I'm sorry. Jonny Sims is not a household name. That's simply the truth.

He is also in this fish tank with us. As far as I am aware, he has not escaped to begin acting in feature films or begun voicing characters in massive video game franchises. Slay the Princess was pretty cool. It's not exactly fucking Assassin's Creed, though.

He doesn't even have a Wikipedia page.

And notice how my metric for breakout success involved going to other, better-known mediums? That's because a breakout success in this community involves getting a blurb on Buzzfeed or in Cosmo. There is no audio fiction podcasting elite. The idea is hilarious.

Even Markiplier doesn't count, because he's YouTube royalty. He's not famous because of The Edge of Sleep. The same is true of any celebrity. They're visitors. They didn't get their break here.

Tal Minear is not your landlord. They're a slightly bigger fish in the same tank as you that likes to poke around in the muck a bit more than you personally enjoy. And, well, you cannot argue that Tal's position as showrunner of re: Dracula justifies framing them that way.

Because the thing is, I'm not just the creator of SINKHOLE. I'm also the showrunner and head writer of Mayfair Watchers Society as of season two. Showrunning and writing is most of my income these days. Tal and I are very comparable in terms of the material power we wield. This isn't a secret.

And yet, a lot of you would still let me send you rocks.

Now the actually important thing.

We need to talk about how this exact illusion, this fanciful idea that there are real industry goliaths in this fishbowl, has already been used to justify the mistreatment of marginalized people.

When Tonia Ransom brought up the issues she had with how the AnonymousAD tumblr had characterized her crowdfunding campaign, this is the reason why people felt they could dismiss and ignore her. Because yes, she's a black woman speaking out about having been wronged, but she's also a "Big Creator," and therefore it evens out.

It doesn't even out.

A lot of the most successful creators you know in this space still have day jobs. I spent yesterday and today doing inventory at my retail job. I spent hours poring over shitty little badly printed tags and biting back swear words because our owner will not let us close, so there were still customers in the store, actively buying the things we were trying to count.

This Us vs Them shit has got to stop. It's nothing. It's a parody and a sham. If you tried to explain it to your grandmother, she'd give you the exact same reaction as if you had tried to tell her about drama in the Homestuck fandom.

Because it's the same.

And you don't get to use it to justify being shitty to someone who you know perfectly well would deserve your humility and understanding if you weren't pretending they were your boss.

Who can send rocks is not and has never been a reflection of real power or privilege. Deciding someone cannot send rocks is just a convenient excuse to disregard their perspective when it makes you angry or uncomfortable.

At best, it's tilting at windmills. At worst, it is punishing your peers for daring to defend themselves or speak out against injustice while being marginally more successful than you.

#audio drama #enough of this #it's been going on for a while and getting progressively worse #none of this Big Name Fan shit #this is fandom toxicity #and we're not even a goddamn fandom

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buckyalpine · 7 months

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Drunk Bucky wants uppies

Fluffy crack drabble. Bucky wants uppies.

He's drank the teams entire body weight in alcohol and he's never felt happier. His flushed cheeks almost hurt from the dopey grin he has on his face. He keeps giggling to and snickering to himself, twirling around the straw of a pink fruity drink, deciding it doesn't count as alcohol when it looks so pretty. He's basically drinking water, just as Steve instructed.

After a few more glasses of his spicy water, he stands up and immediately lands face flat onto the floor with a muffled -oof

His current state is more amusing than concerning; Steve and Sam howl with laugher at the super soldier who is currently making no effort to get up.

"You good tin man?"

"wanupy" His voice is muffled, mumbling something with his face still pressed to the soft carpet of the compound living room while you go over to kneel beside him to see how he's doing.

"What is it Buck" You whisper, carding your fingers through his soft locks, smiling at the way he hums, rolling around to flop on his back instead.

"Uppies" He looks at you with outstretched grabby hands, puppy eyes wide, hoping you'd scoop him right up and take him to his room. Never mind that he's over a foot taller and probably double your weight, he wants to be carried right now.

"Uppies?"

"Uppies" He nods with confidence, blinking and waiting patiently to be picked up while you giggle.

"Did he just say uppies?" Sam stares and Steve before looking back at the 6ft+ man acting like a baby on the floor. "The former Winter Soldier, scary assassin, the man that threw me off the edge of a building just said he wants uppies?"

"Yes. Yes he did" Steve ran a hand over his face, debating on helping or watching this play out. He decided on the latter.

"I can't carry you Buck, you're too heavy" You coo, running your finger over his pouty lips pulled into a frown.

"M'not heavy" Bucky huffed in offence, throwing an adorable tantrum, refusing to move. In all fairness, at this point he wasn't able to get up himself anyway. "Uppies please"

"Alright, c'mon punk" Steve snorted, getting up from the stool he was sitting at along with Sam, both men picking Bucky off the floor and walking towards the elevator.

"Fuckin' uppies, how much do you weigh" Sam grunted while Bucky let out a sleepy yawn, his head resting on Steve's shoulder. Both men waited for you to open the door before helping him into bed.

"Wan cuddles" Bucky mumbled, reaching out for you to join him with his best pout.

"Okay I'm out, cuddles is where I draw the line" Sam playfully pushed you into Bucky's outstretched arms while Steve threw you a wink, both men softly closing the door behind them leaving you two alone.

"You want cuddles?" You whispered, squeaking when Bucky flipped you onto your back with ease, deciding to use you like a human pillow.

"Cuddles" He nodded, quickly falling asleep afterwards, blissfully unaware that Sam would never let him live this moment down.

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sorrelchestnut · 7 months

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I've seen a fair number of posts both here and on reddit that question why Tav (or the Dark Urge) would end up as a group leader for any other reason that "game mechanics say so." There's the requisite "okay, well if you play a high charisma character I guess it makes sense," or on the other end of the spectrum, "if you're playing Durge and murder someone right off the bat everyone would be too scared to tell you no." And I get where people are going with this! I really do. But it also fundamentally misunderstands a facet of human nature, which is that the vast majority of people do not actually want to be in charge, because that means being held responsible for the outcome. Accordingly, most people will dither when a group consensus is needed: have none of you ever tried to get a group of friends to agree where to go for dinner? Yeah, it's like that, but waaaay worse.

A lot of times "leadership" is just the willingness to say, "fuck it, y'all do what you want, but I'm doing this." I see it all the time in a corporate environment, where people will go back and forth on group meetings without anyone making a decision until finally one brave soul goes "in my opinion the clear answer is x" and then everyone gratefully goes along with it. Because now it's not their responsibility when something goes wrong! They're just following along with someone else's suggestion, and maybe it works or maybe it doesn't, but at the end of the day they don't have to worry about the consequences unless they're personally affected. In which case they might step up and argue back, and then they're stuck being a leader, too. Welcome to adulthood!

Lae'zel is the only one who ever even tries to exert some kind of control, when she tells you to follow her lead on the ship, or calls you her subordinate in the Grove. But, crucially, she doesn't ever make any serious attempt to take control: you can just tell her, "lol, no," and she sort of confusedly gives way, because she doesn't know how to handle this scenario. In her world there are commanders and subordinates, and everyone knows where they stand and falls in line. She's never actually had to take control of a situation and so at the first sign of resistance she falls back on the dynamic that's familiar to her, which is executing the commands of someone older and more experienced. She goes through a lot of growth over the game, to the point that she can take over as a resistance leader in her own right by the end, but at the beginning she's a wet-behind-her-ears private with some decent combat chops and it shows.

Otherwise, your party consists of:

Shadowheart, who's trained in infiltration and assassination and does NOT want a lot of attention brought to her or her mission for a variety of reasons;

Astarion, who has literally been a slave for two centuries and canonically takes a while to realize that he can exert an opinion beyond complaining about it;

Gale, whose only friend is his cat and couldn't project-manage his way out of a wet paper bag;

Wyll, who was probably trained for command at one point but has been doing the lone-hero thing for a decade and has a very large secret that he's trying to conceal; and,

Karlach, who's only ever been a bodyguard and a soldier and is genuinely just happy to be here.

Honestly, it would be more a surprise if Tav/Durge didn't end up as their unofficial leader, given the general power dynamics at play. The first time Tav/Durge says something like, "fuck it, we need to do something instead of stand around arguing about it, let's go check out those ruins over there," it's a done deal. They're The Captain Now! As long as they don't make decisions that fundamentally oppose something dear and important to the other group members, they're not even going to get any argument. Because at the end of the day, not one of these walking disasters has enough trust in themselves and their decision-making skills to feel any kind of certainty that they can choose the right path forward. If someone else is going to take that decision out of their hands? They're going to follow, no questions asked, right up until the moment they can't.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #meta #some of you people have never suffered through group projects and it shows

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myntrose · 2 months

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ೃ⁀➷partners in crime ︻デ═一

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾────────────────────────────────☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

ft: Alastor x gn! reader

summary: It's another night at the hotel. Everyone is lounging around the shared space, or sitting at the bar. With a boost of confidence (and a few drinks) Angel finally asks the burning question everyone had : How did you and Alastor meet?

cw: demi! Alastor, established relationship(married), Alastor and reader meet when they were alive, reader is an assassin , killing and mild gore (it's alastor yall), a lot of petnames, no use of y/n, no beta we die like men

a/n: it's the way alastor got me smiling and kicking my feet. he got me to break my 1 year hiatus LMAO. also, I am aware that he's ace. I myself am somewhere along the demi spectrum, so this fic is purely for comfort n coping. if you don't like it, pls ignore :,D

wc: 1.5 k (1,469 words)

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾────────────────────────────────☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

The hotel common was filled with low gentle music and idle chatter. Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Nifty was running around chasing some poor roach. Even Cherri was here, with Sir Pentious attempting to flirt with her once again.

Husk was behind the bar, in ordinary fashion. Although he was mostly listening and doing his job, he would occasionally chide into the conversation the other two residents at the hotel were having. Angel was in the middle of telling you about how much of a headache Val was, while you gave him you condolences. It seemed like the only person missing was the radio demon himself, who was probably in his tower, making a new broadcast.

"Speakin of which..." Angel, who noticed Alastor's lack of presence, noted "I got a question for ya toots. How is it that tall, red and creepy managed to bag you as a partner? You're sweet and all, I get that. But how did you even meet-"

The loud slam of drinks caused the peace within the hotel to halt . Husk shoots a stern glare towards Angel, almost to warn him, be cautious about asking question's about Alastor and his darling, you never know if he's listening.

"It's alright, Husk" You send him a sincere smile. While he would never trust your husband, he can't help but believe your words.

"Well, Angel, let's start with this. If you've ever wondered why I'm down here in the first place, it's because of the occupation I had when I was alive. That's actually how I met Alastor."

Oh, maybe you were a thief and were trying to steal something from Alastor. Or maybe a detective that was on the case to solve his murders. Or maybe-

"I was hired to assassinate one of his targets."

oh.

You couldn't help but laugh at Angels' reaction. Sure, you were kind to those in the hotel, and definitely not as threatening as most overlords. He, and most people you met in Hell, just assumed you committed some mundane crime and got the unfortunate eternal punishment .

Taking a small sip of your drink, you start to recollect the unforgettable night that would define your current relationship.

It was supposed to be like any other job that you were given. Your employer would hand you a file, you would find the target, and get paid in return. Maybe it wasn't the most ethical way to make money, but hey, you knew how to kill so you made it work.

You had followed your target into the bar, while waiting away in the corner. Though your eyes were focused on them the entire night, you couldn't help but feel another pair of eyes on you.

It was probably some random patron in the bar, you guessed. It wasn't for another hour when you noticed that your target had left the vicinity.

The streets were dark, with the occasional street light every block or so. It was perfect place to finish your job. All you needed was for your target to turn into some alleyway, and as quietly as you followed him, you'd quietly go for the kill-

Quietly. Hold on, why was it so quite?

Looking up the street, you noticed that what was once where your target stood was now empty. There was no way he outran you, given that you would have heard his footsteps. To the right of you were the woods, maybe he took a detour?

No, everything felt wrong. Every single thought in your brain was screaming to run, to grab your gun that was hidden beneath your coat, to get out of here-

"Careful my dear, we wouldn't want you getting hurt now, would we?"

A cold blade found its way to your neck. Two very disturbing facts became known to you. First, was the fact that the blade was already stained red. And second, you were about to be the second kill of the night.

A million thoughts ran through your mind. Was this how you were going to die? How fast could you grab your gun? Would your employer be pissed off that you died in the job? With your eyes shut closed, you waited for the knife to make contact.

"Now now, there's no need to be so scared my dear! My, you look like a deer in headlights!"

...what?

Opening your eyes, you're met with the mysterious man who just had his weapon on you seconds ago. He seemed vaguely familiar, probably having seen him at the bar you frequent.

"It seems that I've caused you quite a scare. Do know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to see for myself this new assassin I've heard so much about! You've caused quite the gossip, my dear. Makes good conservation."

You continued to stand in silence, with the initial shock of almost dying wearing off now. As mad as you were that you got caught, you were equally confused on just who this man was. With some more listening to his voice, the answer popped into your mind.

"You- you're that new radio host! Alastor, was it?"

Alastor's smile grew at the acknowledgment. "Indeed I am! Glad to know you've heard about me."'

Had anyone walked into the conversation you two were having, they would have assumed it was one between new acquaintances. In which one has a knife in their hand, while the other has a gun.

"You see, my dear, I've heard quite a bit about your line if work. While I am more than capable of... dealing with others, I propose that we work out some sort of deal. One where you can finally stop working for that employer of yours, and actually make a profit off your talents."

Alastor put out a hand, waiting, watching to see how you'd respond. It's been a long night for you, and you had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you saw. Plus, if working with him meant you'd finally have to stop answering to your boss, then why the hell not. You take his hand, before agreeing to this proposition.

"...and since then, we've been business partners. Our relationship kind of just happened after a few moths."

It was nice to look back to when you first met your now-husband. Looking around the bar, you noticed that you weren't just talking to Angel. At some point, unbeknownst to you, everyone at the hotel had come over to listen to your story time.

"Well toots, I figured you had to be some sort of crazy to date smiles, but I guess it takes one to know one." Angels says while taking a shot, still reeling with that fact that someone as kind as you was a killer. Head nods and murmurs of agreement spread within the group.

Before you could say anything, a pool of dark clouds appeared to your side. From the shadows, the very man you were taking about stood before you.

"Hey, Al."

He faces you with his signature grin, before turning to the rest of the residents.

"It seems that I've became the topic of conversion while I was gone! It's quite interesting to see how interested you all are in with me and my dear's meeting."

The hint of annoyance in his voice was entertaining, to say the least. You place a hand on his shoulder, barely hovering above it.

"Aww, come of Al! They just wanted to hear how we first met! Besides, it's a fun story to tell."

"If "fun" means almost killing ya for the first time, I'd hate to know what you guys did when you started dating-" "Shut up Angel!"

You answer a few questions that were asked before everyone eventually returned back to their previous endeavors. Husk and Angel eventually sit around with the others in the common room, leaving just you and Alastor at the bar.

"It's kinda funny, now that I look back at it."

Alastor doesn't say anything, promoting you to continue.

"That night, I almost turned down that job. I was painfully tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. It's crazy to think that we wouldn't have met had I not pushed myself to take the job."

Anyone who knew Alastor would know that him asking for a partnership was simply outlandish. Hell, Alastor himself questioned why he was seeking you out in the first place.

No, underneath he knew. He knew from the first time he saw you. It was a different time from when you both officially met. When he saw you, someone so seemingly innocent, skillfully take down a man twice your size, he knew that he had to meet you.

"Well, mon chéri, it's good that you did."

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader fluff #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader

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starry-bi-sky · 4 days

Text

Danyal Al Ghul: Incorrect Quotes and Miscellaneous Thoughts

Incorrect quotes-style snippets specifically for my danyal al ghul au here (which i really need to come up with a unique au name for atp). Because I thought it'd be funny. And also some miscellaneous headcanons thrown into the mix. Some context for the au: - Danyal is 5 years older than Damian (so 10 and 15) - Danny faked his death when he was 10. Talia knows and helped him with it. - Jazz, Sam, and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin.

-------- Snippet 1

Danny, dryly tapping his temple: I have, as the Americans say, irreparable psychological damage, right here.

Jazz, an older sibling first and foremost: well, it's good that you're self-aware.

-------- Snippet 2

Danny, aged 10, in the American foster planning to just age out of the system: *emanating Bad Vibes. Pure, Little Orphan Tom Riddle Energy*

Jazz, aged 12, coming in to adopt a new sibling with her parents: Him. This is my brother now :)

Danny: ...what

--------

Lilo and Stitch is Danny's favorite Disney movie. He watched it when he was 11 with Jazz when she was attempting to connect with him, and by this point Danny was becoming receptive to her efforts. They had a movie marathon in the living room one night.

Safe to say? It resonated with his little 11 year old heart strongly, and he related very strongly with both Nani and Stitch. He got unexpectedly emotional and hid in his room for the rest of the night. Jazz felt really bad, but it had the intended (but kinda unexpected) effect of him trying to be nicer to her afterwards.

-------- Snippet 3

Dash, aged 12, causing trouble again and getting intercepted by Danny: *scaling up a desk* AHHHHH! GET YOUR LITTLE FREAK, FOLEY!

Tucker: Hey! Danny is not a freak!

Dash: GET HIM TO BACK OFF

Tucker, was the kid Dash was messing with: ....whats in it for me

-------- Snippet 4

Danny, saying some questionably immoral shit: What. Why are you looking at me like that.

Tucker: Bro. I mean this as kindly as possible; what the fuck?

Sam: yeah, I'm with Tuck on this one.

-------- Snippet 5

Danny, ranting about Vlad: if it weren't for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered him

Sam, painting his nails black: I'm pretty sure you'd slaughter him regardless of the laws of the land -- and quit moving, you're gonna mess me up.

Tucker: we've literally seen you debate yourself about this, Dan

Danny: ...you are correct, but it is the principle of things.

-------- Snippet 6

Vlad: I have experience my child, and the money and power attained through using those powers for personal gain, you say. I could train you, teach you everything I know! And all you have to do is renounce that idiot adoptive father of yours.

Danny, was already contemplating committing a Violence: ....

Danny, internally: I'm going to stab him *turns into Phantom*

--------

Funny contrast I realized between Danyal and Vlad that iirc I haven't pointed out yet is that imo, Danyal doesn't rely on his powers nearly half as much as canon Danny does. He falls back instinctually on his League training, and thus sometimes forgets to use his powers in battle. This was prevalent especially early on when he was still getting used to the whole 'halfa' thing.

He incorporates them more often after a year, but still for the most part relies on his own physical hand-to-hand combat. He trusts those skills much more than he does his powers. I'm not sure where he is on a technical level compared to canon, but just to stay safe I'll say he's similar in power skill as canon Danny. Perhaps a little more finessed than him because his League training would probably have him trying to figure out his powers as soon as possible.

But in summary? Danny is strong in hand-to-hand combat, weak in powerset.

Meanwhile Vlad is the opposite. I can't recall if he even knows hand-to-hand in canon, but it makes total sense to me that Vlad Masters wouldn't because he's so confident in his monetary influence and ghost abilities that he sees no need for it.

And he's kinda got some merit behind it. He's very powerful and has 20 years of experience to experiment and fine tune his powers. He's got bite to follow up his bark. He's perfected long-range combat and his ability to phase through walls makes it impossible to corner him, but if you can manage it, then one good hit could probably knock him on his ass.

So in summary, Vlad is strong in powerset, weak in hand-to-hand combat.

And it casts a good contrast between the two of them in that regard. Danny, as a fellow halfa, can follow Vlad when he phases through walls and is fast enough to land a hit on him. His league training as an assassin, albeit rusty, is still deep ingrained enough in him that he can hold up as a rather veritable threat against Vlad without needing his powers.

But Vlad can force Danny to use his powers more often through use of his own. The duplication is the first thing to come to mind: Danny's fast enough to dispel them on his own without powers, and smart enough that he could figure out who the real one is if given a few minute. But that's not always efficient enough.

Good foils for each other that way. Also Vlad's Plasmius design mimics Ra's juuust enough that he looks like Ra's knockoff loser second cousin no one talks about, which only fuels Danny's hatred.

-------- Snippet 7

Danny, ranting about Vlad for the first time: --and it's only made worse by the fact that the little ingrate resembles a cheap knock-off of my grandfather!--

Sam, choking on her water: he what--

Tucker, doing a spittake: HE DOES?

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #i have a doodle of that little scene with vlad actually. its in my notebook lmao.#danny gets *furiously* shakespearan when he's insulting someone. sam and tucker have recorded some of his rants #and they are just pure gold.#sam and tucker calling danny 'dan' as a nickname 2024.#which reminds me about how TUE would even happen. someone in my ao3 comments made a good point about how they weren't sure if my danyal #would even have a TUE occur because he's not the cheating type. i've seen clips of how he got his hands on the test answers but i'll need t #watch the episode to gauge if Dan is even feasible. and if he is what changes to make him happen. hmmm. much to think about #don't think danyal would stay with vlad even in the midst of his grief. hmhmhm #dpdc

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writerslittlelibrary · 3 months

Text

So, I'm not a prisoner?

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 extra

summary: you did not expect that your mission to take down the traitor, could end in such a difficult situation for you…

pairing: Natasha x Red Room teen reader

warnings: fighting, weapons, stabbing, blood, implied sexual abuse

genre: fluff, angst

words: 3073

a/n: I wanted to do a fic like this for so long!!!! anyway, I just kept scouting tumblr trying to find fics like this, so I figured I’d finally write one myself :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

A quick in and out. That was your mission. How on earth did you manage to screw it up so bad. In and out. Assassinate the traitor and come right back.

Dreykov would’ve been so proud.

But that didn’t happen. No. Every single aspect about that night failed to go according to plan. You snuck into the event Stark had hosted, was able to blend in with the other party goers, and you were able to hide when most of the people started to leave.

Once it was just the Avengers left, you stayed in your hiding spot, observing them. You were here to kill Natasha Romanoff, and Natasha Romanoff only.

You could not afford any casualties, so you had it all planned out.

You’d wait until the Avengers would leave, and you’d take Natasha out before she could make it to her living quarters. You knew that once she made it to the living space of the Avengers tower, getting to her would be a lot harder.

However, against all odds, Natasha excused herself from the group quite early, saying she wanted to get a good nights sleep.

You internally cursed yourself, hating that this wasn’t something that you had planned for.

Around the couches were still some Avengers sat. You recognised all of them. Clint Barton shouldn’t be too much trouble. He was only a guy who’s good with a bow. For Maria Hill could be said the same thing, except she’s very skilled with a gun.

No, you were worried about the other Avengers still seated. Tony Stark could call upon his armour in mere seconds. Thor had the power of thunder for god’s sake. Wanda Maximoff has exceptional powers, and therefor, if you were to attack with her still in the room, you’d be immobilised in an instant.

You were fairly certain you didn’t need to worry much about Bruce Banner. Sure, he could turn into the Hulk, but he didn’t turn often, and lately, the Hulk hasn’t been spotted in the battlefield, meaning he probably had many trouble turning into him.

Pietro Maximoff shouldn’t bring you a lot of trouble either.

Your main concern were Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. One Super Soldier you could handle, but two? While fighting the rest of the Avengers? That wasn’t going to work.

Lucky for you, Wanda Maximoff had excused herself from the gathering a while ago. If you didn’t make to much noise, she wouldn’t be much of a problem. You could be outside before she’d even make it to the party deck.

Your original plan was to just wait. Natasha Romanoff would have usually sat through a party until far into the evening. You’d know, you’ve been watching her for weeks.

However, now that Romanoff has announced she was returning to her bedroom, a slight panic ran through your body.

Dreykov gave your 5 weeks to finish this assignment. That’s longer than any assignment you’d ever been on. You could not disappoint him with this. You had to kill the traitor.

You figured now was your only chance, and so, as Natasha Romanoff made her way towards the elevator, you followed her.

However, not even to your surprise, she stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“You know I’m an assassin, too? You’re good, but you’re not un noticeable,” she states, calmly turning around, being met with a gun to your face. The moment she stopped, you were wise enough to draw your gun, holding her at gunpoint for any sudden movements.

You could see a slight surprise appear on her face, before her face returned to her poker face once again.

“You’re just a child…” Natasha spoke slowly, seeming almost disappointed.

“You’re a traitor,” you spoke, loading the gun, taking a step closer. Natasha simply shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she spoke, before leaping towards you. You shot your gun, but Natasha was too fast, avoiding your gunfire as she ran past you, back to the other Avengers.

How on earth could you have missed that shot? She was right there.

Pathetic.

You don’t hesitate to run after her, determined to finish this tonight.

Very much not to your surprise, the moment you run back into the party hall, the Avengers are already standing up and ready. Ready to fight you.

You don’t hesitate to move forwards, and after fighting Clint Barton for mere seconds, you quickly realise they have no intention of hurting you. You could use that to your advantage, and you do.

You kick Barton hard, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air as you move forward, taking on Maria.

However, the moment you get close to Maria, two strong arms wrap around your body, pulling you back. They’re holding you tightly, and it doesn’t feel like they’re planning to let go.

You struggle in the hold, fighting against who ever is holding you as you try to break free. A small panic runs through your body. The fear of being captured by the Avengers taking place in your mind. You do not fear the Avengers, but the thought of being seen as a traitor by Dreykov hurts your heart more than words could describe.

“Stop struggling. We can help you,” you hear a voice behind you speak, and you soon come to realise the person you’re fighting is Captain America himself.

No wonder you couldn’t get loose.

Knowing it’s a Super Soldier, you’re quick to outsmart him, making him think you’re getting tired, relaxing your body is his hold. Because of this, the Captain lightens his grip a bit, giving you enough room to wiggle your arm free, moving it backwards to hit him in the face with your elbow.

Because of the surprise, he lets you go, allowing you to stand again.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you dash forward, holding up your knife as you use everyone’s shock to your advantage.

Everyone is surprised by your capability of escaping Steve’s grasp, not realising your already moving towards Natasha again. You reach her quickly, stabbing your knife into her stomach as far as it can go.

Natasha gasps, and you pull the knife out, watching as all the blood starts to seep from her stomach.

Slowly, Natasha sinks to the ground, Maria catching her, helping her down.

You move towards Natasha again, determined to get the job finished, but are quickly stopped by another pair of arms wrapping around your waist. You immediately recognise the metal arm, knowing that the Winter Soldier holds you in his grasp. You can’t escape him. You never have.

He pulls you backwards, pushing you to the ground as he tries to punch you. However, you regain yourself quickly, rolling away from under him and kicking him in the face.

Suddenly, you’re moved across the room. You forgot the damn speedster…

You raise your knife quickly, stabbing him before he has a chance to make another move.

“PIETRO!” you hear a voice yell, and you turn your head to the right. Shit. Wanda Maximoff must have heard the commotion and went down to take a look. You have to get out of there. You will never win a fight with her.

You move quickly, running towards the stairs. However, before you could reach them, you felt a stabbing pain in your left shoulder, the sound of a gun shot following soon after. You had been shot. Bucky Barnes had shot you in an attempt to slow you down.

But you didn’t let it.

Instead, you went towards the stairs a little quicker, dashing down the hundreds of flights of stairs to get to the main floor.

Of course, all SHIELD agents on the main floor were already expecting you, and you were followed by Steve Rogers, but you were quicker than him. You knew that.

You dashed past all the SHIELD agents, avoiding their gun fire as you made it towards an emergency exit.

The moment you stepped outside, you started your escape route. You already planned it, knowing exactly which way to go, no matter which way you would exit.

Steve followed you outside, but the moment he set foot outside the door, you were gone. You had disappeared into the night, leaving no trace.

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

Back in the Avengers tower, the team was recovering from your attack. Natasha was in bad shape. Your strike had been an attempt to murder her, and you didn’t miss any organs as you pierced your blade through her abdomen.

Pietro was much better. He was back on his feet quickly, seeing as though you stabbing him hadn’t been a murder attempt. You merely wanted to distract him.

It didn’t take long for Natasha to get back on her feet either, even though she was advised to stay on bed rest after the surgery.

Natasha was determined to find you, and she quickly got to work.

Even though you had made it out of the Avengers tower quickly, you were still hurt, and some of you blood had fallen on the floor as you made your escape towards the stairs. Clint and Maria had collected that blood, running multiple tests, only to find out you were not registered anywhere.

There was no record of your existence. Were you just another ghost story?

What they did find were traces of the Super Soldier serum. However, they were modified, almost as if they were genetically a part of your system.

Did that mean you were just another Hydra experiment? Natasha did hear you calling her a traitor. That had to mean you knew Dreykov, right? Who else viewed her as a traitor. I would make sense. Sending a modified teenage assassin after her, knowing Natasha was above killing children.

Even in the Red Room, she always hesitated when sparring against the younger students.

Dreykov must have had a lot of faith in you to send you after her. Natasha can only hope you’re not a graduate yet…

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

After the incident in the Avengers tower, you had fled to Germany. You figured it was best to leave the United States completely. And why would they ever search for you in Germany?

You had rented an apartment, loving the small town you had chosen. Dreykov had given you 5 weeks to finish the assignment, and now, you had only 1 week left. There is now way that you’re going to succeed in killing Natasha within the week.

They know you are after her now, and they will be prepared for you to make a return. You screwed it up.

Sloppy.

Right now, you were just heading back to your apartment. You had taken a walk, deciding to make the most out of the freedom you had in the moment. The week would be over soon, and the moment Dreykov would send for your return you are certain you will not be seeing daylight any time soon.

After you arrived in the apartment building, you instantly felt watched.

Had the Avengers found you?

You made your way up to your apartment, pushing the key into the lock and walking through the small hallway. Someone was in here, you could feel it.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, keeping your back towards the living room.

“There are not a lot of places to hide in this apartment,” you spoke aloud into the emptiness of the apartment. Soon you heard a set of footsteps, and you felt another presence enter the room.

“You’re very skilled for your age,” you heard a voice behind you say, and you immediately recognised it as Natasha’s.

“And you are stronger than you look. I mean, even for you, I didn’t expect you to be on your feet so quickly,” you stated, turning around slowly. Natasha wasn’t holding a weapon in your face, something you were definitely expecting.

You scanned her quickly, seeing the weapons she held on her belt.

She didn’t come unarmed. Good. She’d be stupid to.

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Natasha said, taking a small step forward as she held her hands in the air, showing you her every movement.

You didn’t look impressed, instead just staring at her as she moved.

“Then you are a fool,” you told her, and you spotted a small smirk flashing over Natasha’s face. “And you are very full of yourself,” she said, moving towards the kitchen island, leaning on it.

“I can’t say I blame you. You took on a lot of the Avengers on your own. Even two Super Soldiers. That’s impressive,” she stated, giving you a small smile. You didn’t return it.

“What? Jealous someone better took your place when you betrayed us,” you asked Natasha, determined to get on her nerves.

Natasha’s smile dropped quickly.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I hoped no one would ever have to go through it again,” she told you, a hint of regret almost identifiable in her expression. Now it was your time to give her a small smile.

“You think you’re so important that everything should’ve ended with you?” you asked her, moving towards the kitchen island as well, setting your glass down, still holding onto it.

Natasha shook her head.

“What I am curious about, however, is the genetic Super Soldier serum that runs through your DNA,” Natasha paused, adjusting her stance before speaking again. “Tell me, was your dad a Super Soldier?”

You let out a huff of amusement, surprising Natasha.

“You think I believe you’re just here for a conversation? There are SHIELD agents placed on every corner of every street. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. The lovely young couple, drinking coffee at the restaurant downstairs? Amazing disguise, if you were trying to trick nine year olds,” you stated, finishing your glass of water.

Natasha smiles, clearly impressed with your observations.

“You’re right. I’m not here for just a conversation, although I do hope we can prevent violence,” Natasha started, but before she could continue you interrupted her.

“You’re here to bring me in.”

Natasha nodded, and the look on her face was almost apologetic.

“No one needs to get hurt. If you just come with me, there’s a big chance you could avoid confinement,” Natasha explained, yet you just scoffed and shook your head.

“Avoid confinement? Yeah right. There is no way, that after what I have done, your people won’t lock me away.”

“I can be very persuasive,” Natasha simply replied.

There was a small silence. Natasha knew you were debating your options. You didn’t seem like a brainwashed sheep. She knew that you knew better than trusting Dreykov’s lies. Sure, you still believed she was a traitor, but there is no way that you didn’t see that what Dreykov is doing is wrong.

“You know going back after a failed mission will result in punishment,” Natasha started, trying to get through to you. Trying to give you that little push you needed to go with her. “If you go with me, you’ll never be punished like that ever again,” she finished.

You looked up, deep in thought.

“How could you be so sure?” you asked her, and Natasha didn’t hesitate to respond.

“We can keep you safe-”

“I found you. I nearly killed you. Who’s to say some other Widow won’t come after me as well?” you replied, and Natasha gave you another small smile.

“I escaped the Red Room when I was 20,” Natasha started. “It took him 12 years to send someone after me. We will make sure we’ll take him down before he even has the chance to come after you.”

“How many times, did you try to kill him, exactly? Because I believe you attempted his murder twice already, both of which you failed. You blew him up in Budapest, and then another time when you took the air facility down. Do you honestly think you’ll succeed now?”

Natasha shook her head, seemingly recollecting her thoughts.

“I failed twice, and that was sloppy, but both times I didn’t have the Avengers on my side. You ran the moment you saw Wanda. You know what she is capable of. Taking down the Red Room for good shouldn’t be too difficult with the Avengers on our side,” Natasha explained, yet you just shook your head.

“I’m not like you,” you told her, yet Natasha just looked at you in confusion.

“I’m not some disposable widow like you were. I’m more important,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a sad smile.

“Everyone is just a disposable widow to him,” she started, but you interrupted her.

“I’m not. You tested my blood. You know I carry the Super Soldier serum. I’m not just some girl he picked up from the streets,” you explained, and Natasha gave you a small nod, encouraging to keep going.

“I can’t explain it, but he won’t just let me walk. He put too much time in my creation. He would never just let it go to waste,” you finished, looking down, avoiding Natasha’s gaze as you turned around, putting your glass by the sink.

“We’ll help you. I know that we can,” Natasha tried.

“Is it worth the risk? My life is not great, but it’s not terrible either. Dreykov values me, and I am not treated like a piece of meat, unlike you might suspect.”

“So the punishment is worth it, then? Knowing that in three days time, Dreykov will have you be recollected, and once you return to the Red Room, you’ll be punished severely for a failed mission,” Natasha paused, allowing you to let her words sink in.

“Or, in three days time, you could know you can go to bed without worrying about someone joining. You could know you can be safe, and sleep through the night without anyone disrupting you. Knowing that, is the choice really that hard?” Natasha finished, and you were almost at your breaking point.

Was it worth it? Was going back the best decision? Dreykov would hurt you, you knew that, but you deserved it. Didn’t you?

“Please, just come with me. We can help,” Natasha spoke, nearly begged.

You sighed deeply.

“Fine, but if you put me in a cell, I will go on a murder streak,” you told her, and Natasha let out a chuckle, before seeing your facial expression, and realising you were dead serious.

“Duly noted,” Natasha said, before motioning you towards the door.

What had you done…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey

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