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spirit-lanterns · 3 months

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THIRST COMMENTS 2

synopsis: (celebrity AU) your girlfriend get's jealous when she reads your thirst comments. (part 2/2) part 1 here.

featuring: kafka, himeko, serval, yukong, topaz

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, jealous s.ex, cunnlingus (reader giving and receiving), pet names, slight degradation (use of whore in kafka's), rough s.ex, semi-public s.ex (himeko), possessiveness, lap s.ex, fin.gering, handcuffs, use of vib.rators, mating press, strap ons, doggy style, might be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: bad thinking diary

KAFKA

“You liked all that attention, huh? You liked it when all your fans were thirsting over you on the web?”

Kafka scoffs and bites her lip, keeping a firm hand on your scalp as she pushes you further into her skirt. The exasperated gasp that spilled past your lips pleased your girlfriend greatly while she listened to you with a grin, as Kafka couldn’t help but satiate her jealousy by making you remember just who exactly your lover was.

“Ooh, a new comment. Let’s see what it reads, shall we?” She drums her fingers against the top of your head and groans when she feels your tongue lap eagerly over her clit. You two had just gotten off the filming of the “thirst comments” video that would be uploaded to some popular celebrity news channel, but Kafka found herself growing envious over just how many of your fans lusted for you all over the internet.

The moment you two stepped into Kafka’s private limousine, she had you pushed down on your knees in front of her, one hand guiding you to peel her panties off from her skirt with your teeth, and the other hand reaching for her phone so she could read some of the other comments thirsting about you from Twitter.

“Anonymous said: I think (Reader)’s moans would be the cutest thing to listen to. I’m practically wet just thinking about it.”

Kafka chuckles when she finishes reading that thirst comment out loud, gripping your scalp a bit harder and causing you to moan.

“My, my…the commenter was right. Your moans are the cutest thing to ever listen to. In fact, I think I feel myself getting a bit wet, don’t you feel it?” She grits her teeth and yanks your hair up a little to see the glistening sheen of her pussy juices smeared around your face. The sight makes Kafka groan with pleasure, a wave of possession filling her chest as she pushes you back down to continue eating her out. “Mmpf…such a good girl…she knows exactly who she belongs to.”

Kafka scrolls a bit further through her Twitter feed, eyes landing on another comment that sends another pang of jealousy through her heart.

“Anonymous said: I’d drink up (Reader) till there’s nothing leaking out.”

Kafka grits her teeth at that and subconsciously pushes your head a bit deeper into her cunt. She revels in the way you writhe and squeak, gripping her thighs in your hands as you lap up her cum so eagerly. “Really? They want to drink you up till there’s nothing left? Hah…if only they knew that you were the one who is lapping up my juices so thirstily. You needy girl…”

She smirks and cups your face to pull you up and meet her lips in a sloppy kiss. You’ve never seen Kafka so…possessive in all your time of dating her, yet you’d be lying if you said you weren’t getting turned on at the thought of it. Normally she’s much more in control of her emotions, yet ever since you finished the filming of the thirst comments video, Kafka had been a little out of it till you got to the car.

“One more…let’s read another thirst comment about you, hmm? See what all your fans have to say about a cute whore like you.” Kafka chuckles and her eyes practically glow at this one particular comment. One hand reaching down to grope your ass possessively, while the other clicks on the comment to see it enlarged.

“Anonymous said: (Reader) is just so cute and innocent. I want to make her cum on my fingers until her voice goes hoarse and she’s crying for more.”

Kafka tsks at this and pulls you closer onto your lap, causing you to yelp. “Cute and innocent…” she repeats in a low, husky voice. “Well that’s far from what I see right in front of me.”

She chuckles darkly and snakes her fingers down to your pants, teasing you through the cloth before whispering into your ear. “I bet I can make you cry far, far better than that fan of yours…wouldn’t you agree?”

“Y…Yes…Kafka.” You murmur quietly, breath hitching when she kisses your neck.

“Good girl. I’ll make you cum better than any idolizer in the world. You are mine to devour…”

HIMEKO

“Hmm…I really didn’t expect your fans to be so bold, my love.”

Behind the set of the video “thirst comments” Himeko was currently pinning you up against the wall with her thigh slotted in between your legs. Though filming took place not too long ago, it seems as if Himeko has gotten just a tad bit jealous when she heard you reading off all your thirst comments for your portion of the video.

So now, here you were with your passively jealous girlfriend clinging to you while the staff and crew of the set chatted idly not too far away. Though they couldn’t see where Himeko had you pinned up, if you made any loud noises, they’d be immediately alerted to your proximity.

“Let’s read one of your beloved thirst comments, shall we? Just to remind you of what you remember.”

Himeko purrs and hands you her phone, allowing you to open up her Twitter and see the mass amounts of thirst comments clogging up her feed. “Go on, read one…” Himeko murmurs, pushing you back against the wall as she begins sensually rubbing up your thigh.

“Ah…mmpf…@/servalisms said: not even a guillotine could take away the head I’m about to give (Reader)…”

Though very creative and honestly quite flattering, you gulped and looked up to see your girlfriend staring down at you, with eyes that seemed clouded by something you could not decipher. “H…Himeko?” You murmured in a softer tone.

“Pffh! Quite creative your fans are, hm?” She gave you a teasing smirk, before suddenly dropping down on her knees in front of you.

“Ah! H-Himeko—”

“Just keep reading, darling. Keep reading those little thirst comments of yours and I’ll show you just how good my head game is for you sweet little pussy.” She suddenly pulled your pants down to part your thighs with her hands, nudging your panties with her nose and evoking a series of stifled little whimpers. “Come on…don’t be shy…”

She chuckles and continues prodding you for more access to your pussy. Leaving you no other choice but to continue reading as per request from your girlfriend.

“Anonymous said: the way I’d fuck (Reader) in every position is wi— AH!”

You didn’t even get to finish reading the thirst comment before Himeko suddenly plunged her tongue in to lap at your folds behind the thin, scantily fabric of your already dampening underwear. It was getting increasingly harder to focus on the pixelated words as Himeko just kept pushing against you with more force. Breaths hitching at the way she began losing control in your body…

“Every position? If only they knew your favorite position to be is under me,” Himeko chuckles, hiding the envy behind her golden eyes before planting a sweet kiss to your inner thigh. The sight of her rosy red lipstick left a faint imprint on the surface of your skin, and it left you feeling breathless with the way your normally composed girlfriend was beginning to show her true colors.

“Keep reading,” Himeko all but purrs, voice almost a throaty growl when she pulls your underwear down. “If you can’t even read the words on the screen, I’d say it’s a job well done for me.”

You gulped and shakily looked down to read another Twitter comment. Eyes blurring between the lines, but managing to focus on one singular post.

“@/sinsmockingbird said: (Reader) is so cute and beautiful. I just want to bend them over the table and completely ruin them till they’re a crying mess.”

It was difficult to read every word properly —given by how hard your thighs were shaking— but when you looked down, you saw Himeko biting her lip and staring rather intently at your cunt. It was kinda embarrassing to witness, but confused as to why she suddenly stopped her teasing, you gently tapped on the side of her cheek.

“Himeko…? Did I say something wrong?” Your thighs immediately buckled when Himeko dove her tongue in to press firmly against your hole, reveling in the way it twitched and puckered while your wobbly little legs tried so desperately to keep you upright. A small whine left your throat at the feeling of your girlfriend starting to go to town on you, eating you out with her hands gripped firmly on your thighs, while the tip of her tongue split you open with groans riveting from Himeko’s voice.

“God…you truly have no idea do you,” the usually calm woman exhales, diving back in to taste your juices while you buck your hips rather pathetically into her face. “If only your fans knew I was the one bending you over each night. The one making you cry until your tears have clouded you blind.”

As if to prove her point, Himeko suddenly nibbles against your clit and forces a small cry from your lips.

“So delightful, your noises are.” Himeko chuckles, staring up at you with a lustful gaze that kept you pinned under the redhead’s touch.

“I hope you always remember just how good your girlfriend pleases you.”

SERVAL

“Aghhhh, I knew your fans were down bad for you, but I had no idea they were this down bad.”

Serval chuckles rather hastily, but the envy was green in her eyes that once shown bright blue. Your girlfriend had tried to contain her jealousy after the recent filming of your “thirst comments” video, yet when your portion of the video came up —aka it was your turn to read thirst comments from fans— Serval was making it very obvious that she was jealous from the get go.

Well, it’s not like your girlfriend was that good of an actress in the first place. She was a singer, not an actor, and it resulted in some of her emotions spilling over after the filming, because suddenly you were locked up in Serval’s dressing room, on her lap, and on her couch while she lazily fingers you.

“Ah…shit, you’re so tight baby…” Serval groans, keeping an eye on her dressing room door while your soft, quiet whimpers play in her ear. Your phone sat idly in your hand as you could barely focus on the text on screen, your girlfriend pummeling her fingers inside you and distracting you from the task at hand.

“A…Anonymous said: I would let (Reader) peg me, no fucks given—”

You clamped your free hand over your mouth to stifle a loud moan as you felt the tips of Serval’s long fingers hitting that spongy spot inside you. Though pleasurable, this felt like torture to you while Serval laughed aimlessly and twisted her fingers around to see you writhe. “Peg me? As if this sweet thing could ever peg anyone in her life.” Serval chuckles and thrusts her fingers a bit faster, the middle and ring fingers of her right hand pumping so steadily into your cunt. “Come on, let’s read the next comment. Don’t tell me you’re at your limit yet.”

Serval kisses the navel of your neck and smirks up at you with that cocky expression she always had. Driven forward by her sloppy thrusts, you groaned and narrowed your eyes to focus on the screen in your hand, before latching onto Serval so you wouldn’t accidentally tip over.

“@/the-voxinton-tavern said: (Reader) played her role in her newest horror movie so well! I’d just want to see her legs shaking in a different context.”

Serval scoffs at this before giving your outer right thigh a soft slap to the skin, causing you to yelp and nearly jump out of your girlfriend’s lap. “I’ll have your legs shaking so much you’d be clinging to me to carry you out of this room.” Serval husks, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Aha…well at the pace we’re going at, you’ll be achieving your goal v-very soon…” you mumble, an attempt at making a light joke falling on deaf ears.

“I know. No one knows your body more than I do.” Serval whispers, pushing your body up higher as she forces a third finger in to fill you up even more. At the sudden stretch of your girlfriend’s three fingers all attempting to fit inside you, you buckled your hips forward and gasped, clutching onto the singer’s sweaty shoulders. “S-Serval! Not too quickly—”

“It’s okay, it’ll fit. You’ve taken so many bigger things up you before.” Serval grins, nudging your cheek with her nose. “Alright, let’s read the last thirst comment. Read it all the way through and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

“Maybe?!” You groaned and glared at your girlfriend with a somewhat pouty expression.

“Maybe.” Serval grinned, teasingly kissing your nose and urging you to read the next comment.

“Anonymous said: if (Reader) ever needs a chair, my face is readily available 🤭”

Serval actually laughs at this and suddenly slides her fingers out of your cunt, hoisting you up in those strangely strong arms of hers, and placing you down on the couch to crawl over you in a pinning position.

“If (Reader) ever needs a chair?” Serval tilts her head, a devious smirk on the blonde woman’s face. “Why would you ever need to sit on something other than my lap, babygirl?”

You whine when she suddenly thrusts her fingers back in and causes a cacophony of moans to slip past your lips. Suddenly Serval is faster, harder, and her fingers are starting to plunge further up into your folds, causing you to arch your back and nearly scream.

“You’re so fucking hot…” Serval curses, pulling you closer before bringing you closer and closer to your impending orgasm. “I’m so glad that you’re mine.”

And as if to prove her point, she thrusts her hand till the palm slaps wonderfully against your clit, causing a small squirt of cum to drip past and coat her already slick fingers. “That’s my good fucking girl…” Serval groans, pulling her fingers out to clean them with her tongue. “My good fucking girl…”

YUKONG

“This generation is rather prude with their flirts, hm? That’s no way to pick up a lady…”

Yukong tsks her tongue at the particular thirst comment she sees regarding you and your body. Though thirst comments are almost always a joke within the celebrity community and space, Yukong being of the older generation, was not pleased at the slightest to see how her girlfriend was ogled at and thirsted over on the internet.

Especially to this degree.

“@/lindseynguyen said: (Reader) can step on me with her heels and I’ll thank her for it.”

Yukong narrows her eyes at the thirst before sighing and looking down at you. “Honestly, how masochistic can your fans be, dear? I’m starting to believe you could punch them and they’d get turned on, don’t you agree?”

You’d respond, of course, if not for the fact that you were currently handcuffed to the hotel bed with one of Yukong’s personal vibrators stuffed up your hole. Ever since you two had left the set of the thirst comments video to head back to your hotel room, Yukong had you handcuffed to the post of the bed, sliding her hidden vibrator out of her suitcase so that she could shove it up your cunt for “discipline.” Apparently, for as old and wide as Yukong could be, she was still capable of getting jealous, evident with her rough treatment of you the moment you stepped foot in your suite.

“Darling? Oh, that’s right. You can’t even speak, just moan like the needy girl you are, so desperate for my command.” Yukong strokes a gentle hand across your face, wiping the overstimulated tears from your eyes and giving you a kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish soon enough, then you can get the glorious orgasm you so desperately crave.”

Yukong grins and glances back down at her phone.

“@/chamomillecamille said: (Reader) would NOT be able to hide if we were in a hotel together. The way I’d be screaming her name.”

Yukong raises a brow at this, before chuckling and turning up the vibrations of the toy. “Oh, how ironic isn’t that, my love?” She traces a small drip of precum sliding from your inner thigh, before scooping it up with her finger and licking it. “The fact that I have you tied up and fucked in a hotel room at the moment…I bet Camille would be seething that she can’t savor this.”

As the vibrations of the toy are turned up, the buzz pulsing through your sensitive walls increases and causes you to close your thighs out of pure pleasure. A whine leaks past your throat, alerting Yukong to your now closed position and causing her to tsk at the sight.

“My darling, I thought we went over this. Legs stay open during your punishment.”

Yukong moved your thighs back into their spread position on the bed, eying the way the pastel blue vibrator was now covered in your slick and lube. You caught the older woman drooling a bit, saliva pooling behind her canines before she swallows and moves closer to adjust the shaking toy.

“So wet…it’s almost slipping right out…” she pushes the toy back deeper into its original position, smiling at the way you could barely keep it together. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Last one, I promise. No more teasing.”

She playfully flicks the clit of your swollen, sensitive cunt before diving her eyes back to the faded screen.

“Anonymous said: I want (Reader) to break my back like a glowstick.”

The older woman chuckles quite amusedly at this, picturing the thought before sliding the dripping wet vibrator out with a pop. “Breaking backs like a glowstick? Wouldn’t that hurt, though?” Yukong tilts her head and smirks at the way you whine with how she tore away your orgasm from you. “If anything, I think your back would be the one broken, my dear.”

She hoists you up by the waist and props your legs up over her lap to get a better view of your sensitive, glistening folds. Using her two thumbs, she spreads them open apart and can’t help but let out a throaty grunt.

“All mine…to think this sweet woman is all mine…”

Pushing your legs forward suddenly, you nearly cry when she pushes your legs down in a position you find yourself in countless times before. A mating press.

“Here, let me show you just how good I could break you.” Yukong purrs, the soft, older woman figure now gone and replaced with someone much more dominant. “I hope all these guests hear just how loud you are when I’m done with you.”

TOPAZ

“Heh, to think I had so much competition vying for your love, babe.”

Topaz raises a brow while reading a particular thirst comment about you on her phone. Normally she’d be more focused on you at the moment —given by how she was currently fucking 7 inches of her strap on into your cunt, doggy style— yet it seemed as if your girlfriend was focused on more…trivial affairs, as she was more upset over the fact that fans were getting pretty possessive over you, rather than the fact that you were buck naked and grinding on her.

“Anonymous said: TELL TOPAZ TO BACK AWAY. (Reader) is mine and mine only.”

Your girlfriend narrowed her eyes at this and gave a particularly hard thrust with her hips. “Pfft, wow, jealous much?” Topaz traced the palms of her hands over your ass and gave the soft, rear ends a harsh squeeze. “I mean, we aren’t even officially dating when it comes to the public, is our relationship that obvious on screen?”

You attempted to answer, but with the way Topaz was grinding the thick shaft against your insides, pulling any word or sound out of you to turn into a moan, had you practically speechless as you were left face planting into your pillow.

“I mean, we do flirt and touch each other sometimes on camera, but I mean come on…” she continued her shallow thrusts and pressed firm nail indents into your sides. “Just listen to this one baby, just listen to it.”

“@/lenzxii said: The way I would let (Reader) literally fuck me until my only coherent thought is her, step on me, beat the dog shit out of me, abuse me, run me over with her car, carve her name in my thigh, let her use any hole she wanted, cheat on me, rob me, steal my shit, kidnap me and I’ll still say thank you for blessing me with your presence.”

Somehow Topaz said all of that under one breath, eyes practically popping out of their sockets as she had to take a quick moment to reread the absolute unit of a thirst comment about her girlfriend. “Lord almighty, babe, your fans are practically ravenous over you.”

“Go…Go figure…” you mumble out in a grunt, noticing how Topaz was starting to slow down with her thrusts, as she was beginning to get distracted with her Twitter feed. “Topazzzzz…please move faster…”

“Hm? Oh, Aha…you want me to go faster? What, do you need me that bad?”

“Yes!” You exclaim almost immediately, now slightly annoyed that she was focusing more on her phone, than you. “You wanted to fuck me because you were jealous so act like it! Stop staring at that phone like it’s your girlfriend, I’m your girlfriend!”

You pouted up at her and gave her the cutest, neediest eyes Topaz had ever seen on a woman, causing her to blush and nearly drop her phone on the bed. “Ah…fuck. You really are cute when you look at me like that…” she chuckles, gripping your hips tighter and repositioning her angle for a better thrust game. “Alright, alright…just don’t pout at me like that. You’ll make me feel bad for putting you here.”

She leans forward and kisses each of your shoulders, starting up her thrusts again before glancing at her phone one last time.

“Okay, I know I said I’d pay attention to you for now on, but this thirst is funny.”

“@/melodazeee said: literally need (Reader) to be elbow deep and braiding my guts 😍🙏”

Topaz snickers at this, before moving her hips back and forth behind you and pushing the tip of her shaft deeper till you were practically split. “Elbow deep and braiding your guys, huh?” The image is so funny for Topaz, as she could never imagine her sweet and cute girlfriend rearranging someone’s guts. “Oh how different reality is, huh babe?”

She wraps her arms around your stomach and could practically feel the small belly bulge she was giving you, every time she pistoned in and out with her cock. The sight of you creaming around her hips and staining the sheets with your juices almost too much for Topaz to handle.

“Fuck…if only I could show the world how hot your face and moans are when I take you…” she groans, before keeping you locked against her body. Breasts pushing languidly against your back while Topaz begins toying with your clit with her fingers.

“I wish I could tell the world how it’s me making you scream behind the scenes…but at least you know it’s only me. That’s all I really need…”

#kafka smut #kafka x reader #himeko smut #himeko x reader #serval smut #serval x reader #yukong smut #yukong x reader #topaz smut #topaz x reader #celebrity au #hsr smut #hsr x reader #star rail smut #star rail x reader #hsr women smut #hsr women x reader

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asleepyy · 6 months

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fell for you? no, my dear. i fell for me. so i could see you keep that familiar smile. but you seem to be losing it anyways.

#good omens #good omens fanart #oopsie!omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #azicrow #reverse au #its my birthday tmrw so i drew this quickly to celebrate with you all!

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satorutini · 4 months

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goldwing - gojo satoru ; geto suguru

pairing: gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

summary: If you weren't mine, I'd be jealous of your love. Or-; you're an up-and-coming screenwriter, a late bloomer in your career who has suddenly found herself shaking hands with Hollywood's elite. when your idol upends your entire reputation at an award ceremony, how much are you willing to risk to set things straight?

rating: mature; eventual smut

wc: 4.3k

ch: 1/?

this was supposed to be a one-shot but it just. spiraled out of my control so quickly so here's a multichapter fic yay! I'm so excited, I can't wait to try my hand at writing unhinged gojo. it soothes a certain spot in my soul idk. no beta reader yet, just my two brain cells and Grammarly. happy new year! <3

read on ao3

The night was alive with the glare of camera flashes, the buzz of excited chatter, and the unmistakable air of glamour that draped the red carpet. Tonight was a celebration of the industry's finest, glittering beneath the spotlight of fame. Directors, actors, and actresses alike slunk across the strip of velvet, limbering out of long, jet-black limousines that line the block along the venue with all the practiced ease and grace that eluded you. You watch from behind a crowd of interviewers and paparazzi that line the roped-off walkway like over-excited attendees at a zoo as each star pauses to pose, preen, and bless a few poor reporters in the press pit with a bit of small talk in front of the onslaught of cameras.

Shoko Ieiri hides a laugh behind her cigarette-holding hand as the lead actress competing in the drama category trips over the train of a gown in a very unflattering aquamarine shade.

"Don't laugh," you admonished, albeit both secretly tickled and relieved to see a bit of humanity in an environment with such an intimidating aura. You don't think you've ever even been near clothes this expensive in your entire life. The passing thought makes you itch in your borrowed slip. "That could have just as easily been you."

Your famous friend, who had just completed her turn down the red carpet and was now hiding in your company for a quick smoke break, simply dismisses the thought with a scoff. She knows just as well as you do how unlikely it would be. She was practically nursed and weaned at these kinds of events. You glance around at the eager-eyed reporters, the influencers, the fresh-faced actors that climb out of the next limousine, and then back at your companion. A red carpet walk at an award ceremony to her was like what you imagine attending Sunday service was like to some people. Familiar, ritual even.

You can't help but blush when she catches you gazing at her pensively, grinning as she turns her amusement towards you. "You look good like this. In all of this, I mean," she gestures vaguely towards the dress she generously lent you, and then about the venue. "You look good. It suits you. I know I've already said this but…I'm seriously glad we met up again under these circumstances."

"Oh," You glow at her praise, her generous honesty anchoring you in this larger-than-life moment that's felt like it could slip away in an instant. You're afraid to breath too hard or blink too slow. It's probably evident that you're nervous, but you don't tell Shoko you've been feeling so out of place since you arrived that you're half expecting to be carried out by security at any moment now. You're doing your best to keep your composure. "Thanks…seriously."

You and Shoko had been good friends – best friends, even – in childhood until she was picked up by a popular family sitcom in your last year of elementary school and fast-tracked into stardom. You don't remember the exact circumstances of the situation, maybe just that you had felt a little slighted once you had returned to school after the summer break to find that your friend had picked up and moved to L.A. with little warning. Communication was strained, and inconsistent, and then eventually petered out as years passed. The sitcom had eventually become internationally beloved, and it's cast along with it. Shoko always existed in your periphery, but never long enough for you to gather the courage to reach out again. She was a star, in every sense of the word. So, when she came by the studio one day to surprise the lead actress for your short film, Utahime Iori, with a visit, you were pleasantly surprised as well.

Your brief reunion revealed that Shoko had been living the whirlwind, if not a bit traumatic, life of a typical child star. She and Utahime, a talented indie film starlet, were a very welcome presence in your life as you navigated your own late-blooming career.

Tonight, your Western short film was in the running to receive its very first accolade.

Well, not very first. A flurry of positive reviews and first-place prizes at film festivals is what led you here. But here, this-

"Ah, hell. Here comes the clown car."

You're startled out of your musing by Shoko's ire and a rise in the clamor from the crowd in front of you. Like a disturbed ant hill, the reports swarm to the front of the carpet, crying out for the newcomer's attention before they've even propped open the doors to a sleek, matte black foreign sports car with a brilliant baby blue racing stripe that glides to a stop at the start of the carpet. For a moment, anticipation rolls over the crowd and reflexively, you hold your breath. It feels as though time itself comes to a stop.

I've seen that car before; you think to yourself. Where have I seen that car before?

The car doors lift – lift – and out steps Satoru Gojo, the nepotism-blessed scion of a bygone Hollywood era. With a disinterested tilt of his head, Gojo straightens and adjusts his shades once, and the crowd erupts into chaos.

Gojo's rise to directorial prominence had been swift and tumultuous, his wealth and power inherited rather than earned. His family's name, etched in the golden annals of old Hollywood, had bequeathed him not just an unimaginable fortune, but also a reputation of mystery and privilege. He was first introduced to the industry during a failed attempt by his family to get him into acting as a kid. But Gojo quickly realized he didn't take to following directions too well – he preferred to be the one giving them. Thus, after a few years long hiatus in school and a very public downward spiral, the young starlet reemerged on the scene with a break-through fantasy thriller that would go on to become one of the most recognized film franchises and successful book-to-movie adaptations to date.

His shockingly white hair and startling blue eyes made him a rather memorable character. To those who worked within the film industry, he was well respected in his field but known to be prideful, cocky, demanding, and overly ambitious. But boy did he know how to work a camera. The contrast between Gojo's charisma on camera and the whispers of his notoriously cold, borderline demeaning, arrogance on set had set him apart in an industry that thrived on eccentricities. The tabloids did well to keep tabs on him. Gojo was often deemed reckless, uninhibited, and entitled, but most of all, Satoru Gojo was your fucking hero.

You would give anything to experience the way you felt watching Gojo's debut movie again for the first time. You remember the day so vividly, remember settling into the theater and griping to a classmate who accompanied you to see the movie that it wasn't fair that someone like him got to direct a big-name film just because he was rich. And then you can recall being effectively shut the hell up as your mind proceeded to be blown over the course of an hour and forty minutes.

You nearly float off of your toes trying to catch a glimpse of the shock of white hair over the crowd. "That-that's-,"

Dressed in a tailored black suit, Gojo pretends to shield his eyes from the relentless flashes, granting his on-lookers a smile that's all teeth. Even from where you stand, it looks a bit menacing.

At his side stands his enigmatic best friend and former child actor Suguru Geto, who grants the frenzied crowd an easygoing smile as Gojo slings an arm around him.

You notice Shoko tense beside you, quiet displeasure radiating off of her stance. She absently flicks away her dead cigarette bud. You catch the scowl marring her typically unperturbed demeanor as she turns sharply on her heel. "Let's head inside."

Shoko and Geto starred in the same sitcom for years, until they eventually aged out of their roles and the show was terminated after nine seasons. There had been a time, in your late teens and early twenties, when you saw the three of them in tabloids quite frequently. Satoru, with his impulse and daring, Suguru, with his brooding intensity, and Shoko, with her sultry, laidback charm, formed the trifecta of an unconventional trio that thrived on exclusivity and recklessness. Rager parties. DUIs. House raids. In the interim years between his schooling and his first film debut, Satoru Gojo and the company he kept were a menace to L.A. society.

You confess…there may have been a smaller, less important, more alternative reason to why reuniting with Shoko had been so serendipitous.

You're not entirely sure what their relationship is like now, but judging by the look on her face, it wouldn't work in your favor tonight. So, in the spirit of being a good friend, you force your feet to follow Shoko into the venue, even as your heart tugs in the direction of the man who inspired your career. As you retreat inside, you think you can hear him laugh.

Despite your best efforts, it is hard not to look a little starstruck while you sit through the award show. The audience glitters with critically acclaimed stars and new heartthrobs alike. The actors are wonderful but it's the screenplay writers whose every word you hang off of when they're brought to the stage and the directors who you fawn over when they squeeze past your section with a preoccupied, "excuse me."

At intermission, Utahime gasps from her seat beside Shoko. In her hands is her phone, unlocked and open to some social media feed.

"Fuck…shit!"

You learn over your friend, an eyebrow raised. From what you know of Utahime, she isn't one to sling vulgar language around carelessly. "Is something wrong?"

But Shoko is already one step ahead of you, prying the phone from her friend (girlfriend??)'s fingers and skimming over the opened post. She must not like whatever she sees, because the look on her face turns grim. "Fuck indeed."

"Can someone-, can one of you please just tell me what's going on?" You struggle not to feel exasperated, fiddling with your own phone to see if maybe it'll pop up on your own feed.

"It's Gojo," answers Utahime with more disdain than you're used to hearing associated with that name, which is quite a lot when you think back on it. "He mentioned our short film. In an interview."

All at once, your heart soars in your chest and your brain struggles to comprehend those words in the same utterance in real, real life.

"Gojo? Satoru Gojo? Said something about our short film?" You short circuit. "He's watched our short film?!"

Joy doesn't even begin to cover the immense feeling inside you. For a split second, you're overwhelmed with astonishment, veneration, and gratitude. You could rejoice-!

But then.

Then you pick up on Utahime's tone.

You notice how quickly Shoko is skimming through posts. The furrow in her brow. That oppressive force you'd felt outside has followed you into the venue and hovers over the three of you like a storm cloud, threatening to suck the air from your lungs. That bright, shining feeling in your gut suddenly sours in apprehension.

"What - um…What did he say?"

The lights in the venue lower, signaling the resumption of the award ceremony. When Shoko tilts the screen in your direction, the headline nearly blares back at you in the dim lighting.

Red Carpet Update: Satoru Gojo Calls Breakout Western Romance Short Film Blander than Triscuit Crackers

You rush out of the theater and into the bathroom quickly enough for no one to notice you almost vomit. In your haste, you finally give a name to the cold feeling you felt beside Shoko outside and in the venue. The expression that clouded her face and snuffed out the warmth in her eyes.

Resentment.

A hotel hosts the after-party. The interview took place a little over two hours ago, but the damage is done. That much is evident as you scroll through your flooded mentions, holed up in a cushy stall in the glitzy women's bathroom. Sat on the toilet and despondent. You've replayed the 30-second clip of the actual interview enough times tonight to recite his comments word for word by now.

The gleam in Satoru Gojo's smile is as bright and disarming in person as it is on camera.

"A Netflix original? Yeah, I can tell," he scoffs, then mutters more so to his companion – who stands quietly, looking uninterested at his side – than the interviewer, "They're really just giving these away to just about anyone now these days, huh?"

The words rattle around in your head like marbles in a tin jar. Loud, concussive. The weight of the moment settles on your shoulders like an unforgiving burden. While it's not enough to break the internet and go viral, your reputation is about to take a brutal hit. You press your phone to your forehead and try not to spiral. The cacophony of judgment online, the concept of failing your idol – it all threatens to swallow you whole.

Boring? Bland? You poured your heart and soul into writing that screenplay. What did Satoru Gojo, a director of fantasy films based on a series that was already written, published, and well-beloved, know about good writing? Or Westerns and romance for that matter?

As your grief churns into rage, a text notification from Shoko pulls you from your festering thoughts.

The text reads you can't hide in there forever, you know.

You open the message and scoff, smiling watery as you type your reply. Bet.

Tears threaten to overwhelm you again. This should be the best night of your life. You won! You actually won in your category, your first real award. And instead of living it up and celebrating with the wonderfully talented cast and director, instead of collecting your congratulations and basking in the revelry of your accomplishment, you are here. Excusing yourself from the party to slip away into the bathroom every few minutes because the mortification was unbearable.

Every well-wisher you had received greeted you with a slight look of pity in their eyes. Their voices are a little too high. Their handshakes are a little too eager. But you knew; they all knew. The only thing keeping you from ditching was Shoko's steadfast presence and the obligation to celebrate the cast members. This night was for them too.

With that in mind, you gather your resolve and slip out of the bathroom. Only to collide straight into someone waiting just outside.

"Fuck, are you okay?"

Whoever you bump into is like rushing at a solid wall of soft flesh. You stagger backward with the force of your collision as Suguru Geto, the infamous partner of the bringer of your demise, reaches to brace your shoulders.

"Ah-no, no!" You smack his hands away and then hold up your own as if to ward him off, feeling a bit childish and miffed that he hadn't stumbled at all. Your face is still flushed from remembering Gojo's biting comments. "Don't touch me! I'm good, thank you."

The man that hovers over you is tall and well-built. The world watched Suguru grow up on television, filling out a gangly little boy into this intimidating, silent force. His lengthy, gorgeous, inky black hair, quick wit, and sly smile earned him the title of heartbreaker at a young age. You would swoon at the way his muscles shift under that suit if only you weren't so fucking humiliated.

"Hey," Geto says, his renowned stoicism momentarily replaced by a flicker of concern. He murmurs your name. "You look like you could use a breather."

Your guard is up, but his peculiar sincerity breaks through the walls you've hastily erected tonight. Besides, he's not the one who made shitty comments about your work. He just stood there and watched in amusement as the real instigator did. His low-lidded gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the air crackles with unspoken tension.

"Yeah, maybe," you respond, your voice carrying the weight of frustration. You eye him warily.

Suguru steps aside, allowing you space to pass, but instead of letting you walk away, he falls into step beside you. The relentless rhythm of the party pounds in the background, nearly vibrating your skull as you squeeze your way through the glittering crowd to a quieter corner of the bar. At the far end, you spot Shoko and Utahime with the rest of your cast and figure it's better to keep your distance while you entertain your dubious follower.

"Look, about what Satoru said," Suguru starts, his tone low and apologetic. "He can be…reckless with his words. I wanted to apologize on his behalf."

The actor seems to crowd you into the bar counter, propping himself up on the surface and resting his cheek on his knuckles.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity dancing in your eyes. What the hell is even happening tonight? How do you even know who I am?

"Is he making you do this, or do you just really feel that bad for me, after watching your friend publicly humiliate my work?"

You wonder why he's not apologizing to the actors, to the director, or maybe he's already gone out of his way to do that already, in your absence. And then you think of Shoko and figure that's an unlikely case.

Suguru has paused as if weighing his words carefully. "A bit of both, maybe…"

He takes in your disheveled appearance and exasperated expression. You figure your makeup hadn't fared well after the first onslaught of tears at the award show. Despite a night of what you can only assume has only been full of drinking and partying – Satoru walked away with six awards – there isn't a hair out of place on Suguru. His long tresses swept back into a slick bun, Suguru manages to make even a custom tailor tux look effortless and easygoing. As he scans your face, you can only imagine what you must look like to him.

Your new companion gestures the bartender over.

"Whiskey?" he offers, as if it's a universal remedy for wounds inflicted by Satoru's sharp tongue

You wordlessly accept the offer with a nod. The pair of you sit in uneasy silence until your drink arrives. Taking a swig from the glass as the warmth of the alcohol courses through you, you find yourself at least a little less likely to send the next white-haired person you spot to high hell. Distantly, you think you hear your sound producer cackle with glee above the noise of the party, obviously a few drinks ahead of you since your retreat to the bathroom. You down your drink with a grimace. I need to catch up.

"Not a whiskey girl?" The actor beside you simpers. The pleasant buzz of liquor makes it a little less annoying when his shoulder bumps into yours.

You ignore the question, deflecting with one of your own. "So what, are you like his clean-up crew or something? Your boyfriend pisses somebody off and you…"

You gesture vaguely at his stance, his teasing smile.

"…charm my way into their panties?"

"I was going to say good graces, but I'm sure that works out fine for you too."

Suguru laughs into his glass, warm and genuine. He's so close, you can feel the way the sound rumbles through his chest. You blame the blood rushing to your cheeks on the drink. Begrudgingly, you can't help but grin a little too.

Not one to be put on the spot, you ask him how he knew your name and how he recognized you. Rather sheepishly, Suguru admits that the only reason Satoru knew of your short film was because of him.

"I was already watching it, but he came in on the other half and-,"

"You mean he didn't even see the whole thing?" Your exclamation comes out sounding more like a squawk, feeling the effects of your second glass. "You're not doing a very good job of defending his case."

When Suguru chuckles, the warm air brushes the tip of your ear from where he leans over you, no longer wanting to yell over the volume of the party. "Satoru is…he can be pretty opinionated."

You catch the hint of adoration in his tone as he speaks about the man and subconsciously lean away in an attempt to widen the space between you - trying to throw yourself a life raft. You think back to how he didn't deny it when you referred to Gojo as his boyfriend and feel an inkling of discomfort.

As if noticing your unease, Suguru leans against the wall behind him, and the conversation shifts from apologies to shared experiences – Suguru's tales of the ruthless film industry before he came to work with Gojo, your shared struggles of creative expression, and the thin line between success and failure, which seems to be the theme for the night.

The more Suguru talks, the more you find yourself lowering your guard. Throughout the night, you find yourself wanting to make him laugh and glow at the results. His smile humanizes him. Gradually, a mutual affinity begins to form between the two of you. A shared understanding that transcends the chaos of the party, stemming from your shared admiration of Gojo. A deep admiration, you explain to your new acquaintance as the party dies down a little, that makes his ruthless comments and public dismissal hurt more than any loss at an award show.

"I can't help but feel like I disappointed him, y'know?" You murmur, resting your chin on your free hand.

When a singular, long finger extends to tilt your head in his direction, you nearly jump back at Suguru's sudden proximity. The whiskey has you feeling loose and easily flustered and god, when did he get so close to your face?

His thumb brushes your lower lip, and he freezes you with that low-lidded gaze. This close, his cologne tickles your nose, pleasant and intoxicating. It's not hard to sense that something else prowls beneath his easygoing demeanor. Something predatory that itches to catch you in its maws.

"You did," says Suguru, and you purse your lips, eyes glued to the bar counter. "But I think we can fix that."

You laugh but don't bother asking him how. Gojo has made your place in this industry, amongst your peers, incredibly clear tonight.

He leans in, and again, you wonder where Gojo is.

The same thumb that had traced over your mouth now encourages your lips to free.

"He's not my boyfriend, y'know," Suguru murmurs.

You grin, somehow both feeling spiteful and as though you know better. "If you say so."

Your lips brush, and then Suguru is pressing you into the bar, one hand resting on your hip, the other on your chin, molding himself into you. His kiss is short and sweet and tastes like whiskey. He sighs into your mouth and you think you catch a hint of cigarettes and spearmint too. The actor's grasp on your chin is both tender and assertive. For a single moment, the world narrows down to the feeling of his lips on yours.

Until your phone vibrates violently in your pocket, startling you from Suguru's hold.

"Oh, shit," you fret, whipping out your phone to see the caller ID. "It's Shoko."

Before you answer, Suguru swipes the phone from your hands and lets it emit its final ring before opening the contacts on your phone. You watch in disbelief as he adds his number and then drops the device back into your open hands.

"When you're ready to earn your keep, call me,"

With a wink, he slinks into the remnants of the crowd, disappearing as though he were simply a figment of your imagination to begin with. Dumbfounded by what just transpired, you're slow to remember to call Shoko back, who is armed and ready to give you an earful once you finally do.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been blowing up your phone for the past thirty minutes, and Utahime is sick, and our ride is here, we need to go-,"

In the background, you think you can hear Utahime moan something about her stomach. You wince.

"Sorry," As you make your way toward the exit, you can't help but scan the crowd of retiring partygoers. "Someone wanted to apologize to me."

Shoko either doesn't hear you or doesn't care as she argues with her chauffeur over the correctness of your address, but promptly hangs up after a sharply delivered, "Hurry!"

There's a lightness in your step as you exit the hotel that wasn't there when you arrived. Emotionally and physically exhausted after tonight's conundrum, a smile dances on the edge of your lips when you think about the number on your phone.

You think you can accept that maybe you won't be receiving that apology in person, from the person that owes it to you the most. You can accept that if this is what you get in return.

A pair of brilliant blue eyes track your every move between the bar and the bathroom behind a precariously set pair of shades. Satoru watches with rapt curiosity from his section at the corner of the party. After the third time you had excused yourself from your cheerful crew and cast, he had pointed Suguru in your direction.

Throughout the night he had observed the dynamic between you and his best friend, not at all surprised when you're quick to fall for his charm. When Suguru bends to kiss you, Satoru takes his leave for the night, feeling thoroughly satisfied.

You didn't really know it yet, but you had something Satoru wanted. And he had every intention of getting it, even if it meant getting his hands a little dirty.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk #geto smut #celebrity!au #possessive!gojo #fanfic #director!gojo #screenwriter!reader #actor!gojo #goldwing

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 3 months

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🎊🏮🐉🏮🎊

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biwitchofthewest · 7 months

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Absolutely love your Celebrity AU!

Is Imogen down bad for creepy acting Laudna? Like when she's a monster monster, in costumes and stuff, other than when she's being sweet.

Also has she watched other movies she's starred in? (Respectfully of course)

Imogen is down bad HORRENDOUS. But she wasn’t familiar with Laudna’s work before meeting her, she was aware of it because laudna is new blood, she’s been part of 3 movies so far mostly in the thriller, horror genre. And that includes a lot of prosthetics and creature performances. Imogen watched her movies after she got cast, def in a non creepy way tho, she is a pro at this, has been in the game since she was in her mid teens, she wanted to get familiar with the type of performer laudna was.

But let’s be real, The Countess creature design is getting to her. And she enjoyed a good feral performance. So basically she is gonna die while filming lmao.

#my fics #celebrity!AU #imodna

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anonymityisfunwriter · 1 month

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I Can See You

"And I could see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission..."

Summary: You and Bucky don't see eye to eye, everyone knows that. They don't know that you and Bucky once knew each other under very different names. And they most certainly don't know that when he looks at you, he can still every stolen moment, his jacket on the floor, notes saying meet him at midnight, you up against the wall with him. No, they don't see that at all. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

"I already told you, I'm only doing this because I owe you."

Six months - that was your promise.

Six months of your time and best efforts.

"And as a part of this favor, you promised to keep an open mind."

And an open mind, you begrudgingly recall. You promised you would keep an open mind about making this a more permanent placement.

Nick Fury was sure that you'd find a home here in the Avengers Compound.

You were fairly certain that you wouldn't - but you weren't going to tell him that.

You hated owing people. Nick Fury even more so. You could bide your time for six months to pay your debt to him. He didn't need to know you had no intention of becoming an Avenger. "Whatever you have to tell yourself, Nick."

"That doesn't sound like an open mind," he admonishes.

You smirk, enjoying the frantic hustle and bustle of the Avengers Compound with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, "You know that I don't do well in teams. I don't play fair, Nick."

"Never heard that one before."

"But I bet you believe me, don't you?" you retort.

"Open mind."

You roll your eyes, waving him off, "Yeah, yeah, when exactly do I get to meet these self righteous assholes?"

"How does now sound?"

"Like my worst nightmare," you mutter under your breath.

If he heard you, he doesn't let it show. Nick flings the door to the conference room open, revealing two men standing beside each other poring over a case file.

It's not their impressive statures that catch your attention. In fact, the blonde one hardly catches your eye at all.

And if you weren't highly trained and disciplined, a gasp would've lodged itself in your throat at the sight of the brunette you never thought you'd see again.

"Ah, Nick told us we might be meeting you today." The sandy haired super soldier extends his hand out to you. It doesn't escape your attention that the brunette snaps the file shut the moment he sees you. "I'm Steve, Steve Rogers."

You return the gesture, still barely paying attention to the man. Your eyes flicker to Bucky. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was entirely unfazed by your sudden reappearance.

You're thankful you do know better. You know so much better.

Bucky's eyes meet yours for a split second, they narrow slightly. It tells you everything that you need to know. You've caught him off guard.

Steve takes Bucky's silence as his cue to interject. He clears his throat, gesturing to his friend, "And this is Bucky Barnes. He's a, well, he's a man of few words."

Apparently, that hadn't changed since you knew him under an entirely different name.

"It's nice to meet you," you say to Steve. Your eyes flicker back to Bucky. His jaw ticks as a wide grin pulls at the corners of your mouth. He's worried that you'll give away his dirty little secret. Your eyes flash over to him, a mischievous gleam that Bucky doesn't miss, "The both of you."

Steve smiles at the change in your demeanor, "Nick filled me in about your little deal. Exactly how long is this trial run going to run?"

"Six months," you confidently reply, unabashedly staring at Bucky. "I'll be out of your hair in six months."

"But we're keeping an open mind, aren't we?" Nick urges you again.

You playfully roll your eyes, a beaming grin on your face, "Of course, Nick. You know, I don't know why, but suddenly, I get the sense that these next six months are going to be a hell of a lot of fun."

"That's an interesting take," Steve lilts.

"She's your problem now," Nick quips.

"Me? A problem?" you gasp in mock offense. You turn to Bucky, who's still yet to say a word. "Do I look like a problem, Bucky?"

Bucky's eyes narrow again. The muscle in his jaw ticks yet again. You swear you can almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding. It's almost enough to make you laugh.

The silence is palpable as Bucky glares at you. Steve nervously laughs, taking a step closer to you. He gestures to your duffle bag, "How about I show you were you can put your stuff down? We'll give you a chance to settle in and you'll meet the rest of the team first thing in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan, Captain."

"Just Steve is fine."

"See?" You call over your shoulder to Nick. "I'm already having so much fun."

You're not surprised that he came to find you minutes later. If you're right, he waited just long enough to make sure he wasn't being obvious. You don't even need to look over your shoulder to feel his lurking gaze far before you see him. "I can see you."

"Why did you lie?" Bucky furiously demands, standing in the doorway of your new bedroom.

You grin to yourself, still turned away from Bucky. "Nice to see you again, Soldat."

"Bucky," he firmly states, his hands curling into tight fists. "My name is Bucky."

"If I recall correctly, you liked when I called you Soldat." You turn on your heel, taking several steps toward Bucky. He knows he should stop you. He knows he should stay as far away from you as possible, as far away from your bedroom as possible. And yet, there's a side of him that wants nothing more than to feel you close to him all over again. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't push you away. Not even when you're close enough to touch him. "Or did it sound better when I whispered it in your ear?" You lean in, your voice dropping to a soft whisper in his ear, "My Soldat."

He does his very best to suppress the shudder that rolls through his entire body. It takes him a beat longer than it should to regain his senses and take a step away from you. He demands again, "Why did you lie?"

You chuckle, finally stepping away and allowing him his space, "Would you prefer I tell your team mates about your history of getting a little too close to your enemies?"

"What makes you think that they don't know?" Bucky challenges.

You languidly shrug, "We'll call it a hunch."

"I'm not that person anymore." Bucky takes an angry step forward, desperate to convince you that he's a changed man. "I don't keep secrets anymore."

"So tell them," you offer. "What do I care?"

"You cared enough to lie," Bucky shoots back.

"If you want to let your team know that we used to fu-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. I'm not that person anymore," he repeats himself. This time, he's not sure who he's trying to convince.

"Then we shouldn't have any problems, should we?" you rhetorically ask.

His eyes narrow, his gaze sharp and ready to kill, "What are you up to?"

"Me?" You gesture to yourself, resting your hand on your chest. "I'm not up to anything. Come on, Soldat, don't you trust me?"

"No, I don't because I know you, and you're always up to something," he bitterly accuses. "You've always got an angle."

"I assume you're talking about that day."

"You sold me out."

"You'll never see, will you?" You roll your eyes at him, waving him off, "I'm simply doing the favor that was asked of me."

"Six months?"

"Six months. And no one will ever have to know. Unless, of course, you can't help yourself."

He scoffs, "That won't be a problem."

"History has a tendency to repeat itself, Bucky," you state, putting an extra emphasis on his name.

"Not this time. Here's how this is going to go." He reaches out, snatching your wrist. His grip is tight enough to force you to pay attention, but not enough to actually hurt. "I'll stay away from you, and you're going to stay away from me. Got it? Let's just - let's keep this professional."

A grin spreads across your face. Your eyes flicker down to the burning grip on your wrist. You like that, even now, even after all these years, you still have an effect on the man you once called yours. "Don't worry, Bucky. I'm as reformed as you are."

That's exactly what worried him.

The months passed as quietly as Bucky could ever bring himself to hope.

Still, you never quite let it rest, never let him rest.

You always had a way of letting him know that you could see him. You could see how he was struggling to contain himself, struggling to suppress every flashback, struggling to simply keep his eyes off of you, struggling to contain all the feelings that he denied he felt for you.

He wondered if you knew that you kept him up all hours of the night. There were so many nights he spent sleep evaded, wondering what would happen if he just knocked on your door. Would you be up waiting for him? Would you smirk that smirk? The one he'd come to love and hate all at once. The one that was haunting him. The one he saw every time he close his eyes.

It wasn't just at night. It was every night. Every day. Every waking moment that you danced somewhere on the outskirts of his awareness. Every time you brushed past him in the hallway. You had to know you were driving him to the brink of madness.

Sometimes, you barely acknowledged him. Sometimes, you gave him that infuriating smirk. Every single time, he saw it. Every single time, he saw you.

That part of his life was, for lack of a better word, scrambled. And still, he could never forget your touch. That part was crystal clear.

And he couldn't decide whether he loved or hated the fact that it might just be you doing that to him.

It ate at him.

It was a special gift you possessed, he had to admit. You could make him see whatever you wanted him to see, the power to ensnare his senses. The good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. You had the power to do it, to make him see whatever you wanted him to. He told himself that's what it was. It wasn't remembering a long lost love, it was you messing with his head all over again.

He'd see flashes of the time you spent together once upon a time. His jacket on the floor. Up against the wall with you. Those old, crumpled notes telling him to meet you at midnight. He remembers every second of it.

But most of all, you. He remembers every whispered sweet nothing. He remembers the anticipation he felt every time he saw you. And he remembers your touch. Your lips on his, trailing down his jawline. Your fingers running over the planes of his chest.

Deep down, he knew it wasn't your powers. It was you. There was no forgetting a touch like that. No forgetting a person like you.

It just another way you tormented him. So few ever escaped the Winter Soldier. Even fewer lived to tell the tale.

Not you. You not only lived to tell the tale, you taunted him with it. After that very first night, where he was, you were. He was never quite sure if it was glorious happenstance or your own doing.

Your very first encounter, you caught him totally off guard - something previously thought impossible. He didn't see you. He didn't hear you coming. He didn't feel you slip past him to reach your target before he ever could. All he remembered was hearing footsteps in the dark street. He knows for a fact you could've disappeared into the night without him ever knowing. He whirled around, searching for the culprit. He saw nothing, no one.

It should've been quick, an easy kill. Instead, it was the first time he ever failed.

To this day, he swears that he heard your whispered laugh when he realized his target was gone, vanished into the night.

You showed yourself the second time. He was more prepared that time. Not ready for it, but more prepared. The first time his vision failed him, he sprayed the room with bullets.

"Uh, uh," you condescendingly tutted, allowing him to see you standing before him. "Can't get rid of me that easily, Soldat."

He saw you standing before him for a short moment, just enough to memorize your face. And then he lost all sight. You stroked his cheek, he remembers that. It was the first time you ever touched him. It was the most tender touch he'd felt in decades.

When he regained his senses, you were gone. Along with his target.

The third time, he caught you - or you allowed him to catch you. He wasn't quite sure.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pinning you against the wall.

"Poor, Soldat," you cooed at him. It confused him. There was no fear in your voice. For some reason, he knew that if he released your arms from his iron grip, you wouldn't punch, scratch, or claw at him. You wouldn't fight back. You'd taunt him with your touch all over again. And for a reason that was more unknown to him, he really wanted you to. "They truly tell you nothing."

His sight was gone, but this time, he refused to let go. He gripped your wrists hard enough to leave bruises, pinning them over your head, "Let me see you."

"Say please." There it was that taunt that he knew would come. There was a lilt to your voice he'd never forget. In that moment he knew, he was powerless against you and your whims.

"Let me see you. Now." He grips you even tighter. For a long moment, he still saw nothing. All he could feel was your body pinned against the wall, pinned against him. He softly exhales, his breath dusting over your lips, "Please."

He thought he memorized your face the first time you allowed him to see you, but he was wrong. There was so much he missed. He missed the slope of your nose. How soft and plush your lips looked. The mischievousness shining in your brilliant eyes.

He studied your face again. Over and over. Forcing himself to commit every detail to memory. Your smirk melted into the warmest smile he'd ever seen you wear.

You lean into him, as close as his grip will allow you to. So close that your lips linger a breath away from his. For a moment, he thinks you're going to kiss him. Instead, you speak softly, your breath skating across his lips, "I like you, Soldat. We're going to have fun."

His heart still stuttered. At the time, he didn't know what you meant.

He learned quickly after that.

It was the definition of a whirlwind romance - or as close to a romance as two assassins could possibly get. Long nights spent beside you. Jet setting across the globe for missions, just waiting with bated breath in the hopes that you'd be there. You never talked about what it meant, what you felt, all you had were those nights. Somewhere in those nights, he stopped being Soldat, and he started being your Soldat.

So was it you? Were you the reason he could still see it?

Or was it him? Was it the fact that he could never really let those nights go?

He was a different person than the one you knew all those years ago. He was on the straight and narrow. He stayed out of trouble. You were the epitome of trouble. You sold him out the moment it was convenient for you. So why can't he let you go?

You caught him off guard when you showed up here. He was determined to make sure that didn't happen again. He just needed to be on his best behavior.

He knows you've been watching him - but he can see you, too.

You make a point to brush past him in the hallway on the way to the conference room. He thinks you can't see it, but you've been watching him closely.

You can see the waver of his Adam's apple, the way his eyes dart in your direction when you pass him, the way his jaw ticks shut as if he were doing his very best to contain himself.

Your days here on the Compound were dwindling down to your last few weeks. He still couldn't figure out why he couldn't let you go.

Even as he sits across the conference room table, you overwhelm each and every one of his senses. You pretend like you don't see him taking the seat directly across from you. Instead, you lean closer into Sam.

Sam grins at you. "So you can show me anything?"

"Anything," you promise, driving Bucky mad by using that torturous smirk on Sam.

Bucky's not sure what Sam sees. It could be anything. A powder white beach on some far off coast. A meadow filled with fragrant, vibrant flowers dancing in the daylight. You could make him feel like he was plummeting to his death. You could make him feel loved for the first time in his life. You could let him know a betrayal like no other.

He shakes away the runaway train of thought, focusing on the far off look in Sam's eye and the look of wonderment painting his face, "Whoa..."

"Bucky," Sam calls, his voice filled with laughter as you use your gift like a party trick. "Come try this! She's like a human VR."

"As tempting as that is," Bucky sarcastically remarks, crossing his arms over his chest, "I'd like to get this meeting over with."

"Alright, team," Tony calls out, beginning their latest team meeting. "Fury added another assignment to our docket. Black tie, intercepting a black market intel deal. You get in, you get out. Should be easy enough."

"Whatever you say," Bucky mutters under his breath.

"Barnes," Tony smirks. "I'm so glad you agree. You're up."

"What? Why?" Bucky demands.

Tony nonchalantly shrugs, "Because I said so."

"Asshole," Bucky grumbles.

Tony's eyes flicker over to you next. In that moment, Bucky freezes. There's no way Tony know about the two of you, but it certainly feels like Tony's doing this just to punish him. "And you can take the human VR with you."

"No," Bucky sharply refutes, gripping the table so tightly he's sure Tony will have to get a new one. "I go, I go alone."

"Sorry, Barnes, we'll need more than brawn to get us into that gala."

Six months. Almost six months passed and he'd done everything in his power to avoid this. To avoid being alone with you. To avoid working in close proximity to you and the aura of temptation and betrayal that shrouded you.

The number of favors he now owed to his teammates was proof of it. He had no interest in testing the limit of his will power. "Then, I'll take Wanda."

Tony crosses his arms, shaking his head and looking far too pleased at Bucky's discomfort, "Nope, she's needed on a different assignment."

You smirk, tongue running over your teeth like a predator watching their prey fall into their trap. "Careful, Bucky, I'm starting to get the sense that you don't want to work with me."

Bucky's eyes dart to you, grimacing at you, "Whatever."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun."

"Bucky," Steve starts, tightly gripping his shoulder as the room filters out. "What's the problem?"

Bucky glowers at you as you saunter out of the conference room. Of course, you're far too pleased with this outcome. You make a point to grin at him as rage rolls off of him. "I don't trust her."

"Why? She's never given us any reason not to."

"Because -" Bucky starts, faltering after only a word. He can't bring himself to say why. That was between you and him. A memory he buried long ago. "Forget about it."

But he remembers. All of it. He remembers the moment you betrayed him and broke his heart all too well.

"My Soldat..."

He sighs in relief, he finally stops pacing the floor of your safe house. You asked to meet days ago and you had yet to show up. Weeks had passed without hearing from you. You'd never gone this long without making yourself known. Finally, here you were, back in his arms where you would always belong,"It's been too long. I was beginning to worry."

"Don't ever worry about me, my Soldat." Your words are sharper than he's ever heard from you, it shocks him. You caress his cheek, fingertips trailing down to his jawline, your words soften to a gentle whisper, "Don't ever worry about me."

He bends down and kisses the palm of your hand, "I will always worry. For you, I will worry for as long as I live."

You smile, resting your hand over his beating heart. That's why you were doing this. You made deals with people you hated, resigned yourself to a life always looking over your shoulder, and sealed your fate, all to keep his heart beating, all to give him the long, happy life he deserved.

"And for that, you'll always be my Soldat." You kiss him with everything you have left. Your last kiss. A goodbye kiss. Because if you loved something, you set it free. If they came back to you, they would always be yours. And now, you were setting him free. And he would never forgive you for this. He would never be yours again. "And that's why it had to end this way."

"What are you talking about?"

You back away from the window of your safe house, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

And that's when the SHIELD agents swarmed.

It was a moment hard to forget. Yet it was equally hard to remember, to remember why he didn't trust you, to remember why he could never allow himself to let his guard down, not when you were so good at taunting him. He was sure you were taunting. He knew it from the very moment you stepped into the armory in a red dress that nearly stopped his heart.

You make it a point to saunter past him, tossing a laugh over your shoulder, "Don't worry, Soldat. I'll be on my best behavior."

"I won't hold my breath." Flashes of old memories race through his head. This time, he's sure it's you. His eyes snap up to you with a glower, "You said you were going to be behave."

"I said I was going to be on my best behavior," you correct, making a show of picking out your knives for the night. "This is pretty much as good as it gets."

"That's what I was worried about," Bucky sighs to himself.

"Lighten up, Soldier. It's my last night, I'd like to have just a little fun."

"Last night?"

"That was the deal."

Bucky's eyes dart away from you as you lift your leg up. The fabric of your dress slides up as you strap a small dagger to your holster. He knows you're doing it on purpose to rile him up. That's not what worries him. What worries him is if you're not doing it intentionally. If you're not trying to get his attention and he's just so viscerally aware of you that he can't stop thinking about you. That's what worries him. He doesn't trust himself enough to be this drawn to you. He clears his throat of the knot forming, "So you're not staying?"

"Why? You gonna miss me?" you tease. He remains silent, his eyes unflinchingly forward. "Let's not kid ourselves, Bucky. You didn't want me to stay. Too risky - I might ruin your squeaky clean reputation."

He's absolutely certain that you're the only person that's ever referred to his reputation as squeaky clean. "You're really leaving?"

"It's okay, Soldat."

"I told you not to call me that," Bucky snaps. He's aware that his self control is slipping minute by minute. Every second in your presence is a test of his restraint.

"Do you still remember? Can you still see it in your mind? Or do you need me to show you?"

"Stop." He barks the second a flash of the memory starts playing in his head. He can see himself tossing his jacket on the floor in a frenzy. "That's enough."

You smirk that damned smirk at him again. His fist clenches tightly, the knuckles of his flesh hand white with strain. "You're thinking about us right now, aren't you?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push the image out of his head, he frantically shakes his head, "Stop it."

"Do you want to know what I'm thinking about?"

"Not particularly," he rasps.

"Liar."

He clenches his jaw so tightly that he's worried he might break a tooth or two as he desperately tries to hold onto his last ounce of self control. He's fighting a losing battle. "I'm not a liar."

"So what would you do? If I touched you right now?" You rest your hand against his chest. "If I got just a little bit closer?"

He hopes you can't hear his heart stutter. "I - I wouldn't do anything."

"What if you knew they would never find out? If we were so quiet and we didn't make a sound?"

"It wouldn't change a thing."

"What if I told you I remember it all? Every night. Every mission. Every time you kissed me."

"I-" His voice falters. Now was his chance. This was it, whether he wanted you to stay or go. Would you stay if he admitted that he never stopped thinking about those stolen moments? Or would you betray him all over again and laugh in his face and smirk that damned smirk with pride at bringing him to his knees? He can't put his finger on it, but in this moment, he doesn't care. He'll take the chance. He swallows the knot in his throat, "I would tell you I remember all of it."

Your hand twitches against his chest. "What?"

"I remember every second. I'll never forget any of it. I could just never figure out: Was any of it real?"

"Can't you see, my Soldat?" Your hand skates past his collarbone, up his throat, coming to rest on his cheek. Your hand caresses him with a tenderness he thought he would never feel again. "It was always real. Every moment of it."

"Then why did you do it?" he softly exhales.

"I had my reasons."

He lunges forward, and in the blink of an eye, he's gripping your wrist and pinning it to the wall behind you, "Tell me."

You grin wildly. You've been here with him before. "Arrogant as ever, Soldat."

"If it was real, why did you do it?" he demands, flexing his grip.

You lick your lips, momentarily debating whether or not to give him the truth. It ate at you for years. From afar, you could live with the knowledge that he might always hate you for what you did. Watching the conflict warring in his eyes was an entirely different battle. You figure, of all the things you could give him, the truth would at least give him some sense of peace. "It wasn't safe."

He loosens his grip slightly, "I would've protected you."

"It wasn't safe for you."

His eyes flash open. "What?"

"You were my mission, Bucky," you finally confess. "There was never anything else - anyone else. It was you. Only you."

He lets go, the shock sending him staggering. Your hand skates down the wall, but he doesn't move back to allow you the space to move. "You were sent to kill me."

You tilt your head at him, "I clearly failed."

"That doesn't explain why you betrayed me."

"Someone found out about us."

He shakes his head, his eyes storming with anger, "No, we were careful."

"Someone knew. I got a nice gunshot in the back to prove it. They knew I wasn't going to complete my mission. They knew I was never going to kill you. I wasn't going to lead them right to you. I didn't know who was watching. I wasn't - I wasn't going to gamble your life until I was sure that they were all gone."

The realization dawns on Bucky almost immediately. Sure, you were one hell of an assassin. Sure, your powers were beyond belief and could take down even the most heinous villains. But not even you could singlehandedly take down the crime syndicate you used to work for. An organization almost as massive and pervasive as HYDRA was. That's why you put yourself in Nick Fury's debt. You did it for him. "That's why you owed Nick Fury. That's why you sold me out."

"As twisted as it sounds, you were safer in SHIELD's custody. The moment I knew you were safe and in custody, I killed each and every one of them."

His voice is hoarse as he speaks, "You should've told me."

"I wasn't going to risk your life just so you wouldn't think badly of me."

"Then why did you come here?" he demands. "If you had no intention of telling me the truth, if you were going to pretend, why ask to come here?"

"I didn't ask to come here. I didn't know you were here. I stopped looking for you some time ago."

"Why?"

"I dug deep to finish what they started. And once I tore them down brick by brick, I needed to rebuild. I had nothing left. It took me a while to resurface."

"Oh." There's a tightness in Bucky's chest at your confession. He never looked for you. He though you betrayed him. Up until now, there was no reason to believe anything else. You rebuilt your life on your own. You had no one, nothing left. You were left all alone. He left you all alone.

There's a strange look in Bucky's eye when you finally look up at him. There's a lightness you haven't scene in quite some time. "What?"

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitches up. You may not have known, but Nick Fury sure did. "Fury knew I was here. He knew where he was sending you. He knew about... us?"

"I assume he figured it out when I came to him, begging him to help me keep you safe."

A shaky exhale dances across your lips. Bucky closes the gap between the two of you, pressing you up against the wall with him. "It was real."

For the first time in a long time, you touch him. You rest your shaky hand against cheek, your fingers ghosting over his lips, "Finally, you see, it was real... my Soldat."

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