#it cuts the angst in half

[pollyna]

Totally on-board with the miscommunication that comes from Bradley seeing Mav with Penny and little Amelia and immediately thinking he went and found a new family for himself and left Ice behind too. And how that means he takes leave immediately and flies out to see his uncle Tom and, when Maverick opens the door Bradley punches him, then proceeds to shout asking how he could ever do something like that to Tom, how could he even think to cheat on him in that way and was he so forgettable he pick up and create another family so easily? In all of this rant Mav is watching as his kid, nose bleeding and aching jaw with exactly zero context on what he's saying and why he's saying it. Half an hour later they are all sitting around the table, a ice pack on Mav's cheek, Bradley furiously hugging in uncle Tom and honestly, of the three of them Bradley doesn't know who's more confused about the situation.

It takes almost a week, slow and painful for thr first part, but at the end when Bradley has to go back to his post Mav is uncle again and he promised them to be around for the next holiday. It still not all simple and all forgiven on both sides but now Bradley picks up the phone everytime he can answer and sends out flowers to Penny to say he's sorry even if the woman doesn't know about what. But it's a beautiful bouquet so she doesn't complain.

[burninlovebutler]

Just an Intern // Part 4.1

pairing: austin x intern lol | word count: 4.7k-ish?

summary: the consequences of austin’s behavior catches up to him amidst battling the paranoia of an impending media shit storm. when a familiar stagehand nuance instigates a conflict, austin helps intern escape.

warnings/notes: usual angst, oral f receiving, jealousy, dom!intern / sub!austin ?? if you squint?, orgasm denial, protective!austin, physical altercation, 18+ mdni

notes: austin's POV was suggested / requested - i prefer/am better at writing in first person so, i really enjoyed doing this. writing from male character's perspective is something i love doing so - i apologize if it's not your forte. y/n is being addressed as Intern bc i want to make her an oc but am afraid of the commitment so lol i hope you give it a chance anyway ♡

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | see masterlist for all other fics ♡

vibes: just an intern playlist ⛓️

This girl is a gun, before you know it, it’s done

And you’ll be wishing that you crossed your fingers

- Girl is a Gun - Halsey -

-AUSTIN-

I closed Intern’s hotel room door behind me after our argument. I headed towards the front desk, scuffing my feet across the glossy wood floor, my hand gripping the handles of my duffle bag. The hallways of the lodge were always so vacant despite being overly booked. The silence only amplified the cycling thoughts in my head. I didn’t know what the fuck I was thinking – talking to her like that, talking about her like that. I didn’t know what comes over me when I was around her.

But I felt it that first day in the trailer, this insatiable feeling of hatred. Everything about her annoyed the fuck out of me, and yet all my body wants to do is get on my knees and bury my tongue in her pussy. I shook my head of the thought. That’s what I got for being on a social media detox. I thought of hopping on Hinge or whatever app just to find something to fuck. But decided against it – besides, we were stuffed like abominable snowmen in that fucking wooden cage. Another idea of finding one of the extras to hook up with lit up like a glass bulb in my head, but it quickly dimmed. Extras were too easy, and desperation seeped through their pores like dirty nicotine. There was no challenge, no fun. And so, it destined to be a long, lonely night.

Regardless of the confinement and inconvenience, this little unplanned vacation brought a much-needed gift – no service. At least very little and I didn’t bother paying for wi-fi. I needed a break from my managers, and the unforeseen weather anomaly gave me an excuse to ignore them completely. If I ignored the rumors that were festering like an open wound on Twitter or the looming tension of the next big scandal, maybe it would all go away.

I’d always been quite good at that – ignoring and avoiding anything that bothered me.

-

Thankfully the extra room was still available and once inside I swung my leather duffle bag onto a blue fabric-covered wingback chair. I let out a sigh and pressed myself against the wooden dresser that was identical to the one in the room I shared with Intern. I both felt and heard a loud hunger pain rumble in my stomach and that’s when I remembered that the last thing I had eaten was those fries from the night before. I tugged at my bottom lip with my teeth and tapped my fingertips along the dresser assessing my options. The memory of the heaping bowl of fries – drenched in salt and grease – looped in my brain. Layered atop that memory came a sense of guilt, I couldn’t tell if it was about the meal or my actions in the lounge bar. Either way it evoked the same response.

Another loud hunger growl ripped through me and I rolled my eyes at the dramatics of my empty stomach. I pushed myself off the wooden furniture and went to the glass-door mini fridge. I tugged it open and steal a branded water, cracking it open and taking a sip. The cold water immediately soothed the length of my esophagus and pooled satisfaction in my belly.

-4 Days Later-

When the snow melted, it took the peace of my cellular detox with it. Being snowed in on a mountain top was no longer a suitable excuse for neglecting the incessant phone calls and Twitter news updates from my management team. For those couple days in that stupid little lodge, I was able to just fucking breathe for the first time in months.

Not surprisingly, word got to the higher ups about the fight with her, they even heard about the small fight with Landon. I was reprimanded three separate times because of the events. If it weren’t for my integral role in the film’s publicity I would’ve surely been dropped. My career was hanging by a thread as it was, I needed to get my shit together. If anything got leaked it would collapse the shit storm that my team was so precariously balancing for me.

The three of us, Landon, Intern and I were all temporarily separated to different areas on set for the past few days. They finally brought on another makeup artist; a flamboyant man named Nick. Nick took over my makeup in the time we were separated. While he seemed to be relatively the same skill level as Intern, he was placed under her, making her his direct manager. I suppose he was the new “Intern” now, but she’d always be that for me – whatever that meant.

I regretted everything with her. Everything. The good and the bad. I didn’t know why I was so awful to her, only that she infuriated me so much.

And yet, I found myself noticing her absence on my side of the set. I noticed the lack of fluttery annoyance she usually brought and the quippy banter we’d exchange. I even noticed the quiet that filled the days without our incessantly heated back-and-forth. I noticed everything about her being gone. Perhaps noticed wasn’t the right word.

Maybe I missed the noise.

That morning we had new girls on set for some bar scenes and they needed more intricate makeup so, Intern was back in my domain. There was some unsettling feeling that came with her proximity, a confusion perhaps.

There were three new extras for this scene, a girl-next-door brunette, a freckly redhead and a busty blonde. On any other day, the blonde would be wrapped around my finger but today she was about as enticing as a plain bagel. That didn’t mean stop her though.

The petite blonde sporting frayed jean shorts and a plain white v-neck eyed me, while she stood next to the other extras and Intern. Her sauntered over to where I was leaned on my bike only a few feet from them. I squinted the sun out of my eye to look up at her, “Can I help you?” I asked, sounding more bothered than welcoming.

“Sure ya can darlin’” Her pink filled lips curled to a flirtatious smirk with a poorly mimicked southern accent.  “You can take me for a ride.”

I offered a small scoff, “Didn’t realize I looked like a ferris wheel.” The remark made her light brows scrunch in a confused way, like when a mall-santa claus is rude. I felt a pair of eyes on me instantly, but when I followed the feeling I was disappointed by the origin. Tom. He shot a warning glare reminding me that I needed to behave to prevent further repercussions. It annoyed me but it was a necessary reminder and I quickly turned on my press charm. I gave her a forced smile, “Sorry, I’ve just had a hard morning.” At least I was honest.

“It’s okay I forgive ya, my name’s Chloe.” The edges of her glossy lips turned upwards and stepped a foot at each side of my crossed ones. “Maybe I could make your day better.” Her suggestive voice quiet but not quite enough. My gaze wandered to Intern who’s face visibly twisted at the overheard remark but focusing on adding eyeshadow to the redhead’s eyes.

“Hey,” Snapped the blonde extra snapping fingers in front of my face bring my attention back to her, “I just gave you a pretty good offer and you can’t even look at me?”

Annoyance bubbled in me that I had swallow down.

Bitch I wouldn’t touch you with a 10-foot pole

-Is what I wanted to say but instead, “Sorry like I said, I had a shit morning.”

“Incredible, “ She sneered and propped her hands on her hips, “You’re exactly the monster the media portrays you to be.”

The last thing I needed was this dumb blonde who had only known me all of 5 seconds to be setting me off at 7 in the fucking morning. My jaw clenched holding back what I wanted to say but I knew my transparent poker face was giving away just how pissed I was getting. “Listen bi-“ I caught myself, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. “Chloe, you don’t know me at all, and I don’t think you should make assumptions of someone you barely know.” Attempting my best at keeping my temper tame.

An infuriatingly taunting cackle slipped her lips, “You know I didn’t believe the accusations, but I bet you really did everything that Madi-”

I shot up so fast I nearly knocked over my bike, “You don’t get to come on my set and talk to me like that, about shit you have no fucking idea about.” The hiss came out more apprehensive than I would’ve liked. I didn’t dare look over at Intern, I just prayed she wasn’t paying attention. I knew what she thought of me, she could think whatever she wanted. But her hearing any of the latest rumors swirling about me, would somehow be worse than anything I could’ve done to her.

She laughed at the fear in my tone, “Your set? You’re lucky you even landed this role with everything-“

“Who the fuck are you? You’re far too cocky for an extra, know your fucking place.” I growled, shoving past her and headed into the saloon set where we’d be filming.

I curled fingers so tightly into my palms as I heard steps following me, a vein pulsed in my forehead ready to burst open. I quickly pivoted back around, “What the fuck do y-” But instead of Chloe I found Intern, “Oh, hi.” My tone much softer, “What do you, um, what do you want?”

“I need to do your makeup.” She stated firmly while keeping her eyes focused on my chest, not looking at me.

“Right.” I nodded and followed her when she turned and walked towards her tented makeup station. I pulled myself onto the wood and fabric chair as she mixed up some foundation onto a metal palette. Then, she took a smooth flat brush and began painting the product down my face.

“So,” I hesitated as an awkward fog suspended in the air, “How’ve you been?”

She clenched her jaw and stayed silent.

“Isn’t it a little ridiculous that they separated us on set over a little rumor-”

“I see you found a new victim.” She sliced flatly, still not looking at me.

“Chloe?” I scoffed and her eyes snapped at me with a I’m-not-stupid glare. I sighed, I knew she wasn’t buying it, “Chloe? Are you kidding me?” I asked, then remembered how we got here in the first place.

She just raised her eyebrows in a ‘that’s not totally unbelievable’ kind of way.

I looked up at the tent as she patted makeup below my eyes with a small round brush. “If you think my taste is so low that I’d touch Chloe – you must not think very highly of yourself.”

She pressed her lips together before speaking again, “I just didn’t think you had standards, that’s all.” Her tone was light & bubbly, but the intention clearly wasn’t.

Anger began to pipe hot steam into my chest for the second time that early morning. I swore she tried to provoke me on purpose. My hands curled around the thick wooden arm rests and my nails dug into the grain. “And to think I almost missed you.” Her now powdered swiping motions halted as soon as she processed my words, her hand just barely trembling and her eyes locked on the area she was working. I couldn’t tell if I was mortified or glad that the words had left my mouth. Either way, it felt freeing, like I had finally told some secret I’d been hiding.

She continued finishing the work on my face in silence and stepped back. She set the black barreled brush down and kept her eyes low as she went to speak. “You’re done. Get out of my chair.”

-

I never thought pretending to seduce a pretty girl on screen would be as difficult as it was in my scene with Chloe. Regardless I felt Intern’s glare on me the entire time. My ego wanted to think it was jealousy but after what I pulled at the ski lodge and just before in the makeup chair, I knew it definitely wasn’t jealousy. Why the fuck would she be jealous after everything I’d done. Regardless, her stare burned like hot coals into my skin.

Directors cut for a 30 and I snatched a water bottle dodging every cast or crew member to find my bike. In the months of filming the vehicle had become some sort of comfort for me. Maybe it was me tapping into my character or the fact that it was the only thing that was constant, the only thing I could control.

I propped myself against the Harley unscrewing the cap of the bottle with a crack and taking a much-needed gulp. Before I could escape, Intern was making a b-line for me and I braced myself for whatever acid she was about to spew at me. But she walked past me, knocking my shoulder back and in a curt, but stern, tone, “I need to put something on your face.” Heading towards a trailer.

I let out a sigh, knowing whatever she was going to say would be even worse than I could imagine. I deserved it of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. I followed her to the trailer, pausing before the metallic door and taking a deep inhale before tugging it open. “We have no fight scenes Intern,” I exhaled clicking the door in place behind me, “What could you possibly need to put on my face?”

She straightened up, crossed her arms and puffed her chest out a bit appearing more intimidating, though there wasn’t much threatening about her. “Me.” She stated seriously, though her attempt at being menacing was almost comical.

“What?” I slightly stuttered not fully processing her words.

She shifted from one foot to the other before regaining her anger-fueled confidence. “I want to be on your face, I want to cash in my apology.” She blurted out quickly.

“I mean- I’m not saying no but just…why?” I questioned; I didn’t expect her to ever cash it in, nonetheless so soon.

“You and Chloe are fucking annoying and I just-“ Her was flustered, a light pink tinging her cheeks. Her fist balled at her side. “I don’t know, I just want my apology.” Her tone laced with false conviction. “I want my apology.”

“Okay…” I stated timidly, eyeing her wearily, “Are you sure?”

“Shut the fuck up and eat me out.” She sniped back, catching me off guard.

“Well I-“ Instinctively going to argue then realizing I had absolutely no problem with her request so, I shrugged, “Okay.” I looked her over, taking her in fully. I was trying to strategize how I was going to fulfil her request. She wore one of her flowy dresses, the ones that drive me insane – this one was powder blue with little white flowers. The dress hugged every part of her I enjoyed the most – it was tight around her waist and ruched around her full chest. The rest flowed down around her hips and thighs. I said a silent thank you to the universe for making it a warmer day. My gaze must’ve lingered on her too long because she took matters into her own hands.

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” She groaned impatiently, taking my face in her hands and practically smashing our lips together.

I let the inherent magnetism between us take over and took her face in my hands connecting our lips. She froze beneath my touch but quickly gave in, reciprocating the passionate kiss. Having her lips on mine again felt like a sip of cold water after a long drought – like an addict getting their first fix after sobriety. Her hands tangled into my perfectly styled hair for whatever scene I was meant to do next. Her tongue asked for entrance and I met hers voraciously. My hands trailed down to her sides and shoved her into the nearest wall. “Fuck.” I breathed out with my forehead pressed against hers. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes fluttered up at me with flushed cheeks. “Make me believe it.”

My fingertips were on fire every place they met her skin, and I could’ve sworn I had become a vampire from how every part of me was screaming to sink my teeth into her neck. But the sugar high I was getting from her lips won the battle. Pulling away for a fleeting second, “I’m sorry.” I said against her lips.

Almost completely in sync, she wrapped her arms around my neck as I picked her up effortlessly pulling her legs around my hips. I carried her over to one of the empty makeup vanities and sat her on the edge – all while our lips were still locked with our tongues dancing in time. I drew away again, cupping her cheeks in my rugged hands, gazing down at her lust-dazed eyes, “I’m sorry.”

There was a glimmer in her eyes that made me think maybe she believed that one. “Beg for it.” She demanded.

My hands squeezed her thighs all the way up to her hips, pulling her dress up with it. I swiftly grasped her hips and drew her to the very edge of the table. I began peppering kisses down her neck, she tilted her head to the side for more access. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled against the skin below her ear and she let out a small whine.

“Keep going.” She breathed out, her body melting and reacting to my touch.

I pulled her skin into a suck, just soft enough to not leave a mark, “I’m sorry.”

“More.”

“I’m sorry.” Working my way down till I reached her collar bones. My hands trailed up her sides, lingering on the curves I liked most before they molded around her breasts. She let out another small moan as my thumbs traced over her peaked nipples through the sheer dress.

Her breath hitched as my lips savored every inch of her skin down her chest, “More.”

I kneeled in front of her, her legs easily parted for me and already had a damp spot on her baby pink panties. I trailed soft, but hungry, kisses up her thigh, accompanying each one with an apology. I hooked my index fingers at the waist band and slowly pulled down her panties down her legs, tossing them only a few feet from us.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled against her lips and I could feel her writhing beneath my mouth. I drew my tongue slowly up her folds, tasting the juices I thought I’d never taste again. I let out a grown from her flavor and it gained a hand tangled in my hair, rougher than normal.

I swirled my tongue over her clit and she let out a surprised moan. “Fuck, Austin.” She struggled to get out. Her response only fueled my work on her. My tongue swirled around her swollen nub and my hand traveled up her thigh. I teased her at her entrance with my middle and ring finger before slowly sliding them in. She let out a slow whine as they slid inside her and began pumping into her sweet spot. In a rhythmic manner, my fingers and tongue danced where she needed me.

“You taste so fucking good.” I hummed against her heat as her juices filled my mouth and ran down my fingers. She tasted sweet, sweet like honey and I ate her like I had an insatiable sweet tooth.

My work on her distracted me from how hard I was, painfully restrained in my jeans. My free hand went to unzip them to fuck myself while I devoured her, but she tugged at my hair. “No.” She growled. “This an apology is to me, and you don’t deserve to feel good.”

This was new for me. I’d never had a woman talk like to me during sex before. But there was something so fucking sexy about it and it only made my cock throb more for her.

It seemed her little shift into dominance turned her on just as much as it did me, her moans increasing in volume and her hand gripping my hair-spray drenched hair. I knew she was close with the way her walls clenched around my fingers and her legs trembled around my head. I gazed up at her as she began coming undone – I always thought women were their most beautiful in the throughs of their orgasm, but this was different. The way she glowed in her climax made me want to keep making her look like that. She was angelic and her moans were harmonies – the sort of songs you just want to replay over and over, practically getting high off of them.

Sometimes I would get this twist in my stomach when I’m in business meetings where I know the executives are swindling me, or when I’m in interviews and I can tell they’re going to butcher my words for a scandal. In college I’d get it when I was at parties that would get raided or in high school when intimidating seniors would corner me. That looming churn bloomed in my stomach whenever I was in danger – and I could feel it when I looked at her just then.

Once she was finally spent, I hesitantly pulled myself up from the floor and wiped the excess juices from my mouth. I watched her, disheveled with her chest heaving, still coming down from the high. “So, am I forgiven?”

Her hooded eyes weakly reached mine. I expected there to be more light in them than before, I expected them to be softer and less angry. She pulled herself off the table and smoothed out her dress before looking me dead in the eyes, “No. Not even close.” She took a step closer to me. “But it’s definitely a start.” She spoke with a tone that felt like I was just the gum under her shoe.

She glared at me as if she was disgusted with how I made her feel and tugging the hefty trailer door open and disappearing behind it. It was only then that I realized how utterly foolish it was to think that eating her cunt would erase all the damage I’d done.

I recognized that warning sign in my stomach when I looked at her.

She was a warning I needed to head.

-3 Days Later-

We were stationed along a long dirt road getting various riding and chase scenes. Bikes lined the side of the sandy road having to cut scenes constantly due to the still wet mud from last night’s unprecedented rain gunking up our tires and covering the ever-important sponsored logos on the bikes. The excessive wind whipping sand against us was also causing interruptions as Intern had to keep cleaning us up and reapplying. Between the shitty weather, the constant interruptions, and our fucking directors still hounding my ass harder since the ski lodge debacles, the day was not going well, and my patience was wearing thin.

I stood just beside my bike, trying to just breathe through the aggravation from the last cut as Intern used a brush to flick off the sand that had built up on my face. She used her pinky to dust off some extra then returned to the brush. Even though the brush was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt, it still mimicked steel wool compared to her touch. Out of everything that happened between us, and out of every memory that would make itself known to me, her touch was the one that lingered the longest. Sure, I thought about that night in the hotel where my cock was buried inside her as she rode me, or when I chained her to the trailer door… I thought about them a lot. But the ones that flickered constantly in my brain like flashing clicks of paparazzi cameras, was us in the hot tub or on the floor of that disgusting restaurant we broke into. My body seemed to remember her warmth on me when she was clinging onto me in the tub or when she held my face as I kissed her on the floor.

I’d never had memories or fantasies rile me up just as much as sexual ones. But my hands burned at the thought of touching her again, they ached just to be on her. I felt it when she was near me, when she touched me. It was magnetic. My cock craved her, of course, but my hands did too – it was something so foreign to me. And I fucking hated it.

It couldn’t happen again. I couldn’t let this happen again. Especially not after the warning siren that blared in the pit of my stomach every time she looked at me. One bitch was already on track to nearly ruin my career, I didn’t need another one. And from our track record, Intern wasn’t looking like the safest option anyway – already causing me fuck up in front of our cast and crew.

She was a warning I needed to head

I just needed to make it through the holidays and the rest of shooting, and I’d be done. I could forget all about her.

I kept my eyes on the floating clouds above us, just letting my thoughts flow in my head when I heard my bike engine rev and felt a splash of thick mud coat the side of my body. The sharp squeal from Intern told me she’d been hit too. “What the fuck!” Looking over at a stagehand, Ryan, the same one from the truth or dare debacle, being the only evidence of a culprit with hands on the vehicle.

He let out a cocky laugh, “Sorry man, was just tryin’ to clean up the bike.”

“You ruined my brushes!” Exclaimed Intern as she looked over the leather brush roll that thankfully covered all the products inside the cosmetic case. While the products inside were safe, her entire arsenal of tools were covered in mud.

This was the tipping point of the day, everything that had pissed me off culminated into the rage that coursed through me. The fact that it was Ryan and that I was now coated in mud, but most of all it was the mud on Intern’s brushes. I made it into Ryan’s face faster than I thought and grabbed him by his shirt. The threats from the directors and management were now faint memories as I held his shirt wrapped around my wrist. “What the fuck were you thinking.” I growled in his face.

“Austin! Let him go!” Shouted one of the crew members but I was too blinded with anger to decipher who.

“Who fucking told you you could touch my bike?” My fist tightening around the dark material.

Yet Ryan looked unbothered, “Sorry man, was just tryna clean it up.” He repeated though his voice was laced in competitive snide.

“Austin!” An even more aggressive shout, “Take a thirty!”

“I can’t work on anything more!” Perked up Intern shouting across set, her forced innocent voice didn’t fool me, she was livid. “My brushes are fu- ruined!”

“Fine. All three of you, call it a day. Go home.” Followed by a ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ muttered beneath the director’s tone.

I released Ryan’s shirt and shoved him back, “Fine, I’m fucking out of here.” Rounding the bike, throwing my leg over it and kicking off the stand.

Before I even moved, I glanced over at Intern looking absolutely defeated and furious, picking through her now destroyed tools.

“You comin’?” I asked over the engine rumbling, and she snapped her head up. Her frustrated watery eyes swirled with conflict; I knew she didn’t want to come with me, but I could get her out of there. She looked around weighing her options and ultimately her anger won. Her gaze landed on Nick, who gave her a little nod saying ‘I got this, go ahead’.

She quickly paced over to me, “Get me the fuck out of here.” She snapped in a whisper, and swung her leg over behind me, wrapping both arms around my torso.

taglist; @missmaywemeetagain @pompeygirl89 @kendralavon7 @honey6578 @austinswhitewolf @lillypink @purejasmine @elvispresleyisfit12 @julie181 @kingdomforapony @navsblog @butlerprwsley @xstrengthxinxtragedyx @suspiciouselvis @xmusse @h3ll0k1tt9 @denised916 @bxxbxy @marlowmode @butlerstyles @tommydarlings @richardslady121 @loona-fox @dkfixates @lyla-tomtom @whoreforbrownies @slowsweetlove @ab4eva @steph-speaks @powerofelvis @samfangirls @stylespresleyhearted @18lkpeters @presleysdarling @angiedawn02 @nikkisixxwifee @darlinboypresley @guacala @mghy @unclecrunkle @galaxygirl453 @ccab @rairaielv @mazzystarwhor3 @verstappenmax1 @michellelv

If you'd like to be tagged in Part 4.2 + further parts, please comment 🩶

thank you all SO much for all the love and support on this story, it has truly been overwhelming. i know my numbers aren't as big as others but they're big to me - appreciate EVERY comment, message, ask, etc. even if i’m not the best at replying 😭 i love you guys so much - i never expected this fic to get that much attention so again, thank you xx

if you enjoyed this story/my writing pls consider giving my main fic, Forever Winter, a read - if you like angsty sad smutty you’ll probably like it lol

also pls consider giving this a like, comment or reblog ♡

[omglescubes]

by Eloonoel on Twitter

[mgsbois]

ok im a bit new to mgs but I used to think snake got older due to timeskips between games but I read online that it's literally in his DNA to age rapidly, so does that mean that snake gets older but otacon stays pretty young compared to him

Can you guys imagine the angsty yaoi

[insectduck]

My niche Keith Kogane headcanon is that "Thief" by Imagine Dragons from the Smoke + Mirrors (Deluxe) album is HIS song, no if ands or buts, it just screams mullet emo 'delinquent' in the desert bonus with space motifs. If you told me it was written by the angsty fuck himself I'd totally believe you lmao

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Chapter Title: Jester and Ragdoll Come to an Understanding/ Featuring: Quite Possibly the Most Awkward Way to Start a Friendship

Summary: Pomni and Ragatha finally talk. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

[illmoraineakoi]

So I have a fanfic where a human from our world is randomly proofed into the HK world as a Vessel in the Abyss, and a large part of the story revolves around how they have knowledge about the game, aka the world and future.

But I’ve been wondering about an alternate scenario, like what would happen if they weren’t from our world, if they didn’t have that advanced knowledge?

If they were just a normal person who randomly wakes up in a completely alien world, foreign and unfamiliar, in the body of a strange creature that’s vaguely humanoid in shape but definitely not in biology. Surrounded by a terrifying black sea that lashes at them with icy sharp tendrils and hovering black ghosts that looked like they were made of solid shadow.

To walk on unsteady lanky legs across thousands of small corpses that look disturbingly similar to their new body, a fact they intentionally try to ignore because thinking about it deeper horrifies them too much.

This place seems like hell, and they want, desperately, to escape it.

They climb, carefully and gradually more fearfully the higher the pit stretches with no sign of ending. They’re terrified of falling, fairly sure they wouldn’t survive. But they climb anyway, seeking freedom.

Until they do find the top, that muted metal platform desaturated of color, and discover with dismay that there is a barrier, there’s no where else to go, it’s a dead end, they wasted all that effort climbing for nothing.

(They haven’t encountered anything else alive here; they aren’t sure if they’ll starve to death. Or of thirst.)

They would give up hope if it weren’t for the faintest sliver of light peeking from a paper-thin slit in the barrier, telling them that there was something on the other side, potential freedom. They try to dig at the stone with their clawed hands, but the stone is too hard, their claws split and crack and break. They bleed black.

But now that they have had the temptation of escape, they’re vehement to not let it go, and while their body might be this strange alien creature, their mind remains sharply and cleverly human.

It they can’t dig with their hands, they’ll find or make a tool to do it instead.

And they remember seeing a lot of sharp metal back where they woke up.

It takes a while to slowly, very slowly, chisel their way through the stone, to make a hole big enough for them to squeeze through. They don’t know what to expect on the other side, but it certainly wasn’t to come face to face with a glowing white being.

The human-turned-Vessel has no idea what or who the white being is, nor why they act so strange around them. They can understand the language it—he—speaks, but the words lack context and they don’t understand what he’s actually saying half the time. They’re confused, and scared. They don’t know anything about this world, and things happen so fast that they can barely keep up with it.

They can only go with what the other beings around them are doing.

The fact that the white being—the King—keeps ordering around another that is clearly the same kind as them makes them uncomfortable, as does how readily that other is to obey. They are stoic and silent, and the way they do nothing until commanded is very unnerving. It feels wrong. They wonder if the other is a slave, but is confused when they themselves aren’t made into one.

In fact the King seems to fall in love with them, treating them like his child. Decrees them the prince/princess after less than a day. Lavishes them with luxury and attention.

It makes them even more discomforted.

They do not understand why he seems to revere them, but treats the other so much worse. They were the same! Such dichotomy was so wrong it was repulsive.

It makes their time in the palace almost as uncomfortable as the dark pit had been. It wears on them, the way the King constantly tries to treat them like his child, to ‘teach’ them and ‘dote’ on them, until it becomes unbearable.

They need to leave, to flee this place as well.

But they won’t leave without the other of their kind. They deserved freedom as much, if not more, than themselves. They would go together.

A feat easier said than done, because the other was strangely resistant to trying to escape. They didn’t seem to listen to them when they tried to form a plan with them. Didn’t move when they tried to convince them to come with them. And actively fought when they tried to pull them along with them.

It was utterly depressing, in their perspective. The other was so brainwashed and conditioned into being the kings slave, they refused to escape. Refused to even try.

It only made them all the more determined to save them.

They eventually manage, though how they do so leaves a bad taste in their mouth. They had to use their ‘rank’ as the prince/princess and command them like the King did. Only then did the other comply and follow them.

They resolve to make sure that was the last time anyone ordered them around. They’d help break the conditioning, no matter how long it took. The other would know freedom, they’d make sure of it.

They know nothing of this world, but they know the King will not be happy once he discovers them both missing. It’ll be obvious that they took the other. They both need to find a place the King will never find them. Or get beyond the reach of his influence. That would be safer.

He could not touch them if they left his kingdom entirely.

They didn’t know how to survive on their own, but they would learn. They knew of the essentials that they needed, food and water and medical supplies. Coverings to protect against exposure. Potentially fire starting items.

Most of it they stole from the palace’s supplies. They didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

They also took along the jewelry given to them as gifts when they became the prince/princess. The gold and gemstones would be valuable no matter where they ended up, able to be sold for money.

Providing for two would be a bit harder, but they would manage. They both would. There had to be somewhere else out there where they would be safe.

(Out in the Wastelands, it takes a while for them to realize that something was wrong. That it was a problem, how much they were struggling to remember things. How much it felt like they were struggling to remain cognizant. It felt like their mind was slowly slipping away from them like sand through their fingers.)

(When they realize something was happening, it terrifies them. They don’t know what to do, how to stop it. They don’t even know what it was.)

(The terror doesn’t last long. They soon forget about it. Forget that something is wrong.)

(Soon they forget almost everything. Who they are, where they are from, why they were out in this terrible wasteland that seemed never ending. Everything but their name and the name they gave the other leaves them.)

(The other is not unaffected either. It’s clear by how they start to behave they’ve forgotten themselves too.)

(Perhaps this is better for them. Perhaps loosing those memories is actually a mercy for them. Unrestrained from the binds of their former life down to their very memories, perhaps now they are, in some way, truly free.)

(They don’t know. It doesn’t matter. The only thing they both know is each other.)

(As far as they are aware, they’re all they ever knew.)

x

The Pale King finds them, eventually. It’s far too late.

The miracle Vessel who had, against all odds, retained its full cognitive abilities from conception, that, despite the void permeating and corrupting its flesh, was somehow still alive, was now little more than a shell of itself. It remembered nothing, and the look in its eyeholes were far too blank. Oh, sure, it still had a personality, it still clearly had thoughts and emotions, but the individual identity was gone. Erased. Relinquished entirely after so long away from the light of his beacon.

Seeing it so aloof was…painful.

And the Pure Vessel was ruined. Tainted, corrupted, somehow. Likely from the influence of the other Vessel. It looked at him in the exact same way as the prince/princess, eyes filled with a mild curiosity. The exact same aloofness where should have been absolutely nothing.

It still responded to commands, somewhat. It would give him its attention, body tensing in a vague muscle memory of its old proud posture, but that was largely it. Sometimes it would obey, but never in the detached manner it used to, and sometimes it would just stare, like it no longer understood what it was supposed to do. Sometimes it’s attention would be taken away by the other vessel.

It would do things on its own. Do whatever it wanted. Followed whatever thoughts that existed in whatever sort of a mind it now had. It was surly a very underdeveloped, primitive one. Potentially even damaged.

Seeing it as it was now stung, both with guilt and in failure. With the Pure Vessel ruined, the future of his kingdom was uncertain. The future of the Vessels’ own lives was uncertain...

Looking upon both had always hurt before, due to what he’d done to them, what he made them into. But now it hurt in a whole new way to look at them.

He’d found his children, but still lost them all the same. He could not fix them.

The process of them regaining their full minds would be a very slow one, if it was even possible. He had no idea if his light affected Void creatures’ minds. The Wastelands could have erased their minds permanently.

They could be stuck like this forever.

It didn’t matter. He’d take them home, and keep them as safe and comfortable as he could, protect them from the infection tot he very end. And hopefully, in that time, he’ll find another way to save his kingdom...

[skitskatdacat63]

The double-edged sword of enjoying Chicago and knowing basically all the songs by heart, but also can't stop crying every time I watch/listen to any of them bcs I can't stop thinking about how covid robbed me of getting the experience of ever performing it :(

[braidwoods]

i hope mc makes mal wear a wig or im not buying a single scene with him in bolas2

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (vii, ao3)

(Chapter seven: Cassian is back to deliver a letter, and though he flirts relentlessly, old wounds are opened as Nesta shares with him some uncomfortable truths. TW: mentions of domestic violence). (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

“What’s in this one, then?”

The letter was heavy in Cassian’s hands— and thick too, like it was several pages long. He brushed a calloused fingertip over the edge, weighing it in his palm as the Night Court seal shone glistening black, the wax smooth and practically polished, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the high, wide windows of the House of Wind.

Unlike the first letter, Rhys had penned this one alone. His brother shrugged as Cassian assessed the letter Rhys had written in solitude, and as the High Lord crossed an ankle over his knee, he shrugged idly and said, “Just some things I forgot to mention.”

But the first letter had been comprehensive— what was left for Rhys to say? And what was so important that it warranted a second letter to the queens, so quick on the heels of the first that the latter was probably still on a messenger ship bound for the continent, still days away from its destination?

Rhys plucked at a piece of lint on the sleeve of his jacket, a picture of idle grace and elegance, but Cassian didn’t buy it for a moment. Not one.

“Some things you’re trying to keep from Feyre?” he asked pointedly, lifting the letter up to the light with a flick of his wrist, letting the morning sun silhouette it in his hand.

“Who says I’m trying to keep anything from her?” Rhys countered mildly, his violet eyes bland and unassuming.

Cassian snorted. “Come off it, Rhys. Does she even know you’re sending a second letter?”

A beat. A moment of silence as the High Lord tilted his head, considering his words as his fingers drummed on the curved arm of his chair. Cassian knew the answer already, of course. It had been in a low voice that Rhys had asked Cassian to deliver this second letter, and when he’d offered to drop by the town house to pick it up, Rhys had quickly insisted on bringing it to the House of Wind instead, where Cassian was currently staying. It didn’t exactly take Azriel to figure it out. Whatever was in this letter… Rhys hadn’t told Feyre, and didn’t want her knowing. Not yet, at least.

Still, it was gratifying when Rhys sighed and said, at last, “No.”

Cassian looked at the letter held between his fingers again, and had a fairly good idea of what was written on the pages within. As the sun glanced off the edges of the envelope, he wondered how much of his brother’s heart had been poured out in ink and enclosed beneath that seal.

Distantly, a clock was ticking, echoing in the silence of the House. Rhys watched Cassian thumb the corners of that letter and shrugged again.

“I told you. It’s just some things I forgot to mention,” he insisted. 

“You could just tell me what’s going on, you know.”

Cassian tried not to sound petulant. Tried not to sound like all those years trapped in this city still grated his nerves, but gods— There had been a time, before Amarantha, before everything, where Rhys had worn his heart on his sleeve as much as Cassian still did… And yet whatever it was he felt for Feyre, he had yet to share it with his brothers.

 In the answering silence, Cassian looked at Rhys and wondered why he just wouldn’t admit it.

Why Rhys wouldn’t say it out loud, that he’d go to the ends of the earth to stop this war not just because it was the right thing to do, but because he couldn’t bear to have Feyre’s life hanging in the balance ever again. Cassian didn’t want to think about why it felt important to him— to have it voiced, that Rhys felt so much for this girl. A girl who was likely his mate, even though she’d been born mortal.

“Take the letter Cass,” Rhys said softly. “I already sent a note to Elain. They know to expect you.”

He loosed a sigh, and Cassian heard within it all of the longing Rhys was trying desperately to keep hidden. He felt in it all those hours Rhys had spent yearning, all that time spent waiting for something - someone - exactly like the Cursebreaker. All of it… contained with that sigh, breathed in the House of Wind so far, far away from where Feyre might hear.

Cassian tucked the letter into a pocket inside his leather jacket. “And when I get back?”

Rhys shrugged again, leaning his head back against his armchair far too casually to be believable. “Elain can’t stay to take the letter from you. She’ll be out planning her wedding.” A brief grimace crossed Rhys’ face, one that was echoed in the downward tug of Cassian’s own lips. He wondered if Feyre would be invited to this wedding. If Elain would ever tell her future husband about the sister that lived above the wall. Would her wedding ring be iron too, like her engagement ring?

“Nesta will meet you at the estate instead.”

Suddenly, Cassian wasn’t thinking about Elain. Not thinking about an iron wedding ring, but a dim silver one— one that should have made him think twice about being so glad that Elain was busy. A ring that should have made him second guess the thrill that went through him as he realised exactly which Archeron sister would be waiting for him when he crossed the wall.

“When the clock strikes noon,” Rhys continued, “She’ll make some excuse to the staff about having heard a knock— she’ll let you in, where you can give her the letter. Once you’re done you can come straight home.”

Fine— all fine. When he’d agreed to take the letter, he’d hoped, secretly, that Nesta would be there to receive it. He straightened in his chair as he thought of those storm-grey eyes, how they’d invariably have him scrambling for breath, for words. A ghost of a smile pulled at him, but he forced it down, down, until the thought of her was at the furthest reaches of his mind. Not gone— she was never gone from his thoughts completely, but far enough away that he could recognise when Rhys was trying to change the subject.

So Cassian tilted his head and pushed. “And?”

Rhys sighed. “And when you get back…” He trailed off, his voice wary. He looked to the windows, to the city beyond. “When you get back we’ll talk.”

***

Cassian heard the clocks chime noon.

Standing on the Archeron lawn, the grass tipped with frost beneath his boots, he waited for that emerald-painted door to be wrenched open, waited to hear a now familiar heartbeat as he climbed the front steps. But there was nothing— nothing but the continued chiming of the clock, and then silence. For fifteen minutes— silence. So with the door remaining resolutely closed, Cassian remained on the lawn, standing beneath a willow tree, as the cold grew colder and the air grew thick with mist.

Oh, he was going to give her hell for this.

The densening fog brushed against his glamour, and every breeze needled against his wings, making him shudder as it crept along the most sensitive parts of the membrane. He rubbed his hands together, trying to coax some warmth back into his fingers and wondered if she was late on purpose. If she was trying to prove a point.

After all, she’d pulled him inside by lapels and spat at him for making her wait after he’d been at the Hewn City. Was this his punishment? Some part of him almost hoped it was— that she was toying with him, playing with him. 

Fifteen minutes turned to twenty, to thirty, and as he leaned against the trunk of the willow, he felt a sly sort of grin settle on his face. If she wanted to play… 

His grin turned wicked. Hell— he was going to give her hell.

It was another frozen ten minutes before steps sounded, furious and hurried, from beyond the wrought iron gates. He knew her tread, recognised it instantly, even though he’d only really met her once. That walk to the village last time had imprinted her on his memory though, and as she stepped through the gates and walked up the long and curving driveway, scattered with patches of ice, Cassian took a breath. He readied himself, settled behind a mask of casual indifference and easy confidence. He didn’t bother to push up off the tree he’d been leaning on, only remained exactly where he was. Languorous and bored, he made himself watch with raised eyebrows as she kept her strides even.

“Nice of you to join us,” he said lazily as she neared the spot he’d been standing in for forty-five minutes now. 

Nesta opened her mouth, no doubt ready with some sharp and cutting retort, but Cassian shook his head sharply and nodded once to the house. A reminder, as he pressed his finger to his lips, that even though his glamour was firmly in place, the servants could still see her, and if any of them were to look out of the window and see her talking to a tree…

He smirked again, and as he pushed away from the trunk at last, she let him fall into step behind her as, together, they made for that front door.

Gods, if he’d thought he was ready to see her again…

He’d been wrong. Nothing could have prepared him— the flight down from Velaris wasn’t long enough, could never have been long enough, for him to have steeled himself. In the days since their last parting, he thought he might have exaggerated it, her beauty. That in her absence, he’d remembered her too grandly. He had thought that the pulling in his chest had been relentless, incessant— but as his footsteps echoed hers, he realised that it had calmed whilst he had been in Velaris. It had lain dormant, and now it was waking once more, cracking an eye open in the darkness and drinking her in as if she were the first glimpse of sunlight after a long, long winter. 

He caught her scent on the wind, cotton and lavender, and mother above, it was like a balm to him as he breathed her in on the winter air. 

Worth standing in the cold for. Worth waiting centuries for.

As Nesta climbed the steps to the front door, Cassian shook his head, letting the brisk wind shake the essence of her off of him, settling back behind that effortless, cocksure veneer. 

With a steady hand, Nesta rapped on the door once with the golden knocker. He wanted to say something as they stood in the silence waiting for that door to open— but what? What could he say to her? I’ve thought about you every moment we’ve been apart. Have you thought of me?

Have you spent the past few days thinking of my voice, the way I’ve been haunted by yours?

The door was pulled open, and Cassian beheld the same housekeeper from last time, dressed in black, keys hanging from a belt at her waist. Her eyes widened with recognition as she looked at Nesta standing on the doorstep, and Cassian watched as Nesta… changed. She let her posture slip just a little, her shoulders curving as she wrung her hands before her. Desperate— she looked desperate. 

“Mrs Laurent,” she said. “I need to see Elain.”

Perfect— such a perfect, pretty little liar. She didn’t even blink as she became nothing more than a woman urgently seeking her sister. Cassian could hear her heart, and it was steady and even as she played her part, not so much as a stutter in the rhythm. 

It was almost a direct echo of Feyre’s own words when she stood on that step, just a handful of days ago. But unlike Feyre, Nesta’s unease was entirely manufactured, and she knew as well as he did that Elain wasn’t home. She just needed to get through the door, to get inside, where Cassian could safely hand over the letter without being seen or heard. 

“She’s not home,” Mrs Laurent answered, but Nesta shook her head and took a step forwards, still wringing her hands. 

“Can I wait?” she asked, her voice lilting up at the end, a hint of distress creeping into her tone. Elain might have been able to convince the servants to do her bidding with little more than a smile, but Nesta… Nesta was more cunning. Cassian huffed softly behind her, a sound of awe, of approval, and he watched her shoulders straighten when she heard the sound. His breath brushed the nape of her neck, and he might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he heard her heart skip then.

Mrs Laurent nodded reluctantly, and with a sigh, opened the door only a little wider to let Nesta pass. Cassian cursed softly— there had been no plan for this. Nesta was supposed to open the door, holding it wide enough to let him and his wings pass through. The gap in the door held by Mrs Laurent was just wide enough for Nesta, and as soon as she crossed that threshold, he knew the door would be closed immediately behind her. His mind raced, wondering whether he should let Nesta through first— let her be shown to a sitting room to wait, and after ten or fifteen minutes, come to the door herself in accordance with the plan set out by Rhys and Elain. 

He was about to whisper, about to murmur to her to stick to the plan, but before he could… Nesta pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and, with a deliberate twist of her fingers, let it flutter slowly to the floor.

An opening— that’s what she’d given him. As she dropped to retrieve it, her palm pushed against the smooth, green-varnished wood of the front door, pushing it open wide enough to let him pass. Cassian wasted no time, sidestepping her as she knelt, tucking his wings in right against his spine. Still, the edge of the membrane brushed against the doorframe and an uncomfortable shiver ran through him, but as his steps sounded on marble, Nesta’s fingers brushed the cotton of the handkerchief. So briefly he would have missed it had he not been watching her with intensity, she looked up. Just a flick of those silver-blue eyes, a spark as her scheme unfolded. He offered her a smirk, one that was more than a little impressed, and he didn’t miss the way she ducked her head, avoided his eyes as her heartbeat kicked.

Had she been thinking about him, he wondered as she rose smoothly to her feet, tucking the handkerchief back into a pocket in her cloak. Had she been as consumed by him as he had been by her?

As she stepped inside the gilded hall that might have been her home had things been different, Nesta drew near to him, as though pulled by something invisible, something intangible. Cassian smirked again as he felt the edge of her cloak brush his leathers.

“We make a good team,” he murmured conspiratorially, leaning so close that his lips were by her ear. He didn’t imagine it then— her heart definitely stuttered, skipped a beat as she gave him a silent glare, hidden from the sharp eyes of Mrs Laurent as the housekeeper turned and walked briskly down a shadowed hallway, motioning for them - for Nesta - to follow.

The growing fog outside blocked the weak light from the sun, and no candles had been lit to counter the mist that brushed against the windows and cloaked the world beyond. The light of his siphons glanced off gilded side tables and polished silver candelabras, and Nesta watched it curiously. Watched the ruby light dance across the windows, illuminating the fog that pressed cold fingers against the glass. 

When she cast a glance at him from the corner of her eye, Cassian caught a spark in her gaze that had been missing the last time he’d been with her in this house. He felt like he might need to lie down after catching that look, after looking into those eyes. They were alight, like the way they had worked so easily together to get inside her father’s manor had surprised her, ignited something that had been trapped for so long beneath the weight of her unhappiness. They hadn’t needed words, on that doorstep. Their thoughts had aligned so easily, their movements co-ordinated as if moving around one another so effortlessly had been the plan all along.

As Mrs Laurent led them further down that hallway, to a small sitting room at the end, Cassian found himself wanting to tease her, even though she’d left him waiting for almost an hour in the cold. He wanted to bring that smirk out, that spark in her eyes. That glare— he wanted her to pin him in place with that glare of hers, wanted to feel his blood rushing through his veins as she scowled. He wondered if she’d call him a sparrow today, or if she’d have some other insult to hurl at him. 

He kept that mask of lazy smiles and cocksure confidence firmly in place, even though beneath… Beneath he felt like he was but a breath from trembling. That look in her eyes… That look in her eyes was almost enough to topple him completely.

The door to the sitting room was opened, revealing a small but comfortable room beyond. One of many such rooms in this estate, Cassian would guess, but it would do for now. All he had to do was pull the letter from his pocket and hand it over, along with the coins Rhys had given him to pay for the letter’s passage. That was all— a role that could be over and done with in a handful of minutes. So why, as he stepped into that room lined with silk wallpaper and fine plaster mouldings, did he want to drag this out as long as possible? Why, when he felt the wall pressing against his senses, his nerves, did he want to stay below that magical border?

The answer to both those questions strode into the room before him, her footsteps swallowed by thick rugs imported from the continent. Nesta stood before the empty hearth and in a single breath, thanked the housekeeper for showing her inside, and asked her if she’d be so kind as to light the fire. Mrs Laurent obliged, though Cassian heard the small huff that Nesta didn’t— caught the slight hesitation as she bent to light the fire, her back turned to the woman who might once have been her mistress, had things been different. 

Clever, though. To light the fire, to have the crackling of the logs masking any sounds that might be overheard.

The same flicker of approval he’d felt on the doorstep rose again, and though Cassian widened the net of his glamour, extending it to the door so that their voices would be trapped within, it was clever of Nesta to have taken the precaution anyway. His siphons seemed to agree, the ruby light winking as the flames claimed the hearth as their own.

At last, Mrs Laurent departed, closing the door behind her with a firm click. Alone— they were alone at last, after so many days spent apart. Alone, with nothing but the fire breaking the silence and nothing but thin air between them. Cassian gave Nesta his most roguish grin, practically prowling towards her as she remained motionless by that fire. He expected her to step back, but there it was again— the stutter in her heartbeat. It made his grin turn sinful, dark and promising, and though he kept his steps slow and meandering, they were far too purposeful to be anything but deliberate.

A game— that’s what this was. One with few rules and fewer boundaries, because both rules and boundaries had been cast aside that day on the road to the village, where she’d grabbed his dagger and he’d felt something between them grow taut.

“So,” he said, keeping his voice low and the glamour in place. He cocked his head to one side as he stopped before her, dragging his languorous eyes over every single inch of her, from those formidable eyes to the curve of her neck, her shoulder, to the hands she had clasped, elegantly, before her. His siphons pulsed again as he let out a soft, low, hum. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

***

Nesta could have sworn she felt the breath leave her, like even that surrendered beneath that hazel gaze, that infuriating smirk and that positively sinful voice. The weight of the morning lay heavily, so heavily, on her shoulders, but as Cassian called her sweetheart… Gods save her, she almost forgot everything that had happened at the Mandray house that morning.

Everything that had made her late in the first place.

She thought of Adara, her mother-in-law, in the pantry with trembling hands, searching so desperately for—

“You were late,” Cassian said, his voice kicking low and honeyed, so darkly sweet it felt thick and rich as his words crossed the paltry distance between them. His head was still angled to the side, some kind of mirth dancing in his eyes, and there was a challenge in that upraised eyebrow, in the stare he let linger for far, far too long on her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders.

Nesta could only blink, straighten her spine and look at him with measured, practiced, and entirely false apathy. “Are you expecting an apology?”

He huffed a laugh. “Not quite.” An irreverent shrug, a twitch of his lips as his mouth curved up into a devious smile. “An explanation might be nice though.”

“You won’t be getting one.”

No— as she stood with the roaring flames at her back, she closed off that part of her day entirely. It didn’t matter that she would have been on time. That she’d risen and dressed early enough. Nesta let her eyes close briefly, and tried to forget how she’d been about to leave when she’d heard the clatter from the kitchen. Tried not to remember how she’d found Adara with a fresh bruise, purple and blossoming, on her forearm.

Cassian tsked, daring to take another step. “That’s not very courteous, is it princess?” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, until it was a caress. A gentle, dragging touch. Like velvet— his voice was like velvet, decadent and smooth against every single one of her senses.

The scent of him washed over her, cinnamon and leather and salt, and she breathed it in - breathed him in - and didn’t back away, even though she knew she should have. Did you miss me, he’d asked, and as she stood in that small sitting room tucked away at the back of her father’s manor… she almost wanted to say yes. Almost wanted to let him keep advancing, let him him take another step, and another, until his chest was flush with hers. She shook her head, but the scent of him lingered, overwhelmed her, and when he looked at her like he could tell exactly what she was thinking…

Nesta forced herself to take a step back.

He gave her another crooked smile, a casual twist of his lips accompanied by another lazy shrug. He  pulled an ivory letter out of an inside pocket and held it out, but before she could grasp it, he pulled it back, just out of her reach. 

“Tell me why you were late.”

“No.”

He tsked again, and though she was drowning in cinnamon and leather, her mind went right back to the Mandray kitchen, to bottles rattling as Adara frantically searched for a salve, for the willow bark she could crush and use as a painkiller. Those red stones on his hands gleamed, and Nesta felt herself torn in two, caught between the part of her that wanted to remain in this room, with him, forever, and the part of her still stuck in the sharp, bitter recollections of that morning.

Irritation crested within her like a wave, because why did he want to know anyway? Why did he push her and press her and rile her, when it had nothing to do with him at all? Why did he look at her like seeing her was the highlight of his day, when in the end, he’d be falling asleep above the wall tonight, and she’d be back in her husband’s bed once more?

She’d been late because she’d taken one look at Adara that morning and known she couldn’t leave. Nesta had found the willow bark and turned to go, but then the older woman had found the jar of salve kept towards the back of the pantry and exhaled softly, letting out a soft, entirely defeated sound when she found it empty. Her fingers had turned white around the lid of the jar, gripping it hard as she fought to breathe, and how could Nesta have left, then? How could she have turned her back when, ultimately, they were in it together, these Mandray women? Nesta had taken the empty jar from her mother-in-law and told her to sit, grabbing a mortar and pestle as she rolled up her sleeves. She’d been late because she’d made the salve herself, filled that jar to the brim as the clock ticked over. 

Cassian hummed, the sound reverberating through her own chest. The firelight turned his wings golden, and even despite the ire currently making her grit her teeth… she couldn’t look away. He was maddening, and she felt her temper flare as he dragged that gaze, boldly, over her once again. He opened his mouth to speak and still, she couldn’t look away.

“You gave me such shit for making you wait,” he continued, a laugh escaping him that was sultry, dark and heavy. Nesta closed her eyes for a beat, trying to ignore how rich that laugh sounded. How much she liked that laugh. “So come on princess, tell me why I shouldn’t give it to you right back after you left me standing on that lawn for over half an hour.”

With a jolt, she remembered the way Adara had thanked her gently that morning. Remembered the way she had squeezed Nesta’s arm when they were done with the salve, as if to remind her that they had each other, even when there was nobody else to defend them. She almost lurched as she remembered Tomas, how he’d noticed the bruises that marred his mother’s arm— and done nothing. His brother, Jonah, had done the same. And yes— she’d been late, but did it matter? Cassian thought being left out in the cold for less than an hour deserved… what? Some kind of grovelling apology?

Suddenly, Nesta was pushing the flat of her palm against the broad span of his chest and shoving him away, forcing him to retreat, to take back each and every step he’d made towards her. Every step she’d let him take— every step she’d welcomed.

Whatever game they’d been playing… she felt it fizzle out and die in her next breath as she forced him away. Whatever this was, whatever lay between them - trembling and tenuous and fragile in its newness - it wasn’t anything that she could keep. He’d be gone soon enough, and she’d be back in that house, sharing a roof with a man who beat his wife, and sons who did nothing to stop it.

She hissed, clenching her fists as the fire cracked. “I was late because my father-in-law hits his wife, and I was mixing a salve to bring her swelling down,” she spat, not bothering to mask the venom in her words, the bitterness. She seethed, and seethed, and seethed, and found herself unable to stop. “I won’t apologise for making you wait— you’re immortal. If there’s one thing you have in abundance, it’s time.”

The next moment seemed to last a lifetime. Nesta felt her words hanging in the air between them for an age, the silence growing steadily suffocating as Cassian seemed to be fighting for the words to answer her. The stones on his hands, on his chest, had flared once, but his eyes were wide, filled with something that looked like grief. Like pain than ran deep, far deeper than she could even begin to comprehend. Regret flickered in his hazel eyes, the ones that had but a moment ago been practically undressing her where she stood. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the movement, and still silence reigned.

When it was almost unbearable, when she was about to snatch the letter and leave, Cassian let loose an unsteady breath and took a small, tentative step forwards.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, his voice raw with something that ached, something that was pained and fraught. “I didn’t mean to be a prick,” he added, and damn if he didn’t sound earnest.

“Well,” Nesta huffed. “You were.”

But his face was stony, his eyes cold, and something else swam beneath the surface. Something that might have made her shiver had she not known, somehow, with bone-deep certainty, that he’d never hurt her. The stones on his hands pulsed as he asked quietly, but not at all softly, “Has he ever touched you?”

His voice was darker than before, thick with a promise of violence, of retribution, and she understood, now, why he was a warrior. Why soldiers would flee before him in battle  When she didn’t answer, he pinned her with that hazel stare.

“Nesta.”

“Does it matter?” she answered at last, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Yes,” Cassian said simply, taking another step forwards, and Nesta didn’t bother to back away this time. Didn’t want to, not really. “I’ll kill him anyway, but if he touched you too…” An almost terrifying smile curved his lips. “I’ll make him suffer, first.”

“He’s never lain a finger on me,” she breathed.

Oh, but how willing he was to kill for her. She felt it course through her, a jolt that set her blood alight. She should have been terrified. Should have shirked from the utter, utter honesty in his words, but she found herself only wanting to fall deeper, to lean in to him instead of pulling away. And when he took yet another step, Nesta didn’t move. He was so close that she could feel his warmth, and she knew she ought to step away. Knew that she should be unnerved by the way he was so ready to draw blood on her behalf.

She almost buckled as he dropped his voice even lower, as he looked at her with an intensity that words failed to describe, to encompass.

“And his son?” Cassian asked, his lip curling as his question devolved into a snarl.

“No,” Nesta answered, willing her voice to remain steady, even. “No, Tomas has never touched me like that either.” She shrugged. “I’ve never denied him what he wants, I suppose.”

“I’ll kill him anyway.”

Silence. Nesta wondered what the proper response was, when a stranger threatens to kill your husband. Whatever it was, she didn’t think hers was it— not with the way her breath caught or the way her heartbeat stumbled. 

And he wasn’t a stranger, was he? Not really. He felt familiar to her, like there was something about him she recognised. There was a whispering deep inside, one that kept her awake at night and murmured in the darkness— a whispering that said, finally, whenever their eyes locked.

She looked up at him now, taking in the dark hair pulled back in a bun, the ruby earring in his ear that glinted as he tilted his head and looked down at her, gaze unflinching. She followed the line of his jaw with her eyes, reaching the lips that were startlingly - dangerously - close to her own. She dragged her eyes up, over the nose that had a small scar at the bridge, to his own eyes, hazel flecked with gold. She let herself admit, for the first time, that he was beautiful. Though Nesta had thought Azriel the most beautiful of the three when she first met them… it was Cassian’s rugged beauty that made her want to damn herself completely, to let herself fall.

“I mean it, Nesta,” he said softly, his words little more than a whisper that skittered across her skin. “I’ll kill him. I’ll take you to Velaris and Feyre can—”

She lurched back, so suddenly that the absence of his warmth was a shock to her senses. “No,” she said firmly, one hand rising to her chest and resting over her heart. She ignored the erratic beating and shook her head. “My sister doesn’t need to know. Neither of them do.”

Cassian frowned. “They’re your sisters, they should—”

“They don’t need to know.”

It was Cassian’s turn to take a step back, widening the distance between them that had, only a moment ago, been almost non-existent. He shook his head too, dark hair falling into his forehead as it escaped his bun. “Don’t ask me to keep that secret, Nes,” he said lowly, and though Nesta bristled at the nickname, at the familiarity of it… it was secondary. Secondary to the way he was looking at her.

“Why?” she demanded. “Because you think my sister has a right to my secrets?”

“No,” he shot back. “Because I can’t bear it.”

His own breathing grew heavy, his eyes a fraction wilder. Nesta’s breathing stopped completely, and gods, she hoped his glamour was still muffling all of the sound from inside this room, because neither of them had been thinking about being overheard.

He turned away from her, stalked to the windows and left her looking at his back. At the wings that were kept tight against him, close to his spine. She barely heard him when he said, quietly, “I told you you reminded me of my mother.” He let out a pained, bitter laugh, entirely devoid of mirth. “She endured something similar, and I…” He paused, his wings trembling as a shudder racked through his chest. “I killed every man who laid a hand on her.”

His voice was raw with agony, edged with grief, and even though his back was turned, she saw the anguish lining every part of him, saw the way his shoulders curved as his gaze dropped to the floor beneath their feet. 

“Every single one,” he added, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Those eyes, that before were warm and glistening with teasing, were filled with pain as he gave her a pointed look and added, “And I killed all those who stood by and did nothing to stop it, too.”

He turned back to the window, as if he didn’t want to see her flinch as he confessed to murder. But Nesta didn’t feel so much as a glimmer of fear as she watched his hand drop to the hilt of his dagger, as if remembering all the blood he had shed. She stepped forwards, her steps seeming impossibly loud in the hushed quiet of the sitting room, and she almost reached out, almost let her fingers graze his shoulders, the gap between his wings. She didn’t— but she didn’t retreat, either.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “About your mother."

Her every breath seemed to tremble, but not with fear. He turned, and she could have sworn he trembled, too.

He shook his head, and Nesta longed, longed, to brush away the strand of hair that had escaped his bun. It brushed his cheeks, and she wondered what it would feel like, what it would be like, to lift a hand and tuck that strand behind his rounded ear. 

“It was a long time ago,” he said blandly.

Ten minutes ago she was furious at him, shoving him away and cursing his name and now— now curiosity kindled within, and she found herself blinking and asking, “How long?”

He let out a soft huff, a breath of a laugh that seemed to shatter the silence more completely than any of the words they had spoken. He turned to face her again, the pain in his eyes dimmed. 

“Centuries,” he answered.

Centuries— he had seen centuries pass. He looked barely older than thirty and yet—- centuries. She fought the urge to raise her hand again, fought the desire to touch his cheek and feel his skin beneath her fingers.

“Does it get easier?” she asked quietly.

“Do you want the honest answer, or the kind one?” he asked, his voice dry as he drank her in, noting every vulnerable piece of her she’d lain bare with that question. Does it get easier— the pain, the grief. The anguish and the anger— does it get easier?

“Honest.”

Cassian nodded once, but he didn’t draw away. He lifted his hand, as if he were going to touch her - the way she’d longed to touch him - and Nesta felt her entire body grow taut, a bowstring just waiting to be loosed, a harp waiting to be plucked. His fingers stilled in the air barely an inch from her cheek, as though he were reconsidering, and Nesta wanted him to close that distance. Wanted to feel his touch and know that this moment, where he was just as vulnerable, just as aching and as sore as she… That this moment meant something.

But he curled his fingers in the air and let his hand drop, the space on her cheek burning in his absence, as if yearning, desperate to know the graze of his knuckles, the brush of him against her.

He stepped back, and didn’t answer her question— but it was answer enough. No, his retreat said. No, it doesn’t get easier.

He inhaled deeply, and Nesta watched his wings twitch as he let them spread a little. No longer tucked so tightly against his spine, he adjusted his shoulders and cleared his throat, as if, suddenly, he remembered why they were here at all.

His hand dived back into the pocket on the inside of his leather jacket. “The letter.”

Almost identical to the last, Nesta took it. She brushed her thumb over the seal, tracing that middle star, and wondered again what those mountains meant. Those three stars. She might have asked him, then. Might have found the words, the courage, to look at him and ask… but the moment was gone, carrying all of that aching vulnerability, that bare honesty, with it.

All she could ask was, “And am I being trusted to post this one alone?”

Cassian let out a soft laugh, though it was barely a whisper passing through his lips. He gave her a shrug, inconsequential and casual, even though she knew it was nothing of either sort. “Why, would you not like my delightful company on the walk into the village?”

And there it was— the teasing. The riling. Back, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You and I have different definitions of delightful,” she muttered. Folding her arms over her chest, she looked down at the letter and glared. “I don’t need an overgrown bat to tell me how to post a letter.”

“There’s that scowl,” he said as she looked at those wings, at the smooth leathers and the ruby stones on his hands and shoulders. “You know, there’s a myth above the wall about a woman who was so beautiful, her face sent a thousand men to war.” He gave her an appraising look, a slashing grin that made her feel lightheaded. He dragged his gaze over her, languorous and searching, and when he met her eyes again, that smile was feline. Wicked and lethal and absolutely intoxicating. “You could send a hundred thousand with that glare alone, couldn’t you?”

Gods, the way he looked at her. 

Nesta drew back, keeping her arms folded tight as she looked at him with irreverence. With a raised eyebrow, she tilted her head the way he had done so many times that day and said, “Are you saying I’m not beautiful?”

The laugh that left him was genuine, and his eyes were alight, all of the anguish from a few moments ago banished entirely. He winked at her, as though this were a game he was thoroughly enjoying playing— a game he didn’t want to see end any time soon.

“Only an imbecile would suggest that sweetheart.” He looked her over once again, daring to draw his bottom lip between his teeth and give her an appreciative hum. Nesta felt her chest grow tight, her blood heating as it rose to her cheeks, but he only lifted his chin and smirked, as though, yes— this were a game he could play forever, and she were the first worthy opponent he’d ever had. He raised an eyebrow as she felt a flush spread down her neck. He nodded to the letter and extended her an arm. 

“So, shall we?”

Tagging: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss

[softquietsteadylove]

Hi can I request 2 parts for Spy/Special Force AU?

I have been craving for some angst and drama, so I am really sorry for this.

So for the 1st part. We always see Gil in dangerous situation but now...what about Thena was caught. Gil didn't know that it was Thena not until they presented her to him. He had to watch her getting interrogated and tortured and he can't do anything about it because he's undercover. He tried to negotiate with them without getting suspicious, but it didn't work.

"So, what do ya think, new guy?"

"Ask about the arms deal happening at the end of the week."

Gil took the instructions coming through his earpiece silently. "Not a bad place, but do you guys really have the stuff necessary to secure all this square footage?"

He got a couple of looks and tried to remain calm; using 'secure' like that would definitely get him suspected of being an undercover Agent.

"I know a guy with both hands under the table, I mean," Gil shrugged, keeping his arms folded and tight to his sides. He didn't manage to sneak anything in with him weapons wise. His fists were weapon enough.

"Don't worry about it," one of the ones who had been showing him around for the last week shrugged. "We've got more incoming."

Gil nodded. It was as much of a confirmation on the weapons trade off as he was going to get, and he wouldn't risk asking about it further. His brows furrowed as they reached their destination: a control room in the basement with the window smashed out. "We catch something?"

"You could say that." His grin gave Gil a bad feeling.

They turned on the singular light bulb that lit the decrepit little space. There was a small figure in a chair, ziptied to the armrests and legs by the wrists and ankles. They were visibly too tight, drawing blood no matter how still they tried to remain.

Gil's heart stopped.

He tried to stay still. He would know that figure anywhere, as much as he tried not to. The slight frame, the slope of the shoulders and the prominence of the clavicle under the buttoned work shirt. The stockings were torn, probably from getting dragged to and fro. Shoes were probably the first thing taken from them.

He knew it was Thena before they pulled the burlap off her head.

As soon as it was off they punched her square in the jaw, whipping her head around and making the chair screech on the concrete floor. It was just heavy enough not to topple over with her in it.

Gil kept his face as neutral as he could--their lives depended on it. They were watching him, checking to see if they had found the weakness they thought. If they had found their mole. "Where'd you find her?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the worker bees around him snickered as they watched the show.

Gil kept his fists clenched under his armpits, digging his short nails as deep into his skin as he could. His teeth were clenched so tight he could barely see straight.

Thena didn't utter a word as they laid into her, taking every slap and punch with little more than a grunt or a burst of air. She kept her eyes shut as they hauled her head up by her hair, still pulled back into a ponytail.

They hadn't gotten her at home, she was still dressed for work, whether they got her coming in or going home. Gil felt sickened to wonder how long they'd had her captive.

"We got a tip that there was a real pretty blonde hangin' around," the one doing the beating said to Gil, giving Thena's head a shake by her hair. He turned his face into hers, inhaling against her cheek. "Had to go and find 'er for myself."

"Don't move a muscle, Agent. Stay on target."

Those fuckers. The brass knew Thena had been captured and were still ordering him not to move? How far were they planning on letting this go? How long had they been listening to Thena get hurt?

Eyes were still on Gil in the room, monitoring how far they could push him. He still hadn't let a crack show, yet. "Y'know, someone let us know that she was with the Fed."

Of course someone had tipped them off. How else would they have been able to get the drop on the Goddess of War?

"Y'know what they say, big guy," another one slapped him on the shoulder before strolling into the semi-connected interrogation room. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

Gil wiggled his fingers against his palm, feeling the blood he'd drawn. He was nearing his limit. Thena pried her least swollen eye open and looked at him, managing just a little twitch of her lips. No one else would be able to recognise it as a smile--they'd sooner assume it was a flinch.

But Gil could always tell.

Thena shut her eyes again as they wrenched her head back, exposing the length of her neck.

"She is a pretty thing, huh?" the new one looked back at Gil, trailing a finger along her throat.

"Agent, do not move. I repeat: stand. Down."

Gil watched the hand trail down her neck to her collarbone, just barely peeking out from her blouse. He pulled out a knife, cutting off one button, then another.

The two in the room grinned at each other as the third button popped off, exposing just the hint of a white bra with floral lace. "Should we see how pretty?"

If the window weren't shattered before, it certainly would be now. Gil grabbed the head of the first one, slamming it down on the table so hard it only took the one hit to incapacitate him.

The other one reached into the back of his jeans, "fuckin' mole-!"

Gil turned his shoulder out to him, ramming him against the wall with his shoulder driven directly into his solar plexus. The wind left him and he slumped down the wall. For good measure, Gil kicked his teeth in.

"Hey, what the fuck-"

Gilgamesh was by far the strongest on the special forces team--probably one of the strongest agents in the field, if not the strongest. He grabbed the creepy one by the hand, twisting it all the way around to pop it off the wrist.

The creep screamed and howled in pain.

The one who had been doing the beating held up his hands, backing away from Thena on the chair, who was swaying faintly in her attempt to remain conscious.

"Agent! Stand down, this is a direct order!"

Gil tore the earpiece and its connected mic out of his ear and crushed it under his foot. He kept his eyes on the man with Thena's blood on his knuckles.

"H-Hey, big guy," the idiot was at least smart enough to try and barter his way to safety. "Look, we both know you're not gonna kill me-"

"Says who?"

The smaller of the two men shrank a little. Maybe his life wasn't as insured as he thought it was. "O-Okay!--okay, look, I'm sorry! I-I'm sorry, man! You want info?! I'll tell you--I'll tell you everything! Who tipped us off, how we scoped out your headquarters--everything!"

Gil grasped the bastard by his shirt, slamming him up against the wall, black in the eyes. "You've got a lot of nerve bartering with me after what you did to her-"

"Gil."

The beater hit the floor like a sack of bricks.

Gil moved in front of Thena, lifting her chin as gently as he could. She'd have one hell of a black eye, and her naturally sharp cheekbones were split and swollen. "Hey."

Thena blinked her good eye, lifting her head shakily as Gil cut open the zipties slicing her wrists and ankles incrementally.

"Backup better be on the fucking way," Gil growled as he get her freed. Her body naturally folded in on itself in its injured and vulnerable state. Gil shirked off his jacket, pulling it around her and even zipping it up over her exposed chest. "Or those old fucks are next."

The beater was trying to crawl to safety.

Gil slammed his heel down on his back.

The beater threw up anything that was in his stomach.

Gil leaned down, pulling his head up by the hair, as he had done with Thena mere minutes ago. "You're gonna tell us everything."

He nodded.

"You're gonna cooperate with every agent you see."

He nodded again, more vigorously.

Gil dropped him. If they did get some valuable information out of him it would be the only thing saving his job after this stunt. He turned, catching the creep trying to struggle to his feet. "And you."

Thena didn't even blink as Gil grabbed his shoulder, then his jaw, and twisted. She watched as the man's lifeless body fell to the ground. She looked up at Gil, "I'm going to pretend I didn't see that."

Gil said nothing. He had no remorse for someone like that. He nudged his body out of the way, picking Thena up and sitting down in the chair for himself with her in his arms.

The sounds of their fellow agents storming the building started at the top of the building and travelled through its open, gutted remains. They would be with them soon enough.

Gil sat and waited. He would be lucky to be suspended and on probation. Much more likely, they would have internal affairs investigate him for his disobedience. Worst case scenario, they could find him in breach of protocol and fire him.

Thena shuddered in his arms.

He would accept any punishment they gave him--gladly. He turned his head, pressing his lips to her temple in the slim window of being alone with her.

[malewifehenrycooldown]

Thinking about how during the battle royale in NMH2, that Henry tried to protect Shallow from becoming ‘nothing but ash’ but as he tries to protect her, he’s essentially ‘han solo’d’ and frozen into carbon much to Shallow’s horror and at that point she’s like the only person left standing up against Dr. Letz Shake, who’s this big machine supercomputer with a human brain that says stuff like ‘do you agree with this situation. Question mark.’ (He’s literally a robot kind of??)

Obviously it seems a bit inconvenient for Letz Shake do to this, but as a means of getting revenge it makes a lot of sense. You see, during the Battle Royale, Dr. Letz Shake took the time to analyse and compute the dynamic/interactions between Henry and Shallow. He was able to piece together that the two are always fought together and protected each other from enemies, and realised that it cross references with a concept know as “love”. Letz Shake decided to exploit that form of love by placing Shallow Candy in a dangerous situation that essentially forced Henry to come to her aid, but actually it was a trap for him all along and that she wasn’t really an actual target of concern for Letz Shake (like every assassin who underestimates a pastel goth assassin with blue hair and pronouns.).

[brainworms-all-night-long]

A lone statue stood in the middle of a desolate field. Wails of the hollow wind, and although now faint, but still present smell of death occupied its surroundings for the past five hundred years. Its only company since an unprecedented tragedy took place, washing the sky blood red and the clouds letting not but a sliver of sunlight pass through.

Up until now.

Now the young guardian, frozen still in time, with his last memories played on a twisted and seemingly never-ending loop, felt something warm hit the freezing stone's surface of his face frozen in permanent terror.

All it took was five centuries of being held in purgatory, for the guardian to be allowed to finally take another breath it seemed. But that was alright. He'd accept any punishment given as the consequence of his inaction when it counted. Now that it was finally over, he let himself savor the first gulps of air he had for the longest time.

It all but hit him with his failure however, as the dust and decay filled air entered his lungs. Its particles nesting now forever inside of him as a cruel reminder, no matter how much he coughed to get them out.

At last he collapsed, shaken, onto the ground as the eternal wait didn't stop there. It would be unfair to expect of him to adjust so quickly after standing still and hearing nothing but the cries of the helpless and innocent being slaughtered or driven mad, no? What's a few more minutes of taking in the desolate sight of what was once a lush valley with children playing and birds singing, now reduced to nothing but a forgotten graveyard and a destroyed home.

After adjusting to the reality he could now move through, he went and searched for any sign of life amidst the rubble, anything that moved independently of the rushing wind.

Yet the guardian found nothing.

Not even bugs or mice repopulating the ruins. Not even vines or grass dared to reclaim the buildings. They were exactly as destroyed as if they had collapsed yesterday.

Losing hope in finding life, something else caught his eye. Something that stood out against the rot and red, something almost completely out of place, a flicker of gold. And one that he recognized almost instantly.

He rushed to it with the only thing letting him know how fast his legs were moving being the sickening crunch of dust beneath the soles of his shoes, and what was left of his brother's cape getting closer.

Falling back to his knees not a second later to reaching his destination, he carefully picked up the tattered cloth. As if it was the only thing affected by the passage of time, it was still brilliant yellow, yet ripped and fragile with holes chewed at the edges of its torn fabric.

Every emotion suddenly rushed back to him as he held the cape in his hands and their weight got just a bit too much to bear.

He heard a muffled scream and hoped that whoever it was, they could wait just a bit longer for him to let him process some of his grief first.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !! ❞

❝ WHEN YOUR EX HUSBAND FINDS OUT YOU'RE DATING AGAIN, HOW DO YOU END UP FUCKING HIM IN YOUR BED ?? ❞

✧ pairing: ex-husband!satoru gojo x f!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo is the man everyone wants, except you -- well you married him and you wanted him, but when he pushed you away after you had your daughter, you had no choice but to divorce him. so what happens when he comes to pick up your daughter for his weekend, and he finds you ready for a date? and how is it you always end up under him?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, exes to lovers, modern au! (no curses), gojo is a CEO of a company, gojo has a daughter with you, divorced, some angst, switch! gojo, nipple play, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), semi public sex (near entryway), semi exhibitionism, sex (p in v), creampie, swearing,

✧ wc: 8,271

“You were supposed to be here at 6:00 PM,” 

Satoru Gojo stood in your doorway, as opposed to splashed on the covers of magazines and countless front page articles — you would think it would be business magazines, but you would only be partially correct — he made the covers of business, fashion, health, entertainment, and even a few women’s magazines. 

And what every single one had made apparent in their colorful print was that Satoru Gojo was anyone’s ideal man — the CEO of the wildly successful Six Eyes Corp, a philanthropist in his free time spent mentoring children and teenagers through establishing proper programs, and he was flawlessly beautiful — ocean blue eyes you could drown in, porcelain skin seemingly without a blemish or scar, and pretty lips that were a weapon when curled in a smirk. 

Just as they were now. 

“Well,” he smirks, leaning against your door frame, “I’m sure it’s 6:00 PM somewhere,” 

“Well, I’m not concerned with somewhere else since you daughter exists here, not elsewhere,” your words lacked their usual bite, only tinged with annoyance rather than cutting anger, “but good thing I told you to be here an hour and half earlier than I needed you,” 

Needed him as just as you did before you had divorced — just as you asked him to be. But he only grew more distant by the day — and soon he was already out the door when you had served him with divorce papers. 

And now, you can almost forget how it used to be — your eyes catch sight of the picture on your mantle of the two of you with your daughter, Satoru’s lips pressed to your cheeks as yours were pressed to your little angel — almost. 

He gapes at you as you walk inside, as he follows behind you, the click of the door closing overshadowed by the sound of his voice. 

“How could you lie to me, sweetheart? Thought we had a bond of trust,” you don’t have to look back at him to know he has a pout on his lips that would quickly melt into a grin if you conceded. 

“Bond of trust ended when you showed up two hours late to pick up our daughter,” and he grumbles, cheeks tinged with pink. 

“That was one time! I’m never that late. And it’s only on a Fridays when I have—“ 

“Meetings all day,” you finish with a sigh, “I know, Gojo, I know it’s not on purpose — but I know you’re always late on Fridays so I found a solution,” your lips curl, “anyway, our girl is napping still, so give her a bit before you wake her, but you can stay here until she does,” you’re shrugging off your bathrobe, littered with flecks of makeup, only to have a gorgeous black dress underneath. 

One that he very much hadn’t seen before — and he would know, he’s explored every centimeter very intimately of each one of your dresses, but this is new. His eyes skim down the exposed skin of your thighs — very new, but very familiar. 

He’s running fingers through his hair, not bothering to hide how his gaze rakes over his body, “Special occasion? Don’t tell me your birthday suddenly moved months, or I forgot our anniversary,” 

You scoff, as you pick out earrings from your jewelry box,  “Does an anniversary count when you’re divorced?” you can’t hide the hint of bitterness in your voice, and he’s stepping closer as you look in your vanity to put your earrings on, only to meet his gaze in the mirror, deep blue sucking you in as it always does. 

“But you’ll always be mine,” and you roll your eyes, expecting a cheeky grin, but find genuine longing in his expression, before it's hidden away behind a frown, “but you still haven’t told me where you’re going, sweetheart,” 

A sigh stuck in your throat, ignoring the use of your usual pet name that he had lost the rights when the ink dried on your divorce, as your teeth graze your bottom lip, “I have a date tonight,” 

He tilts his head, “A date?” and you can already hear it in his voice — ice creeping over usually still waters, “who’s the lucky guy? And do I get to meet him?” 

“And have you scare him off?” And he only grins in reply, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“If he’s intimidated by me, isn’t that more on him than me, sweetheart?” His footsteps only grow closer, as you turn to look at him, his hand on the wood of your vanity, nearly caging you in on side, “after all, he may be your date, but I’ll always be your husband, and the father of our daughter,” 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him — slapping him was self explanatory, but the want to kiss him was a lingering feeling, one that you couldn’t shed — no matter how much time passed. But that was the thing about Satoru Gojo — it was easy to fall in love with him, but even harder to fall out. 

And a part of you could never admit to yourself that you never did. 

No matter how hard you try.

“You haven’t been my husband for a year and half now, Gojo — a year legally now,” 

And he’s changing tactics, “You still haven’t answered my question, who are you going on a date with?” And you already can feel the beginning of a headache throbbing in your forehead, and you know why no one could say no to Satoru Gojo — because you’re sure he’s never understood it. 

“Why do you need to know?” And he's tilting his head, a small scoff parting his lips. 

“I need to know who you're potentially bringing home, don’t I?” and he’s far too close, and you don’t know why you’re not pulling away — his breath warming your skin, as he drags a finger down your cheek, “The man who might step foot in our home, might meet our daughter,” and his thumb brushes over your lips, “might kiss my wife—“ 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects you. 

You rub at your temples — yup, you definitely have a headache now. You brush past him, heading to the living room to pick up some of the mess, hoping your ex would somehow fall and hit his head on the doorframe and forget this conversation.

“And this dress?” Ah, no such luck, “did you buy it for the date?” 

“Do you keep a catalog of my wardrobe?” you scowl as you pick up the strewn about toys and things to collect into your daughter’s toy bin, and he’s bending down too to pick up your daughter’s things in his hundred thousand yen suit. 

“So you didn’t deny it,” and you sigh again, but grit your teeth all the same, his sharp words finely grating on your nerves. 

“This isn’t a business negotiation, you don’t win just because you use my words against me,” you stand up after picking up the last of the things, “yes it’s a new dress, and yes I bought it for the date since this is my first date in years, happy?” 

“Thrilled,” he says flatly, and you know it’s not the end of the discussion, “remember our first date?” 

And how could you forget? But you decide to humor him, if only for a break from the interrogation. 

“Which one? Because one was a date, and the other—“ 

He raises an eyebrow, “It was a date too, I asked you out—“ 

“You asked me to hang out—“ 

“And we kissed—“ 

“Only because I told you how I felt first—“ and he smirks again and you know you’ve dug yourself into a hole, cheeks burning at his stupidly smug face, “shut up,” 

“And what did you say again?” He slips the things you have in your hands into the toy box, his fingers brushing yours, and his touch is the same as you remember, even the barest brush was enough for your traitorous soul to yearn for more. 

“You know what I said,” his lips curl, the same smile he had given you all those years ago that made you fall for him in the first place, but his raise of his brow tells you he’s not going to let it go until you say it, “I told you that I liked you for a long time, and I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Because maybe by then it would be too late,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, featherlight — just as the bunches of butterflies that bloom in your stomach. 

“And you say that wasn’t a date,” and you scoff, biting back the small smile on your lips, “will any other first date compare to that?” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you know his brow is furrowed without having to look at him, “do you have to call me by my last name—“ 

“I do, because Satoru was my husband, and Gojo is my ex—“ 

“I’m still your husband—“ and you give a bitter chuckle. 

“In what world? We’re divorced, it’s over,“ 

“It doesn’t have to be,” 

“But it does. This isn’t me confessing to you on a movie night curled up on my twin bed. This is my ex-husband asking me to give him another chance far too late,” you slip past him, but he follows behind anyway, as you stand near the entryway to your home,  “it’s time to move on,” and you’re stepping from your bedroom and only reach the doorway when he speaks. 

“How can I move on when I never wanted to?” You still yourself in your tracks, fingers curling into a fist. 

Not this right now. Not now. “Gojo—“ you sigh. 

You’re so tired. You were hoping you wouldn’t have to have this conversation. You never had expected to have this conversation, not when you wanted to only marry one man your entire life was the one to break your heart. 

“It's almost two years too late for this conversation,” you willed your voice not to break — not when your heart was long broken by him, and you wouldn’t allow him to do it again, “you should have had it with me before I filed. When I asked you to spend your time with us, when I asked you to take time off, when I asked you to be present in our lives—“ 

“Sweetheart-“ and you snap. 

“Don’t call me that,” your quiet words hang in the silence, the wedding bells he heard in his head were nothing more than the sounds of bells drowning out the mourners screams, “don’t call me that when you don’t get to anymore,” 

“I’ll always be yours, sweetheart, a few papers don’t change that,” and he’s stepping towards you, but you’re rooted to your spot, and you want to say it’s stubbornness, but you know what it really is —weakness, because Satoru Gojo was your one and only weakness. And even now, walls raised and erected against him came tumbling down with one touch. 

Because he knew exactly where to touch and what to say. 

“Do you think any other man could please you the way I can? I know every place, every sound, every inch of you — inside and out,” he’s nearly against your back now, “are you going to let a stranger do that? Let them learn how to please you, but knowing your husband knows how to do it better,” 

“Ex-husband,” and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “we shouldn’t—“ 

“And yet you’re letting me,” his nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, warm breath sending a shiver down to the tips of your toes, and his words sending a wave of need right to your core, “because you know it’s true,” his hands tentatively brush against your hips and when you don’t resist, he squeezes, drawing a gasp from you, lips curled in a smirk, “more sensitive than usual, Princess? Been too long?” 

“I swear to god—“ he’s cutting you off with a bruising kiss, a rubber band snapping back against your skin, and now it’s taut against you, ensnaring you in its grasp. And yet, his kiss is so sweet, affection dripping from the slide of lips to the caress of his fingers against your cheek, and it reminds you of just why you don’t want to let go. 

“You don’t have to swear yourself to me, but I’d appreciate it, Princess,” and his mouth reminds you of the reason you (and that you don’t). 

“Gojo—“ and he’s placing more kisses along your jaw now. 

“Shouldn’t you at least call me Satoru now that we’ve kissed?” 

“You’re impossible—“ 

“And yet I’m here,” his teeth nibbles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, tongue flicking over the blooming love bite, “almost forgot how sweet you taste,” he’s humming, as he kisses along your shoulder before he toys with the strap of your dress, “almost,” his large palms slide down your body, skimming your bare thighs as he’s pressing you against the walls, “but your skin isn’t what I want to taste,” 

You gasp, “we can’t—“ but why were you letting him? Irritation overrode by lust, and he knew the spots to make you bend to him, his hands squeezing your hips, “fuck you,” you wonder if his touch are phantoms engraved against your skin and muscles, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again — and a hand slides back up to cup your cheek. 

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” his lips find yours again, his tongue dragging against the seam of your lips, before slipping inside. His hand is lifting your thigh around his waist, as his lips part from your own, eyes raking over your pretty, bitten red lips, “do you know how much I missed you?” 

“No, I don’t,” and his smile slips from his lips, as he cups your chin, “Satoru—“ 

“Even all the days I was gone, there wasn’t a second I didn’t think of you,” you waver a moment at the sadness rippling through his gaze, “I know I wasn’t there—“ his lips press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Why weren’t you?” 

And that’s when there’s a knock at the door that makes your heads snap over to stare at the door a good four or five feet from you, the shadow of feet visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, and you were sure it was your date. 

“Fuck,” you whsiper under your breath, “you have to go—“ your palms pressed flat against his chest, but Satoru doesn’t budge, “please, I have to get the—“ 

And his hand is slipping up and under your dress, hiking the material higher, “do you really want to go on your date like this, sweetheart?” His fingers graze your soaked panties, a gasp pulled from your lips, lithe fingers rubbing and pinching your clit through the thin fabric, “gonna go see him when you’re this wet?”

“Please—“ and his fingers snap the elastic of your underwear against your skin, drawing a squeal from your mouth, “fuck—“ 

“Any louder, Princess, and he might hear us,” he’s leaning down to press his forehead to yours, forcing your gaze to meet yours, “but maybe I should let him, let him know who’s the only one who can make you feel this good,” his words only make your cunt flutter, as if your body was in agreement, even if your mind was still in denial, “you’re much more honest down here, Princess, but you always were,”

Another knock as your attention is being tugged only for him to yank it back as his finger slips inside you. You’re burying your face in the crook of his neck to stifle your moans — his fingers were so much longer than yours, reaching places you could only have dreamed of — when you had dreamed of him. 

His finger squelches as he fucks you open, walls squeezing around him as your molten insides cling to his touch desperately. Small whines and pants are muffled against your hand as you clamp it over, your phone vibrating uselessly with your date’s messages inside your purse. 

“Please, Satoru let me—“ and he’s ripping your underwear, as he’s forcing your dress higher, “I have to tell him—“ 

“Tell him what?” His eyes are nearly glowing in the dim light of the fluorescents leaking in from the living room, “tell him you’d go on your date with him but you’re too busy being finger fucked by your husband?” And he’s sinking another finger into you, making your head loll back against the wall, “tell him that you’d let him fuck you in our bed, but you’re too busy letting me?” 

“Sa-toru—“ you’re biting back your whines, glancing at the door, but he’s forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb pressed against your chin, “just let me—“ 

And he���s turning you in front of the mirror near the entryway, forcing you to look at yourself — your lips kiss bitten and ruined, your dress hiked up and mussed, and underwear tugged down to your ankles. 

“Do you want him to see you like this?” His breath is hot in your ear, a soft murmur that makes your knees nearly buckle, “want him to see you how much of a mess I’ve made you?” His fingers sink into you again, a third finger with the other two. The lewd squelch of your cunt rings in your ears, your eyes catching sight of your own moans and pants in the mirror, your walls squeezing around them, “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, sweetheart, and now you can watch too,” he’s guiding your gaze back to watch yourself, watching him knuckle deep in your sweet cunt, “gonna make you watch your tight pussy break my fingers,” he spreads his fingers inside you, letting you watch your slice drip down his fingers and wrist and splatter on the floor.

And your head falls back against his shoulder — he’s thrusting into you faster, your walls working deeper and deeper into you — fingers curling against your molten insides, until he’s finding that one spot that has your lips falling open, “I’m so—” your voice is a broken whisper, and he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, “Please—“ 

“Cum f’me baby,” his thumb rubs at your clit, and you do, walls clamping down as you cum, his fingers relentless as they fuck you through your orgasm, a wordless moan of his name on your lips. He’s holding you up as he does, your body buckling under the pleasure, blood roaring in your ears that slowly ebbs away, as his fingers slow, and you’re shuddering under his touch, “good girl,” and your walls flutter as he pulls out as if they want him to stay, and he’s tilting your gaze, “watch,” your eyes open reluctantly, a small moan on your lips as you watch him carefully each one of his fingers clean, pink tongue darting out to lick at the trails of your juices that had dripped down his palm and wrist, “still the sweetest thing I’ve had, princess,” 

And there’s another knock, as he clicks his tongue, “Doesn’t give up does he?” and he’s pressing a kiss to your neck, “must have really done a number on him and he’s willing to wait this long for you, huh?” he hums, nuzzling the hollow of your throat, “but I can relate. So, should I let him down for you?” 

Your eyes fly open, meeting his cheeky gaze with a glare, “Don’t you fucking dare,” 

“What? You still want to go out with him? Be my guest, but,” and he’s pulling at your ruined underwear until they rip under his touch, “can’t wear these, can you?” you gape at him as he pockets the ruined panties with a shit eating grin, “for later,” and you’re scoffing, and you hear a call of your name through the door. 

And you take a better look at yourself — completely disheveled and marked up along your neck from his kisses and nips, your skin shiny with a sheen of sweat, and your lips obviously bruised and bitten from his treatment. 

“Fuck,” you can’t go out like this — it looks as if you’d spent the morning before getting ravished, panic sets in as you hear his voice through the door. 

“Want me to send him on his way?” Satoru’s hands curl around your waist, “our angel’s still fast asleep, and that means we can spend some time together—“ 

“Fuck off,” you hiss, walking over to the door, “Atsuya, I’m sorry I can’t go out today. I’m not feeling well,” 

“Eh? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” And Satoru steps forward to speak but you cover his mouth with his hand. 

“No, I’m fine, but I have the flu and I’m still contagious, so I don’t want to get you—“ Satoru drags his tongue between your fingers — this fucker, “sick,” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and take care of you?” Satoru’s hands are dragging over your sides, squeezing your far too sensitive hips. 

“Hear that?” Satoru’s whispering to you between the gaps of your fingers, “He wants to take care of you. Should you let him? Maybe he could fuck you better in the home we bought together and in the bed we shared,” 

“No, I’m fine, really, I-I—“ and Satoru’s sucking at your finger, tongue curling around the digit, and you grit your teeth, “I’m going to rest. I’ll text you later, I’m sorry—“ and you don’t get to hear the rest of what he says, as Satoru’s pulling your hand away, and finding your lips in another kiss. 

You hate how good this man is at kissing, his lips and touch must have the ability to leech sense from your brain, and leave lust in its place. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you mumble against his lips, as his lips burn a trail of kisses down your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me, except that I love you,” he’s pouting again, “you think that guy could please you the way I could?” 

“No, but maybe he would actually be there,” you bite back and his kisses pause, smirk slipping into a frown. 

“I know I’ve made mistakes—“ 

You give a bitter chuckle, “Mistakes? You left us,” 

He opens and closes his mouth, “you’re right I did, and I’m sorry,” his words are slow, but so is the anger building inside you, “but I’m asking for a second chance, begging for one more chance—“ 

You finally turn to face him, and you can only hope the tears welling in your eyes weren’t noticeable, “You don’t get to beg, when I already did,” your voice finally breaks, as your clenched fist shakes, “where were you? After our daughter was born, you were gone. You kept saying you would make time for us, you would be there for us, but you just busier and busier, and the only time I’d see you were the nights you made it home to crawl into bed,” 

“I—“ 

“No, I’m tired, I’m tired of waiting and being upset, I’m so done—“ and he’s pulling you into his arms, and the familiarity of his grasp is nearly enough for your defenses to crumble, but you can’t, “Satoru” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I did wrong. I know I don’t deserve you or our baby, not after all I did,” he’s murmuring, “but it was never because of you or her,” 

Tears spill from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks, “I used to cry, thinking that not only that I wasn’t enough, but your daughter wasn’t enough either—“ 

“You weren’t the ones that wasn’t enough,” he cuts you off, “I am,” the last words come out a whisper, as he runs fingers through his hair, “I’m the one who wasn’t good enough,” 

You stare at him, “What do you mean?” 

He’s scrubbing a hand down his face, “I don’t know how to be a husband, much less a father. I didn’t think I even wanted to be either, until I met you,” his voice softens, “and then I wanted it all if it was with you,” 

“Satoru—“ and he’s shaking his head. 

“I thought I could handle it — but when I saw you two — the two most important people in my life — how much you were counting on me, how much you needed me to not fail — I threw myself into work,” he’s swallowing, “I thought if I could support you both, things would get better. But it only made things worse because I pushed myself away,” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought I’d mess it up — I don’t know how to be a father. I didn’t even know I wanted to be a husband until we got married,” and you swallow, “I thought I never would after watching my dad neglect and abuse me and my mom,” you knit your brow together, “and there were so many nights when you were sleeping, I got so frustrated with our angel. She wouldn’t sleep, she screamed for hours, and I just felt like I had failed her. And I would just fail you too,” he scrubbed a hand down his face, “so—“  

“So you ran away,” you finish, voice caught in your throat. 

He gives a curt nod, “And when you filed, I knew it was coming, but I thought you both would be better off. I thought even if I was miserable, it would be worth it to see you two happy—“ 

“Satoru, do you think I would be happy without my husband?” Your sigh stuck in your throat as your fingers find his cheek, featherlight, but he crumbles and melts against it, as if he was a statue made to wait for your touch, “you’re nothing like your father. I see you with Satomi, I see how much you love her — you dote on her, you know what she likes — she gets a cut and you’re panicking,” you chuckle as he huffs, a cute blush settling over his cheeks, “and you were a good husband, when you talked to me and didn’t run away,” 

“I know,” and the question unspoken hangs in the air, “can I be again? Your husband,” and your instinct is to pull him into your arms, where you wanted him to be, where you always wanted to be, but your instinct is tangled in fear, barbed wire dragging you down and digging into your skin. 

“I want you to be,” his eyes light up, hope flicking across his gaze like a comet tail, until it burns out with your next words, “but I’m scared,” you swallow, arms crossed, hoping if you physically hold yourself maybe you could hold yourself together, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” 

“I won’t, I promise,” he’s cupping your cheek again, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, “every night I only thought of you and Satomi — there’s no one else that matters,” he’s drawing closer again, it makes you want nothing more than his touch again — it had been too long — too long without him. 

And your lips find his again, it’s a chaste kiss at first, a breath shared a centimeter apart, as his eyes find yours, brow furrowed, “We have a lot to talk about,” you murmur, as your lips graze his again, and he’s chasing your lips, “but it’s going to take time,” God, you want to kiss his knowing pout away, as you drag a thumb down his lips, “a lot of making up to me and our angel,” He’s nodding obediently, a complete puppy under your touch, as he shivers as your fingers run through his hair before tugging, “are you ready for that?” 

“Yes, baby,” he’s biting his lip, fingers twitching wanting to touch you. 

Your lips curl, “Good boy.” 

“All that big talk and now look at you, Toru,” Satoru’s white knuckled fingers fisted at the sheets of your shared bed, as your own fingers teased the head of his leaking cock through his boxers, “such a mess for me,” 

You kneel at the foot of your bed, settled between his thighs, and though you were on your knees, you were the one who held the power. Fingers tracing the trigger right within your grasp, his cock twitching against your hand. 

“Please, sweetheart, fuck,” he’s hissing when your lips lean down to press a kiss to his clothes weeping slit, the wet heat of your mouth seeps through, making him twitch against your touch — a spark of need that burns against his skin and boils his blood underneath with need, “please, don’t tease me,” 

“Well that’s not fair,” you hum, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the elastic against your skin, sending a shiver up his body along with an ache that reaches his bones — and he wondered how he had let your grip on him grow this deep — and how he had ever let it go when it felt this good, “when you’re being teased I’m supposed to relent, even though you made me cum downstairs in my entryway?” 

And he’s swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing just as anticipatory as the rest of his body, a bow string drawn tight just waiting for you to release it. But you wished to toy with the arrow more. 

“I have half a mind to make you clean my cum off the floor with your tongue,” you click your own tongue as a taunt, but that only makes him squirm, “but maybe I’ll spare you since you’re being so good for me,” you’re dragging your fingers down his boxers, freeing his cock— already far too hard, flushed and dripping with precum as it slaps against his stomach, the flared head nearly begging you to touch it, “tell me what you want,” his cock is far too gorgeous, you thought that from the first time you saw it  — long and curved, and the veins that ran along it were so pretty— just like the man himself. 

And a whimper escapes his lips, “sweetheart, please, touch me—“ 

“With what?” you thumb his tip lightly, smearing the cum down his shaft, “my fingers? Or my mouth,” and your lips lick the pre that clings to your thumb clean, dragging your thumb down the flat of your tongue. 

“Y-Your mouth,” and you’re smiling, your lips curling as his pretty gaze pleads with you, “please,” 

“Imagine your subordinates saw you like this, begging your ex-wife to blow you, nearly ready to blow your load already just from fingering me,” your fingers toy with his balls, while you leans down to trace the tip of his tongue up the bottom of his cock, “what do you think they’d say?” And your lips part to let his engorged tip enter, as his head falls back with a groan, the wet and warm mouth, as you start to bob your head up and down his length. 

“Fuuuuck, pretty,” and you’re pausing as you wait for a reply to your question, his own tongue tying itself in knots, “think I’m down bad for my wife,” he’s grunting, the words ‘my wife’ and his groans sending white hot arousal to your needy cunt, “think I’d let her fuck me anyway she wants and they would be right, sweets. I’d let you use me,” your tongue is wrapped around his length, as his dick sinks deeper into your mouth, nose brushing against his pubes, his hips held taut as he forces himself not to face fuck you. 

And his eyes flutter down to meet yours, only to find your eyes drowning in lust, molten with need that nearly burned him with want, lips sloppy and dripping with a mix of precum and your spit out of the corners of your mouth, and your fingers —buried deep in your cunt as you sucked him off. 

Fuck. 

With the nasty way you slurped at his length, the noise ringing in his ear as your fingers begin to squeeze and stroke his balls, he wasn’t going to last much longer. His hips bucked against your mouth, and he’s muttering apologies but you let him, moaning as his tip hits the back of your throat. 

“I’m close—where—“ and you’re sucking hard, tongue flicking against his slit and when he fucks your mouth once, twice — he’s gone. He’s cumming down your throat, hot spurts of cum painting your lips and mouth, his head falls back, fingers gripping the sheets as his eyes flutter open. And he watches you pull away from his cock, sticky strings of cum and saliva connecting you to his length still, “fuck, sweetheart,” his softening dick already twitching at the sight of you — your pretty tongue darting out to lick his cum from your lips. 

“You taste as good as I remember, Toru — always so sweet,” and you’re pulling your own fingers from inside your tight pussy, and he snaps. 

You’re on your back on the bed now, flopped down against the mattress as his hand closes around your wrist of the hand that was just inside you. Your words are lodged in your throat but come out a shiver when he brings your soaked fingers to his lips, he kisses each one before sucking and licking them clean. 

“Toru—“ and he pulls away from the last finger with a pop, eyes clouded with need, “I—“ 

“And you say I taste good?” he’s humming, as he leans over you, “wait until you taste yourself, Princess,” and his mouth is insistent on giving you an entire course of your taste on his tongue, mapping out a detailed cartography of very crook and crevice of your mouth, “aren’t you so much sweeter?” He’s pulling away from your bitten red lips, spit connecting your lips still, “and that taste is all mine, just like you, wifey,” 

The pet name sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins, stoking the burning need already threatening to consume you both, “Toru—“ and he’s already stripping your dress away, pulled away up and over your head, thrown away like every thought of why this was a bad idea. Your nipples perk in the cool air of your bedroom and under his hot gaze, standing at attention as if they’re begging for his attention. And he’s more than happy to oblige. 

His fingers toy with the buds, rolling between your forefinger and thumb, until he’s bending down to take one in his mouth, and you’re arching into his touch, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. 

“Bet Atsuya would love to see you like this, huh?” He’s switching to the other side, teeth dragging against your nipple to draw a gasp from your lips, “Would love to see you such a mess like this, spread out and needy,” and he’s spreading you with warm palms, his half hard cock brushing against your thigh, “Were you gonna let him fuck you on this bed? Our bed?” 

He doesn’t allow you an answer as his fingers spread your dripping walls, “Gonna let him taste you like this?” His lips warm your fluttering pussy, nearly begging for his touch and to swallow you whole, “when I already said this pretty cunt was mine,” he clicks his tongue far too close, making you whine, “g’nna have to answer my question first, Princess,” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” and he presses a chaste kiss to your dripping pussy, making you whimper, your walls spasming around nothing, “Toru,” 

“Remember when we moved into this home?” his lips are teasing your inner thigh, teeth dragging against your hot skin, “we broke the bed in all night long,” he’s looking up through half lidded eyes, “think he could please you like that? Make you moan his name?” 

And you’re growing desperate as his lips draw close to your clit, tongue dragging against it, only to pull away to your thighs again, “no, no, only you, Toru, please—“ 

“Only I what?” oh you know he’s goading you, but your want is drawn taut like a stringed instrument, tweaking your strings when you’re dying for him to play you — “c’mon sweetheart,” 

“Only you make me feel this good — fuck, Toru, I swear to god—“ your head falls back into the pillow as his face buries itself in your cunt, his laugh vibrates against your walls, pleasure rising faster than smoke from a burning building. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place now, settled between your legs. 

“You swear to me what?” and you swear his god complex gets worse and worse, and the way you moaned with his head between your legs wasn’t helping, “sorry, Princess, I have my mouth full,” and his tongue as silver as his words were, parting your folds with ease, as his lips slurped at your folds messily. 

Fuck, he was too good at it, and he knew it, smirk on his lips as the wet, nasty noises of his mouth wrapped around your cunt and your bordering pornographic moans filled the silence. Pleasure ribboned up your body, mixing with the sharpness of his fingers pressed against your plush thighs to keep you in place. 

“Gonna make me cum before I even fuck you, Princess,” and you hear the telltale squelch of his hand around his weeping dick — the shudder of your groan making him moan all the same, “taste so fucking good, never gonna go a night without tasting you again,” he murmurs far too reverently with his tongue dipping back into your folds for more of your juices, “you know how many times I fucked my fist to the thought of eating you out again? Never gonna spend a second without burying myself in this cunt,” 

“Toru, I’m close—“ and you are, greedy tongue flitting over your clit, his nose bumping against his folds, and the practiced ease of his touch — he knew just what to do to make you cum. And he did, his mouth closing around your clit, before sucking harshly. 

You cum on his face, swallowing your slick with the thrust of a desert weary man, his eagerness apparent on his soaked face, as you finally came down your high. He doesn’t waste a drop, only pulling away with a pop when your orgasm ebbs away, licking his lips clean of your juices. 

“Still dripping even after I licked you clean?” He clicks his tongue as he watches your slick soak the sheet, “gonna have to find another way, maybe you need something bigger,” he hums in fake contemplation, “what can we use?” 

“I have some sex toys that might do the trick,” and he scoffs, as he kisses up your body, before pressing his hard erection against your thigh. 

“Don’t think any toy you have compares to me,” and you’re gasping as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy clit, “nothing can fill you up like I can,” and he groans as he watches your releases mix, “just for that, g’nna make you beg for it,” 

“Toru,” you’re whining, but he’s only teasing your entrance with the head of his dick, your walls fluttering, already begging for him to sink into you, but he’s waiting for your mouth to do the same, “please, fuck me, I need you inside—“ 

He grins, “Well how can I deny my pretty wife when she asks so nicely?” And he’s splitting you open with his thick cock, balls deep with only a thrust of his hips. Your hands are grasping at him for purchase, needing to hold onto him as his cock stretches your walls out. It’s as if you remember him, walls sliding to accommodate him as they always did, but clinging to him desperately, a grunt parting his lips, as if they never wanted him to leave again. And you didn’t. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” he’s groaning in your ear, a swallow roll of his hips drawing a chorus of moans from both of you, “don’t have to break my dick off to keep it — I’ll take you anytime you want,” and he’s pressing your thighs forward, slinging one over his shoulder, as he presses himself even deeper. 

A whine leaves the back of your throat, “too deep, Toru,” and his cock twitches inside you at that, “fuck,” and it takes everything in him not to blow his load there and then, 

“You love it when I fuck you like this, Princess, or do I have to remind you?” And he does, beginning to piston in and out, the lewd slaps of skin and moans filling the air of your bedroom, “be careful or our daughter might wake from the sounds of her mommy getting fucked,” he clicks his tongue, “maybe we should give her another sibling?” He’s watching the way your cunt eagerly welcomes his cock, sinking in and out with ease, “fuck another baby into you, hm? Would you like that princess?” 

“Toru, ngh,” your walls flutter at the thought of a kid, of his seed filling you up, “please—more—“ 

He gives a chuckle, “I’ll give you everything, sweetheart — fuck you so full that you’ll be dripping with my seed for days,” he’s grunting, legs trembling as his thrusts grow more sloppy as his orgasm begins to build, “fuck, you feel so good for me, “gonna give you another baby, make sure everyone knows you’re mine, my wife—“ 

“G’nna cum, Toru,” you’re falling back against the mattress, as he bends down to press a messy kiss to your lips, all tongue and teeth, before his fingers reach down to rub at your clit. Your eyes finding his, face flushed a pretty pink, eyes shrouded in a deep lust that was reserved only for you, and as he bucks into you even deeper, he brushes against that spongy spot that has the taut string snapping as you fall apart. 

“Cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, as he grazes teeth along your neck before biting. And you cum hard, toes curling as your mouth falls open with only moans of his name on your lips. The way your walls squeeze around him has him only rutting into you harder, deeper, messier — as he watches the ring of cum pool around the base of his cock, fucking you through your orgasm, “g’nna cum—“ and you’re pulling him into another kiss, legs wrapped around him as he falls over the edge with you. Hot cum spills in ropes inside your walls, his hips rolling as he does, if only to fuck his cum deeper inside you. 

“Toru, s’good, I—“ you’re incoherent nearly under him, soft kisses pressed along your jaw as you both come down from your highs, cock softening inside you only him to pull out, another groan of your name on his lips when he watches his cum drip from inside you, staining your thighs along with the sheets. 

And you whimper when he’s gathering his spilled cum on two fingers only to push it back inside, “can’t let you waste a drop, can we, sweetheart?” 

He’s finally pulling away, his other hand cupping your cheek, as he finds your lips in a lazy but far too sweet kiss, “Toru,” you mumble, “I never stopped loving you, because I don’t think I ever could,” 

His eyes grow glassy, his fingers finding the back of your neck, “I know nothing I’ll do will make up for what I did — to you and Satomi, but,” he presses his forehead to yours, “if you both let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” 

And tears burn at the corners of your eyes, “Just stay with us, and promise to never leave — that’s enough,” and your lips brush his, “you’re more than enough for us, Satoru,” and he kisses you again and again and again, nearly climbing on top of you again, when you both hear a tiny gasp from the door. 

Your heads both snap over to your baby daughter leaning against the door, badly hidden behind it, as she pokes her head in, “did mommy and daddy make up?” 

Your cheeks burn as you cover your face — you both had checked on Satomi before but she was fast asleep still, and now — you checked the time — 9:30 PM, you were sure she’d be up all night. 

“Yes baby, mommy and daddy had some stuff to talk about,” Satoru grabs your robe for you, handing it over as he pulls his discarded boxers on under the sheets, “come here,” and she squeals as she runs into her daddy’s arms, Satoru scoops her up before pressing kisses all over her face, her giggles and his grin nearly too much for you. 

“Now she’s gonna be up all night,” you murmur to Satoru, and he’s smiling. 

“I can tire her out,” he grins, and then he adds with a whisper, “and then I’ll tire you out,” and you flush, shoving him playfully, “come on, my love, let’s go play for a while and let mama rest,” and he’s sliding out of bed, carrying her out of the bedroom, and you watch him, lying on your side, with a smile on your lips.  

Maybe it wasn’t so bad having a husband — especially when it was Satoru Gojo. 

Satoru lets you and Satomi sleep in the next morning, making a smoothie for himself, as he starts to prepare breakfast. He did tire you both out last night, especially you — and you did some exhausting of your own, his fingers running over the hickies you left all over his neck and collarbone with a slight hum. He tied your apron on himself, only boxers and a sleeveless tee on. 

He started to crack eggs into a bowl with one hand. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again — he meant what he said. He would make it up to you, or at least he would try — and he would spend the rest of his life treasuring you and his kid — and maybe another if you let him have his way, he thought, biting back a grin. 

You had turned him down last night when he asked, 

“Don’t you think it’s time we try for another one?” His arms are winding around you, half hard erection already pressing into you, as the two of you stood right outside your daughter’s doorway, watching the angel sleep, “we did do well with the first one,” 

“Toru, we just got back together, we’re not having another kid,” and he’s already pouting, you know without looking at him, “but that would be nice — for our daughter to have a sibling,” and god, it made him to take right there (which he did), but he couldn’t wait until all three of you were ready. Because he wouldn’t dare to miss a second of it — never again. 

And then a knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and his brow furrows. Who could it be this early?

He walks over, checking through the peephole, a grin growing on his lips, oh, perfect timing. Satoru opens the door, leaning against the doorframe, “Yes?” 

Atsuya Kusakabe frowns, jaw nearly dropping as he attempts not to gape at Satoru Gojo standing in his date’s doorway, nearly dropping the bag of medicine and soup he had packed up for you, “Uh, sorry, I was looking for—“ 

“My wife?” He raises a brow, and Kusakabe’s face blanches, as Satoru only smiles with a shrug, “sorry I should say ex-wife, we did get a divorce,” and Kusakabe’s mouth opens and closes, “but you know, she never stopped being mine,” 

Kusakabe clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “where is—“ 

“She’s sleeping still,” Satoru’s lips curl, as he sighs, “she wasn’t feeling well yesterday, but I think I made her feel better last night,” and he’s rubbing the back of his neck, movement drawing his attention to your marks littering his body. 

A flush crawls up his neck and ears and he clears his throat, “I-I see,” he thrusts the bag into Satoru’s hands, “could you please give this to her and let her know—“ and he’s shaking his head, rubbing at his temples, “tell her whatever you want.” 

And he’s gone, door slamming behind him, click of the lock. He holds the bag behind him, only to walk forward to see you peeking from the bedroom, his button up shirt thrown over your head, as you rub your eyes,  “who was it?” 

He only smiles at you, dropping the bag in the trash, “No one important,” and he’s finding his way to your side, arms winding around your waist, “I made us breakfast,” 

“Oh really?” You hum, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that only makes you sigh contently, “what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, just the first day of the rest of our lives, nothing too big,” he hums, and you laugh, his favorite noise that only makes him fall deeper in love with you, if that was even possible, “have to treat you right don’t I, wifey?” 

“Yes, you do,” and your lips find his again, “my husband,” and the word sticks in his chest, a missing piece that fits right back into place, and fixes a hole that had been aching for far too long, “should we go wake up our daughter?” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Together.” 

✧ a/n: so i didn't think i'd finish this week with being at my sister's and having a con this weekend but i found the time! i hope you enjoyed this one. this is my reality for gojo i'm living in :) fun fact, satomi and satoru both mean enlightenment! :)

✧ taglist: @jasminelee324 , @forest-hashira , @spider-fan72 ,, @rougebrainsludge , @theshylittleelfgirl , @ririchurl , @johannakhalafalla , @hanlay , @fawnlikelore , @vickkysthings , @dead-kats , @hantaslittlearsonist t , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @augustwinesworld , @forest-fruits-jam , @kirashuu , @catsgomurp , @daddytojji , @notgoodforlife , @hyori2 , @shrimpy109 , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @sunamatic , @rougebrainsludge , @redmangotango , , @psychxbby , @nakariabnrb , @mua-for-now @dazailover1900 , @alwaysfreakingout , @yamaguccitadashi , @equikaz , @gojosatorubrainrot

[reyalvr]

SHE’S MINE | 00

CATCH ME, I’VE FALLEN IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, chaotic fluff, smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan, RUMORS isn’t related to anything that happens in this series

word count ┊ 798

author’s note ┊ YAY i finally wrote it! i really love the fake dating/marriage convenience trope and i’ve been itching to write it with kenji. this is highly inspired by one my favorite books of all time, terms & conditions by lauren asher! if you enjoy fake dating i highly recommend reading it. as mentioned at the top, this is only the prologue! i'll be putting out part one and the series masterlist asap hehe... as always, happy reading!

prev. | next

SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED IF ANYTHING YOU SAID EVER STUCK WITH KEN. For the past year and a half, you had the supposed “dream life” that every assistant yearned for. It confused you, really, as you tried to ponder on what part of your job was envious. Were the late nights drafting NDA breaches so desirable? What about the press statements after altercations, were those résumé worthy? You let out a deep sigh as you watched Ken from the TV in his dressing room, crossing your arms as you sunk deeper into the couch.

He was on a press tour for his latest collaboration, his overconfident persona charming everyone left and right. You had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he used his signature flair to charm the show’s host. At least he was sticking to the script… for the most part. He wore the product, threw in a few adlibs, and of course, flirted. Be it a talk show host or a random photographer on the street, Ken always found a way to leave people smitten with him- save except you. 

It’s not like you were actively trying to hate him, he just made it so easy. At first you thought it was just some awkward phase, like he was just trying to adjust to working with a new team. But then he just kept doing the same things over and over again. A brawl with an opposing team member? Just another Sunday night. A rumor about having a fling with yet another supermodel? Sounds just about right. 

“I mean of course I have to thank my team,” Ken’s voice cut through your train of thought. “It was a dream of mine to play for the Giants as a kid, now I actually get to do it.”

Tone it down, asshole. You thought to yourself, noting the sarcasm laced in his words. Of course the general public wouldn’t have caught on, but you had no doubt his coach and the other players would. Then again, he’d been relatively untouchable because of his rank in the sports world. You poked your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head as you sat through the rest of his interview. The clock on the wall counted down the remaining time, the bright red numbers casting a reflection on the screen. Two minutes left, and all he had to do was to keep the act up…

…Until he didn’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what was about to happen next. 

“Now I don’t want to hold here any longer, but you know I have to ask it,” The host teased, almost like an overexcited child ready to tattle. “Any special someone back home?” 

Ken chuckled, just like he usually did when asked the question. “Cheeky question,” He paused and grinned, his eyebrow raised slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. “What if there was?” 

“Well, is there?” The host pushed, his tone eager to have the Ken Sato answer such a juicy question. He gestured toward the crowd before he continued. “I mean there are a lot of fans here today who would love to know more…” 

“Yeah? And if I said yes, then what?” He replied, his smile growing brighter and his eyes shining. 

The crowd cheered even harder, itching to find out the truth. You shared the same sentiments, trying to figure out what the hell Ken was up to now. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, why didn’t anyone know about it? You stood up straight now, your right hand deathly gripping the remote. What the hell do you have up your sleeve, Kenji Sato? Your inner voice seemed to yell as you waited for him to speak up. 

“I mean only time will tell, yeah?” The host replied, leaning back in his seat. “C’mon Ken, it’s not nice to keep secrets.”

Ken mimicked the host’s moves, leaning back into his sofa chair as well. He shrugged his shoulders, licking his lips as he fiddled with his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek, and though it was brief you caught it. You knew that look; his look of contemplation. Your grip on the remote was still taut as your breathing seemed to quicken the longer he waited. Granted it was only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. 

He tilted his head slightly then, his eyes staring directly at the camera. It slowly zoomed closer to focus entirely on him, and he let out a small laugh before he finally replied. His gaze was strong, and it almost felt like he was actually looking at you.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He finally said, throwing in a lovesick smile for good measure. “And she’s the best damn thing in my life right now.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

[buckyalpine]

CEO Bucky takes his anger out on his secretary (ft smut)

Imagine CEO!Bucky accidently taking his anger out on his already stressed out secretary. He gets mean and you will deal with it because I wanted this angst turned smut to go from chest itching to stomach fluttering. 

-

Your stomach twisted in knots looking at the pile of papers you had stacked on your desk, the phone still ringing while new messages popped up in your email inbox every 5 minutes. The files had to be organized by the next meeting and the number on the phone display was one you couldn’t ignore. The back to back messages were from various investors, each person insisting they were a priority over the others. You kept the receiver between your ear and shoulder, your hands flying around your desk madly between papers and tapping your keyboard. 

You quickly added a few more meetings to the calendar before hurrying to your bosses office to remind him of one he had later that afternoon. You hesitated before knocking at the door, the closed doors indicating he was busy, but you knew he’d want a heads up about the meeting. 

“Mr. Barnes, you have a meeting with Stark Enterprises at 3:30-

“Didn’t I tell you to move this meeting to next week?” Bucky snapped, blue eyes glaring at you while you blinked in confusion. “Well?” 

“N-no” You shook your head, you’d never missed an email before and you’d always been on top of scheduling changes on time. Bucky mumbled something under his breath before waving you off, the shrill sound of his phone going off. 

“Barnes” Bucky grunted, answering the phone without looking back at you, leaving to you scramble away and figure out if you could rearrange the date with Tony Stark. 

Which was a mess in itself. 

You had to argue back and forth, pleading to no end for a different day with Starks assistant only reluctantly agreeing after nearly half an hour. 

“You really should be more responsible, can’t believe Barnes has the likes of you working under him” the woman on the phone clicked her tongue before slamming down the receiver, cutting the call. You sighed, taking in a deep breath to calm the tightness you felt in your throat, you didn’t have time to break down now. 

You printed the up coming contracts for Bucky to sign, organizing them by name and highlighting the places he had to sign so he didn’t have to bother finding the space for signatures. You scurried back into his office, dreading the tense click of his jaw, your nerves increasing even more. 

“Sir, these are your papers-” You stumbled over the corner of the rug, scattering the papers onto the floor, your heart hammering out of your chest when you saw Bucky irritatedly run his fingers through his hair. 

“For fucks sake, y/n, I’m already stressed, don’t screw more shit up!” He growled, eyes hardening at the sight of the papers strewn across the floor of his office while you stayed frozen on the spot. Your eyes glossed over, quickly scrambling to the floor to grab the documents, mumbling apologies over and over again, hoping none of your tears stained the paper. The sight of tears streaking down your face broke Bucky out of his frustrated state, instantly regretting the tone he’d used with you. 

“Fuck” Bucky cursed under his breath, getting out of his chair to help you but you’d already managed to pick everything up, immediately trying to scramble away.

“Y/n” 

You didn’t stop, unable to take more of Bucky’s wrath, continuing to hurry towards the door, desperately trying to hold down your sniffles and aggressively wiping your cheeks. 

“Y/n” 

Bucky sighed, gently reaching out to grab your arm and pulling you to face him, his feeling even worse when you kept your eyes trained on the floor, your arms wrapped around yourself. 

“I’m sorry, p-please d-on’t yell” You choked out, still trying to hold your composure together, fighting the way your body wanted to break down into sobs 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry” his heart broke seeing the tears collecting in your lash line, his thumb swiping away the ones that spilled out. “M’sorry baby” he wasn’t sure where the pet name came from but he couldn’t help it, letting it naturally roll off his tongue. You were still rigid, refusing to look at him, nearly flinching when he pulled you closer, tilting your chin up to meet his steel blues. 

“Look at me” He spoke softly now, as if he were trying to coax a small animal out of hiding, his touch gentle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you”

“It’s okay” you shrugged, slipping out of his hold, quickly wiping your face and going back to work as if nothing had happened. Even though he’d apologized, his words rang through your mind for the rest of the day. 

In fact, they stuck with you through the entire week. 

Bucky hated the way you didn’t even look at him anymore. He missed your soft good mornings and shy smile whenever he walked into his office. Now all you did was keep your head down, freezing in fear as soon as you heard his footsteps. And it was all his fault. 

He despised that he made you feel scared of him, his own anger being the cause of upsetting you when you had been nothing but sweet from the day he’d met you. You were also the best he’d ever had; no one else had ever come close to how brilliantly you worked; you never missed anything. He nearly spat out the coffee that was placed on his table, missing the perfect cup you made for him every morning. 

You only spoke 1-2 words, retreating from his office as soon as you got what you needed, your eyes always trained on the floor, looking away from him. He couldn’t take it anymore, feeling more guilty each day; he couldn’t go on any longer without your sweetness. 

You blinked at the baby pink roses that sat in a basket on your desk along with a little bear placed on top, a small hand made I’m Sorry heart sitting in its furry hands, clearly in Bucky’s handwriting. You traced over the soft teddy holding it in your hands before going to his office. Before you could say anything, Bucky was up and out of his seat, desperately hoping you’d hear him out. 

“M’sorry y/n” His soft eyes were filled with sadness and regret as he reached out to hold your hands in his, not wanting you to run off again, “I’m so sorry angel, there’s no excuse, I shouldn’t have yelled at you” 

“It’s fine” You whispered, still avoiding his gaze. 

“Hey, it’s not fine” Bucky shook his head, cupping your face to make you look at him, “It’s not baby, I shouldn’t have ever treated you that way. You do everything for me, I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you” 

“I shouldn’t have messed u-

“Don’t, absolutely not. You never do sweets, it was me who messed up. Never you. Will you forgive me, doll?” Bucky nervously bit his lip while you gave him a small nod, that adorable shy smile he loved so much making its way to your lips. 

“God, I missed this” He whispered, his thumb tracing over your lips, chuckling at the tiny confused pout you gave him after.

“What did you miss” 

“This little smile you always have whenever you’re around me” Bucky smirked at the way you grew more bashful, doe eyes darting about, “Do you have any idea how much I love when you look at me like that?” 

“Mr-Mr. Barnes” Your breath hitched in your throat as his hands slowly moved to hold your waist, pulling you closer. Your hands made their way to his chest to ground yourself, forgetting how to breathe as he pressed his lips against yours. It started off soft and slow; his sweet tongue turning sinful as he walked over to his chair, pulling you to straddle him without breaking apart once. You let out a needy whimper feeling him harden under you though Bucky was still focused on kissing your soft skin, his lips fluttering across every inch. 

You’d never been this close to Bucky before, the intoxicating scent of his cologne making your heart race, his calloused large hands roaming your body. You hadn’t even realized you were grinding down on his thick bulge until he let out a groan, stilling your hips. 

“Keep that up bunny and you’ll make me cum in my pants like a little boy” Bucky let out a strained chuckle, using every bit of his self restraint not to tear your clothes off. 

“Please?” You wiggled against him again, needing to be closer, Bucky’s resolve slowly crumbling. How could he hold back when you were practically humping your soaked needy cunt right on his erection. 

“Please what, sweets” 

“Need you Sir” your voice had melted in a whine and that was all it took. The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor caused more arousal to dampen your panties, nearly drooling at the sight of his cock as he pulled it out. 

“Are-are you sure?” He checked with you once more, not wasting a second ripping your blouse off as soon as you nodded. He threw your bra off next before lifting your skirt up and pulling your panties to the, rubbing his fingers through your folds. 

“Sir, pleasee” 

“I got you, I got you baby. Wanted to make love for our first time angel, give you a bed with rose petals n’ champagne over ice” He whispered, recounting every fantasy he’d thought of from the day he’d met you, “Wanted to make you feel good baby, throw your legs over my shoulders and nurse off this little clit”

He rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves, continuing. 

“N’ then you’d be my sweet pillow princess. I’d let you lie down all night while I fuck your soul angel. I’d give you my cum all night, pump you full of my cream” 

“Need you now” You whimpered, clutching onto the lapels of his blazer, not that you didn’t want everything he was telling you but you couldn't wait. 

“Alright baby, c’mere” He pulled you closer, your bare chest pressed against his as he rubbed his swollen cockhead to gather your slick before breeching your tight hole, his hips gently pushing up till he was buried to the hilt, “That’s it, shhh take all of me” 

Bucky gave you a second to adjust to his size, his wide hands splayed across your body to hold you in place as he began to thrust up. You gasped in pleasure, your voice melting into a moan as he picked you up and placed you on his desk, pushing your thighs to hit your chest, hitting an even deeper angel. 

“OH GOD-MR-BARNES” You wailed as he fucked you harder, his heard thrown back, tie loosened, tightening the grip he had on your legs, keeping you spread out wide open. He groaned at the sight of his thick cock disappearing in and out of you while you moaned and sobbed on his desk, taking everything he gave you. 

“That’s right baby, say my name, let everyone know who makes you feel this good” He grunted through gritted teeth, holding off his orgasm while bringing his thumb to rub your clit again. 

“I-I’m gonna-OH-GOD-PLEASEE

“Fuck you sound perfect” Bucky moaned feeling you choke his length, fluttering and pulling him deeper as your orgasm washed over you, his own release dangerously close. “God you feel so fuckin’ good when you cum baby. One more angel, just one more” Bucky practically pleaded with you, speeding up his fingers till he saw your eyes roll back, silent screams leaving your mouth as your juices soaked his balls. 

“Fuck m’cumming so hard for you baby” He groaned, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before stilling and spilling ropes of cum into you. He kept his cock inside while bending down to pick you up and sit back in his chair again. He sat with you for a while, petting your hair and kissing you, whispering sweet nothings. 

“Ready to go?” He whispered, looking down to see if you’d fallen asleep while you snuggled into him with your eyes closed. 

“Too tired sir” You pouted, nuzzling into his chest, refusing to move, your body too fucked out to even stand. 

“I got you baby” Bucky smiled, shrugging off his blazer and wrapping you up before carrying you away in his arms, ready to take you home, right where you belonged “Gonna make love to my pretty girl”