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winchestershiresauce · 1 day

Text

Dandelion Wine

Summary: When Halsin joins Gale and Tav in the bedroom for the first time, they all get more than they bargained for. This is a tale of intimacy, multiple orgasms, and trying new things.

Gale x f!Tav x Halsin; Halsin x f!Tav; Gale x Halsin; Gale x f!Tav

7851 words

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit Smut, M/F, M/M, polyamory, oral sex (f and m receiving), squirting, unprotected PIV, processing trauma, insecurity, discomfort interrupting sex, come eating, so much more

A/N: I think I left a piece of my soul in this fic - let me know if you like it! Comments and reblogs always much appreciated.

The first time Halsin joins them, Gale insists that he only wants to watch. Despite being intellectually on board with multiple relationships, he’s worried that his body will remain firmly in the monogamous camp. He loves Tav, and he trusts her with every fiber of his being, but it still feels overwhelming and a bit scary to imagine sharing such a vulnerable experience with anyone other than her. Hells, he still finds himself feeling self-conscious in his most intimate moments with her, through no fault of her own.

Before Halsin arrives, Gale paces back and forth through the room. He and Tav have discussed seemingly every aspect of the situation to death and back, but he still feels like he is about to jump from great heights with no backup parachute.

Tav walks into their room at the inn with an armful of water carafes and fruit. When she sees the tension in Gale’s body, his shoulders nearly at his ears, her smile fades to a look of concern. He’s thankful that it’s not a look of pity – he’s not sure he could handle that at this moment – but a loving glance with worry behind her eyes.

“I’m afraid they’ll charge us extra for damages if you wear a hole in the floor with your pacing.” She sets the drinks and snacks down on the table in the corner and strides over to where he’s now frozen in place.

“I’m sorry, my love. I know that we’ve been planning this for weeks but I can’t help but find myself feeling terribly nervous. Granted, I’m also excited. I want to see how everything will go, but the nerves won’t settle.” Tav brushes a strand of hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ear. He melts into her touch.

“My silly wizard, there is nothing to apologize for. It’s perfectly natural to be both excited and nervous about something, especially something that’s so new to you! In fact, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t nervous at all. This is a big step and no matter how it goes, some things will change. However, I need you to remember that your comfort and security are just as important as mine and Halsin’s, so I need to be sure that you’ll speak up if you want anything to stop or slow down.” Gale sighs and takes her hands into his. His thumb strokes over the soft skin of her knuckles as he ponders his reply.

“I will, I promise. I believe that you and I have practiced enough that I can say what needs to be said in the moment. I know how to stop things and I will do so if necessary.” He brings their hands up to his mouth and places the softest of kisses to each individual knuckle on her left hand. “I don’t want to back out of this if you’re worried about that,” he adds.

“And if you did want to back out, that would be more than fine! There are plenty of other things we could do while we’re here that don’t involve potentially opening partially healed wounds in the name of sexual exploration.” There’s a slight tease in her tone, but he knows she’s sincere. He’s always admired the way that she can still use humor in any situation without taking away from the significance.

“I know, and thank you. I want to reiterate that I want this, I merely need a bit more reassurance than I expected to.”

“Good thing I brought extra, then.” She grins. He’s not sure he’ll ever get over the butterflies in his belly when she looks at him with such kindness and love. She’s the first person – unless you count Tara – that he knows loves him for every aspect of himself and not just his intellect or what he can do for her. Somehow, she looks his flaws right in the face and draws them into her heart.

Just then, there's a knock at the door. Tav doesn't move to answer it yet, searching Gale's face for any minute reaction. “Do you want me to tell him to wait? I need to make sure you're in the right headspace before he comes in.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm okay. I'm ready. I’ll let him in.” Gale places a kiss on Tav’s forehead and glides over to the door. When he opens it and sees the calm and patient smile on the elf’s face, Tav notices how the tension dissolves from his body.

“Gale! You look well!” Halsin claps a hand on Gale’s shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze. A grin spreads across the wizard’s face as his body remembers how calm he tends to feel in Halsin’s presence. There's something about the other man that makes Gale feel secure and cared for, which helps many of his worries dissipate.

“As do you, my friend,” Gale greets him and steps aside to let him stride into the room. Halsin approaches Tav, and Gale is surprised that the look of joy and reverence on her face does not spur jealousy but instead spreads warmth through his chest. He adores being on the receiving end of such a look, and he is glad to find that he loves it all the same no matter who brought that look to her face.

Halsin towers over Tav, resting the heel of his hand on her collarbone so that his fingers brush the side of her neck and his thumb can trace the shape of her jaw. “My heart,” he purrs, locking eyes with her as if gazing into her very soul.

She presses her palm against his chest and feels his heart beating strongly beneath her touch. She’s always amazed how he can remain so calm in the face of anything, so in tune with his own body that his control never seems to falter. Her eyes drift closed and he kisses her forehead, unknowingly mirroring the movements of her other lover moments ago.

“My bear.” She melts into him as he caresses the nape of her neck.

Gale watches them from the other side of the room and begins to feel a twinge of something in his gut. They look so happy and he can’t help but notice the way their bodies fit so well together and how natural their every movement looks. He sighs, lost in thought as his mind begins to drift toward the pattern of worry that had plagued him earlier. He’s sure that he wants to do this – wants to give Tav and Halsin a chance to let their intimacy blossom – but he can’t stop the complicated feelings swirling through him like smoke from smoldering embers.

Gale moves past them to make himself comfortable in the overstuffed armchair across from the bed. His arms rest awkwardly at his sides as he watches Halsin’s mouth cover Tav’s. She groans into the kiss, pressing herself firmly into the elf’s hold. Gale’s stirring anxieties and jealousies are interrupted by the slightest twitch of interest from his cock when he sees Halsin’s large hand spread across her ass and press her pelvis into his.

When Tav pulls away from the kiss, eyelids heavy and cheeks flushed, she lets out a deep sigh. The look of longing on Halsin's face is intoxicating and she can't believe that it's for her. She smiles up at him, arousal stirring deep within her. Before she gets lost in him, she knows she must check in with her wizard.

She pats Halsin’s chest once before setting her sights on Gale, biting her lip in an attempt to stop her from overthinking. Crawling into Gale’s lap, she puts her knees on either side of his hips and drapes her arms around his neck. Her eyes bounce back and forth between his before dotting a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Are you sure that you want this?” she asks. She can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. “There's still time to change your mind.”

The nervousness on his face softens a bit as he does his best to read the look his partner is giving him. “I do want this, Tav. I want you to have fun.” He smiles.

“I want you to enjoy it too, though.” She twirls a strand of his hair around her finger as she scans his face for signs of discomfort.

“I will. I get to watch two of my favorite people get lost in each other in a way they haven't before.” His hands rest against her ribs, his thumbs rubbing against the fabric of her shirt in reassurance.

As she leans in close, her breath tickling the shell of his ear, he can’t resist moving his hands down to settle on her hips.

“Are you sure you just want to watch?” She nips at his earlobe and his fingers reflexively dig into her sides. She grins when she feels him begin to harden against her inner thigh, and Gale swallows heavily but nods.

“For now, yes.” She pulls back just far enough to catch his gaze and strokes her thumb across his cheekbone. He does his best to convey sincerity in his smile, his gaze refusing to waver.

“If at any point you change your mind, don’t hesitate to jump in.” She smirks. Tav scrapes her fingernails along the stubble of his beard on the underside of his jaw as she stands up, reveling in the blown pupils that stare up at her. She feels a hand snake around her waist and warmth envelop her as Halsin steps up behind her. He sets his chin on Tav’s shoulder and gazes down at the other man with a look that Gale can't quite place.

“Yes, please join in the fun if you feel at all inclined.” Halsin’s low, husky tone sends a shiver through Tav and to her core, but Gale feels it too. He can’t deny the way the sensual quality of Halsin’s voice affects him. Gale's eyes shift between their eager faces, and he nods.

“I certainly will, should the desire arise.” His smile is soft and genuine despite the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. Gale places his hand over Halsin’s on Tav’s hip and the two men share an understanding and intimate look.

Halsin pulls Tav back against him and begins peppering open-mouthed kisses all over her neck and shoulder. She strokes her thumb lovingly over the back of Gale’s hand as she feels herself melt into the elf’s hold. Arousal already blooming in her center, she spins in his arms and tangles her fingers into Halsin’s luscious locks. She crashes her lips against his with force. He takes short steps backwards toward the bed, dragging Tav along with him, his long fingers splayed across her lower back. Tav moans as she feels Halsin’s erection growing harder, chasing his pelvis with hers. He plops down onto the bed and pulls her immediately into his lap.

Gale’s eyes flit over the two of them and to each spot where their bodies touch, his mind attempting to process and catalogue all of the thoughts and sensations that run through him. Just moments ago, it had been his lap that she ground herself into. He could still feel the lingering warmth of her where she had pressed herself into him, and his fingers flex in response as if grabbing onto her. Watching Halsin’s mouth latch onto her throat, Gale groans at the sound that escapes her lips. His cock is more insistently calling for his attention, but he wants to wait until his head is on straight before addressing it.

Halsin pulls Tav’s top over her head and growls at the sight of her bare breasts hanging heavily in front of his face. His teeth skate across the skin of her chest and he sucks a nipple into his mouth, causing her to throw her head back in pleasure. Gale’s eyes darken as Halsin kneads her other breast roughly and she drags her clothed core over the large bulge in the front of his pants.

After a few moments of heavy petting, Halsin suddenly stands up, forcing Tav upright with him, and turns them around so that he can push her backwards onto the bed. She lays back and watches him through her lashes as he undoes the laces on her bottoms and pulls them off of her. Gale can’t help but groan as he sees her wetness glistening deliciously in the dim light when her thighs drift apart for the elf.

“My dear magic man, I have no idea how you ever leave that tower of yours when you have a woman this delectable in your bed.” Tav’s breath catches in her throat as Halsin gently caresses her bare thighs with his calloused fingers. He kneads the soft, supple skin there, licking his lips at the sight of her spread out before him. Eager to feel her skin against his, Halsin strips himself bare without much fanfare. Before he does anything more, he turns to address the man across the room: “What do you think, Gale, should I give her my tongue or my fingers first?”

Another groan escapes Gale’s lips and he presses the heel of his hand down into his growing erection, trying to relieve some of the tension and overcome the arousal that threatens to overtake him. “She prefers– t-tongue,” he answers, his voice nearly failing him.

When Halsin suddenly drops to his knees at the end of the bed, pulls Tav to the edge, and slides his tongue through her folds from hole to clit, Gale stops fighting the temptation and shoves his hand in his trousers to wrap around his needy cock. He knows how sweet she tastes and finds he loves getting to watch Halsin finally experience what he's long fantasized about.

Tav gasps at the immense pleasure of her lover’s practiced tongue as Halsin continues to work her over. He presses his face into her cunt like he'll never be able to get enough and sucks her clit into his mouth. It feels so good that she could pen sonnets, if only her brain were able to form words.

Her breaths come shallow and quick as he flicks the tip of his tongue over her sensitive bud, and Gale’s fist tightens painfully around his cock, still resisting the urge to stroke himself. He had expected it to eat him alive to see the love of his life squirming in pleasure on someone else's tongue, but he finds that he relishes taking notice of all of Tav’s subtle, delicious reactions to the way Halsin devours her.

Halsin hums and looks up at Tav from between her legs. Her eyelids are heavy and her mouth hangs open, unable to focus on anything but the delectable onslaught between her thighs. “How’s our wizard doing?” he asks her as his pointer finger teases around her slick entrance. He continues to lap at her wetness with his flattened tongue, but his eyes are watching her face. Her head lolls to the side, she looks over at Gale, and her breath catches at the sight of him.

Gale’s face is flushed, redness spread across his cheekbones, and his jaw is clenched. While one hand is shoved deep into his pants, shaking as he tries to hold back from pleasing himself, the other is balled up tightly against his thigh. He looks like he's halfway to being drunk but still wound so tight that he could easily snap.

“Good,” Gale answers before Tav can, his voice tight. Halsin glances his way and finally notices the way Gale is restraining himself. While holding eye contact with the other man, Halsin thrusts two fingers into Tav in one quick, smooth motion. Gale sees her body tense at the surprise of the pleasant intrusion and a shudder runs through him.

“You like what you see?” the druid asks, cocking an eyebrow. Gale nods and pink flushes up his neck and to his ears. Halsin flashes him a smile. “You don't have to hold back, you know.” Gale looks between them, assessing. “Even if you don't join us physically, we want you to be a part of things.” Gale is so turned on but his skin prickles with self-consciousness as their attention is directed at him. Tav props herself up on her elbows to get a better look while Halsin continues to stretch her open with his thick digits.

“Can I at least see what you're doing over there, my love?” Her mouth is agape from the pleasure coursing through her. Her words paired with the blissed-out, eager look on her face is enough to give Gale the confidence he needs to make himself more comfortable.

Tav watches, enraptured, as he stands from the chair and begins to remove his clothes. Despite his shyness, with two gorgeous sets of eyes on him, he takes his sweet time unbuttoning his shirt. The way neither of them can take their eyes off of every sliver of skin he reveals has him feeling powerful in ways he never expected.

As the fabric of his shirt pools on the floor at his feet, his fingers move to the laces on the front of his trousers. After they're unlaced, he slips his thumbs into the waistband and pauses as if considering his next move. Tav licks her lips in anticipation and Gale shoots her a small smirk before shucking them off in one motion. His aching cock springs free and stands at attention, though he suddenly feels a bit vulnerable and overexposed.

Tav notices the shift in his expression and sits up, ready to go to him, but Halsin speaks first. “Oak Father preserve me…” he sighs. “Aren't you a sight to behold?” Gale blushes at the praise and Tav settles back again, smiling at the way a flush of pink blooms through his chest. “Will you come over here so I can get a better look at you?”

Gale nods shyly and takes a few steps to approach where Halsin is crouched next to the bed. His eyes scan the scene before him: the light sheen of sweat glimmering on Halsin's skin, the slick wetness covering the fingers of his right hand where they pump in and out of Tav, and the thick heavy cock that juts out between Halsin's tree trunk thighs.

Gale's never been with a man before, but he thinks that if he'd met more men like Halsin, that may not have been the case. He salivates wondering what it might taste like to have the druid on his tongue. Would he be sweet and tangy like Tav? Wet and earthy like the forest after a rain shower? He longs to find out but isn't quite sure if he's ready yet. Feeling brave, he reaches out to brush a sweaty piece of hair off Halsin's forehead and the larger man brushes a kiss against the inside of Gale's wrist.

Gale turns his head toward Tav in an attempt to hide his blush from the man who caused it. She gives him a soft, encouraging smile but he's distracted by the continued movement of Halsin's fingers. Gale watches how they curl and rub inside of Tav and he reaches out to draw circles around her clit with his thumb.

“It's awfully difficult to look but not touch,” Gale explains, and Halsin chuckles.

“I know what you mean… Just look at the state of you.” Halsin nods to where Gale's cock twitches in delight, a bead of arousal escaping from the tip.

Gale feels like his brain short-circuits as it floods with images of the elf’s hands all over him. He wants it, wants it so bad he can hardly think of anything else, but the analytical side of his brain is whirring away, trying to figure out what it all means.

“You– you can touch me,” Gale whispers. Tav clenches around Halsin's fingers in anticipation and surprise, and she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

“Are you sure, Gale? It's only enjoyable if you really want it.” Halsin looks up at the wizard and attempts to read the look on his face. Gale looks nervous and pent up beyond belief, and Halsin knows he has to be prepared for a sudden change of heart. He won't deny the man what he wants, he'll simply make the environment as comfortable and conducive to experimentation as he can.

“I want you to touch me.” Gale pulls his hand away from Tav and sets it on Halsin's shoulder for stability. Halsin nods with a smile.

Halsin scissors his fingers inside Tav to coat them in her slick before he pulls them out of her. Gale watches his every movement and his throat tightens as he sees Halsin's hand, covered in her juices, moving in his direction. His eyes grow wide as he realizes what Halsin is going to do right before Halsin wraps his lubricated hand around Gale's shaft.

The warmth and wetness is overwhelming and Gale goes rigid. It feels so good and yet so foreign to have Halsin's hand on him that he's worried he might explode. His eyes slam closed and his grip on the elf’s shoulder tightens until his fingernails threaten to break skin as Halsin slowly strokes Gale's cock.

But it's too much.

He isn't ready. He wants to backtrack.

Halsin immediately picks up on the shift in Gale's demeanor and pulls his hand away.

“I'm sorry, I–” Gale stammers and Halsin pats his hip in reassurance. Tav sits up and takes one of Gale's hands in hers.

“There is no need for apologies,” Halsin replies, “It was too much too fast.” Gale nods and refuses to look at either of them, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“We can stop,” Tav adds, pressing a kiss to Gale's palm. He jerks his head to look at her.

“No! No, don't stop. I merely bit off more than I could chew for a moment, but please continue. I only need a moment, and then I want to watch you unravel for him.” Gale's eyes darken as he looks between the other two and Halsin’s cock throbs at his words.

“Then let's take a moment to ground ourselves and breathe,” Halsin suggests. He rests one hand on Tav’s thigh and the other hangs at his side, wanting to comfort Gale but not wanting to overwhelm him.

Tav’s fingertips delicately trace over the lines traversing Gale's palm. Gale closes his eyes and focuses only on her calming touch and his breathing. His other hand still rests on Halsin's shoulder, giving him a sense of stability. He finds himself wanting a comforting touch from the elf as well, but doesn't trust his body's reaction to the sensation.

As the three of them sit in silence, a tangle of soft intimate touches, Gale's breathing begins to slow. He tunes out the worries and focuses on the connection that he feels between them. Opening his eyes, he catches Tav’s gaze and a soft smile tugs at his lips. His thumb rubs over Halsin's shoulder before he moves it to cradle Tav’s face. Gale presses his forehead to hers and they melt into each other for a moment.

“I love you,” Gale murmurs. His lips find hers for a soft, lingering kiss that manages to communicate a sense of both trust and longing.

“I love you,” Tav replies. Foreheads pressed together, they stare into each other's eyes for a moment and take it all in.

Gale presses his mouth to hers again, gentle and chaste, before he turns back to Halsin. “Show her just what a powerful archdruid is capable of.” He shoots the other man a wink, claps him on the back, and starts to pad over to his chair.

“As you wish,” Halsin growls and presses his face into the junction of Tav’s thighs. She yelps in surprise as his tongue plunges between her folds, and she grabs the elf’s hair for support. Halsin wastes no time shoving three fingers into her tight, dripping pussy and her hips jerk against his face. His assault is relentless and she knows she won't last long as he fills her with his fingers and worships her clit with his tongue.

Gale groans at the delightful sounds that spill from her throat as he watches Tav squirm. A loud squelching fills the room as Halsin fucks her with his thick fingers. She's babbling, hardly able to string coherent sounds together, as the nerves throughout her body thrum with pleasure. As he alternates between open-mouthed kisses to her vulva and his tongue frantically flicking over her aching clit, he curls his fingers back toward himself inside her to rub harshly over the spot that makes her see stars. Her knees nearly give out as the dam suddenly breaks and she's coming.

A broken sob escapes from Tav as her whole body curls inward and her walls spasm around Halsin's fingers. Her juices spill over his chin and his hand and he just can't get enough. She's so wet and so sweet that it may as well be honey that gushes over his tongue as he laps up everything she gives him.

Gale's cock leaks as he watches the larger man nearly drown in the ecstasy that flows from Tav, and he digs his fingertips into the arms of the chair in an attempt to maintain his composure. As much as he wants to touch and be touched, he finds he takes immense pleasure in watching her fall apart. His favorite part of being intimate with Tav is getting to witness the way her composure crumbles when she's reached a certain point. In most areas of her life, she's so put together and eloquent that it's a special privilege to see her in such a raw state when she's hardly more than a babbling mess.

The sounds Halsin makes are animalistic as he works Tav through her climax. He's so engulfed in her that he thinks he'd crawl inside her if he could, just to feel her over every inch of him. When she gets too sensitive to handle his mouth on her anymore, she tugs on his hair to drag him back up to his feet. Immediately, his mouth is on hers as he guides her back toward the bed.

Something in Halsin has snapped and his gentle, loving caresses have been replaced with raw, primal need. Tasting herself on his lips and tongue does something similar to Tav and her hands are everywhere, needing to map every inch of him.

She pants hard, trying to catch her breath from an intense orgasm, as his body covers hers on the bed. His fingers tangle in her hair and he grips tightly, desperate to hold her close. His mouth moves from her lips to her jaw to her neck, kissing and sucking at every spot of skin in his reach. Her fingertips dig into his back, trying impossibly to bring him closer to her. She needs to touch him, taste him, feel him, but it's not enough.

Tav reaches between Halsin's legs and wraps her hand around his aching cock. Halsin growls at the sensation, his face buried in her neck. His hips thrust forward on their own accord, seeking more as she grips him and slides her soft palm over his sensitive shaft.

“Need to be inside you,” Halsin grunts, his careful composure gone for the moment.

“Please,” Tav whines, begging for him to fill her.

Gale spits into his hand, deciding that he'll give in and stroke himself at the moment Halsin's beautiful cock sinks into the tight wetness of Tav’s pussy.

Tav moves to guide Halsin to her center but she doesn't move fast enough for the desperate elf, so he reaches between them to grip himself tightly and line himself up with her hole, coating the head in her slick. He looks into her eyes, about to ask for confirmation, but she nods frantically and wraps her legs around the backs of his thighs, drawing him in.

The world melts around Halsin for a moment as he plunges into the depths of pleasure. Her warm wetness engulfs him and his senses, blocking out any coherent thought. Driven by primal instinct, he begins to thrust into her hard and fast.

Gale grips his desperate cock and imagines that it's Tav’s cunt squeezing him rather than his own spit-soaked hand. He matches his strokes to the rhythm of Halsin's thrusts and it feels like a thunderstorm is brewing under his skin. He watches the giant elf’s broad, sweaty body as his thick cock impales the woman Gale loves. All uncertainty leaves him when he sees the look of ecstasy and desperation on her face – Gale knows what she needs and he revels in the gasps and whimpers she makes as she gets it.

Tav grips Halsin’s hair in a tight fist, digs the fingernails of her left hand into the meat of his tricep, and cries out at the slight sting and immense pleasure of her overfilled cunt taking everything it’s given. She’s chanting fuck , and please , and yes over and over as Halsin pounds into her.

He’s so close, unable to handle much more as his nerves crackle at the energy between them. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear the blood rushing in his ears alongside the sound of flesh striking flesh and the wet suction of Tav’s cunt trying to hold him deep inside.

Between heavy breaths, Halsin groans, “Gonna come – Where?” Gale’s hand is moving frantically up and down his cock, adding his own slapping sounds to the mix, as he hurtles toward his own climax. He can't stop watching the way Halsin's length disappears inside her as her walls grip him.

“Inside me!” Tav cries out and the desperate desire in her voice pushes both Gale and Halsin over the edge. Halsin shoves himself as deep into her depths as he can, and he paints her insides with his seed. At the same moment, Gale’s balls tighten and his hand stills as ropes of come spurt from his cock to paint his abdomen.

The sensation of Halsin’s cock pulsing and filling her sends Tav into her second climax as she spasms dramatically around him. Her cunt squeezes him tight, milking every drop it can get from him. Tav’s thighs quiver and her body shakes under him as the waves of pleasure course through her and come out of her mouth as wanton moans.

Gale's head drops back against the back of the chair as he tries to catch his breath. He holds his slowly-softening manhood and tries not to think about the mess he's made of his lap.

Halsin peppers kisses all over Tav’s face and chest as she comes down from her high, and once she catches her breath, she loosens her grip on his hair and kisses him passionately. They're both sweaty and flushed and a bit sore, but they're lost in each other for a short while. She pushes back the hair plastered to Halsin's forehead and he looks at her with such love and adoration that her heart could burst. After a few long moments drinking each other in, Halsin looks over at Gale before turning back to Tav.

“Let me go check on Gale, my heart.” The druid strokes her cheek and places a quick kiss to the corner of her dopey smile. She nods and allows her limbs to fall to the bed like dead weight, letting the normal sensations slowly return back to her body.

Gale lifts his head and watches as Halsin pulls out of her with a wince and stands. He looks at Gale with softness and a touch of mischief in his eyes as he approaches. Halsin stands over the other man and assesses the scene in front of him: his flushed cheeks, his chest glistening with sweat, the sticky mess clinging to his skin.

Gale's cheeks burn as he mistakes the look in Halsin's eyes for judgment rather than interest. “I seem to have made a bit of a mess of myself,” he tells the elf with a self-conscious chuckle.

“That you have,” Halsin hums. “Is that why you blush, handsome wizard?” Gale looks down at the floor, avoiding Halsin's gaze. There are so many thoughts and feelings going through his head and he can’t quite grasp how to process or articulate them. Halsin puts a finger under Gale's chin and tips his face so that he looks up at him. “Are you embarrassed to have enjoyed yourself?” Gale swallows heavily.

Tav is tempted to listen to their conversation but stays out of it, happily giving them as much privacy as she can without moving. Her eyelids are getting heavy, and she can feel sleep call to her.

“Perhaps.” Gale's voice is quiet and he picks at a loose thread on the arm of the chair.

“Oh, Gale,” Halsin says. “You don't have anything to be embarrassed about.” This gets Gale to look up to him, though he looks incredulous.

“Don't I? Aren't I supposed to feel possessive over my partner? What kind of man am I to get pleasure from watching her be taken and claimed by another? Shouldn't I feel discomfort? Shouldn’t I want to intervene?” His mind is racing and the words are spilling out before he can filter them. Insecurities from his past begin to bubble up and, though he tries, he can’t cast them aside anymore.

Halsin smiles gently. “It would seem that you're the kind of man who enjoys seeing your love be happy and fulfilled. Did you feel discomfort?”

Gale pauses before answering, carefully considering and taking inventory of his mind. “I did feel discomfort at first, when I was thinking about it. I was worried about how I’d react once things started happening. I know that no matter how much you mentally prepare for something, you can never truly know what you’ll do until you’re in the situation. However, once you were here and it was real, I felt much calmer. I couldn’t help but to get aroused and that overrode my thinking, which allowed me to enjoy the experience and lean into the pleasure.” Halsin mulls over Gale’s words, contemplating their meaning. He knows that ultimately, Gale’s philosophies and morals come from very different sources from his own, and he takes that into consideration as he ponders how to frame his response.

“I believe that nature itself gave us the capability to be complex and ever-changing beings, and that includes every facet of our sexuality. Whether we’re monogamous or opposed to it, or somewhere in between, is deeply personal and potentially dynamic. It’s natural to fall anywhere on that spectrum, and it’s natural for your needs and wants to shift based on circumstances. If you enjoyed yourself, and everyone involved both fully consented and enjoyed themselves, why should there be shame? What purpose would that shame serve?”

Gale sits in silence for a moment as he processes. He thinks deeply, his thoughts branching off into a thousand different directions as he tries to break it down like any other intellectual endeavor. Some parts are quick to click into place in his mind, while others are more difficult to understand and internalize. “I can concede that you make some very good points, but I have to wonder about others. In the past, with Mystra, she sought other lovers and I did not enjoy that in the slightest. Why would that be different now? Could the difference be that I somehow love Tav less than I did Mystra? That I feel less afraid to lose her and thus am less emotionally reactive?”

Halsin can’t help but chuckle that someone with such an immense breadth of knowledge can be so disconnected from the inner workings of his own mind. “Oh, Gale. You wizards certainly do enjoy overcomplicating things, don't you? Could it not instead mean that you’re less afraid to lose her because you feel secure in your relationship with Tav, whereas with Mystra you did not?”

Gale ponders that, his mind running through the different instances when Mystra found pleasure in the arms of another and comparing them to the instances when he'd discussed the same with Tav. “With Mystra, it wasn't a conversation or a choice. She told me that was how it was going to be and who was I to argue with my goddess? Her word was final and if I wanted to be with her, I had to find a way to deal with her decisions on my own–”

“I think you know that's not how a partnership is meant to be.” Halsin’s response is curt and leaves little room for argument, which manages to trigger Gale’s deep-seeded reflex to defend Mystra. He stops himself, however, as he recognizes what is happening and it surprises him.

“I suppose intellectually, I do.” Gale sighs and continues, “Things with Mystra were also different in that I was not allowed the same courtesy. While I may not have wanted to be with anyone other than her, the fact of the matter is that I would have never been allowed to be. That is, as you’re well aware, not the case with Tav.”

“Indeed, and I think those differences are enough to make this an entirely different situation. Do you?”

Gale takes in Halsin’s words and the comforting, understanding look in his eyes, and he nods. He respects the druid’s judgment, knowing it comes from many years of experience. The way he’s explained it allows the rational side of Gale’s brain to connect with the emotional side. Halsin knows what he’s talking about.

“Is there someone else you'd like to be with now, Gale?” Halsin asks tentatively.

Gale sucks in a sharp breath and looks back up at Halsin. He’s somehow surprised that the conversation has taken this turn and, despite everything he’s just bared to the other man, he tries to steel himself against the impulse to hide or deflect. He shies away from the feeling of Halsin gazing into his soul and closes his eyes before answering, “I– I’d like to be with you, Halsin. Or at least give it a try.”

The room is silent for a moment and Gale opens his eyes again. A soft smile spreads across the druid’s face in response as he takes in how open and exposed the wizard looks. Not even taking into account the fact that he’s sitting naked in front of him, the look on Gale's face is one of pure vulnerability. It’s clear that it’s not easy for him to put himself out there like this.

“I had hoped you'd say that, Gale Dekarios.” Halsin caresses the stubble on Gale's jawline with his thumb, basking in the way his eyes sparkle as he looks up at the taller man.

“You did?” Gale’s voice sounds surprised.

“Of course I did,” Halsin chuckles. He crouches down to bring himself to Gale’s level, at least physically, and gazes intently into the man's eyes. “I may have to question your wisdom if you claim to be unaware of my attraction to you.”

Gale can’t help but laugh, blushing furiously but thankful that the other man has lightened the moment. His gentle teasing breaks the tension, much like when Tav does the same. “I suppose I can admit that I've noticed some signals from you.” He glances away, feeling exposed in the intensity of Halsin's gaze, before continuing, “In my defense, you are such an open, comfortable, and confident man that it can be difficult to discern what is genuine interest and what is just you being, well, you.”

He reaches out to touch the larger man but hesitates as he isn’t sure where to start. When Halsin grins, Gale brushes the tip of his thumb over his bottom lip, marveling at how it feels to touch him while the broad elf looks at him with adoration and hunger. His lip is soft and plush, and Gale wants to feel it everywhere. Halsin purses his lips and kisses the pad of Gale’s thumb, causing the human’s breath to catch in his throat. “Kiss me,” Gale whispers.

Of course, Halsin immediately obliges. Before the words are fully out of his mouth, Halsin runs his fingers through Gale's soft waves and presses his palm against the back of his head. Halsin gently guides Gale's face toward his, slow enough to give him plenty of chances to change his mind and pull away, and presses his lips against the lips of the younger man.

Gale kisses him back sweetly and then not-so-sweetly, as his mouth drifts open to allow Halsin to deepen the kiss. His tongue slips over Gale's tongue, massaging the strong muscle. Gale tastes Tav’s juices on Halsin's tongue and it stirs something in him. His hands begin scrabbling for purchase, desperate to get a good grip and pull the elf closer, nearly dragging Halsin into his lap. He hungers for him, eager to explore every nook and cranny of Halsin's mouth with his tongue.

Gale's breathing is ragged as the two men get lost in each other. They move to stand to get closer to one another, and Gale shudders at the way Halsin's hand nearly dwarfs his face when it cups his jaw. The smaller man's fingertips dig into the elf's thick biceps as he fails to resist grinding their hips together.

Halsin's pupils are blown wide as he takes in the uncharacteristic neediness of the wizard. He wants so badly to make the less experienced man feel good, so he slides down to his knees and gazes up at Gale.

Gale lets out another shuddering breath as he attempts to process the scene in front of him: he's seen Tav in this position countless times and it never gets old, but the novelty of seeing a powerful archdruid on his knees for him is nearly overwhelming.

“May I?” Halsin asks softly after what feels like ages. Unable to trust his voice, Gale meekly nods.

Halsin runs his hands up Gale's thighs, callused fingers catching on the soft hair there, and places a single kiss on Gale's pelvic crest. He looks up at the brunette to gauge his reaction and the reverent look on his face encourages Halsin to continue. He leaves gentle pecks across Gale's soft belly, undeterred by the partially-dry spendings that coat his skin. Halsin drags his tongue across a particularly bountiful river of Gale’s spend before sucking it into his mouth, delighting in the taste of his essence. He continues to suck at the skin there, leaving a mark on the flesh, just a hair west of where Gale needs his mouth the most. Gale’s wound so tightly that Halsin can feel the tension where he touches him as he continues to place teasing kisses across the wizard’s navel and groin.

“Please,” Gale whines and Halsin’s cock jumps at the sound. The elf’s mouth hovers over the other man’s length, his hot breath caressing Gale’s hardness. The man’s hands rest on Halsin’s shoulders but clench into fists as he tries to resist pulling Halsin’s face closer.

Prolonging the torture, Halsin’s hands dance across Gale’s skin until they settle over his hips. Halsin locks eyes with Gale, smirking, and just as the desperate man is about to beg him to do something, anything , he slips Gale’s aching cock into his mouth in one fluid motion. The tension in Gale’s muscles doubles as his senses are overloaded with pleasure. Halsin’s mouth is hot and wet as he sucks Gale down until his nose is pressed into Gale’s coarse brown curls. The wizard’s legs nearly give out as his body begins to relax in response to the chorus of wondrous sensations.

Gale lets out a stream of curses under his breath as Halsin’s mouth begins to move over him. His tongue slides along the underside of Gale’s cock and the less experienced man can’t help but tangle his fingers into the druid’s long hair. He begins babbling, narrating the sensations he’s feeling and heaping praise onto the kneeling man, when he sees Tav stir out of the corner of his eye. Not wanting to wake her, he digs his front teeth into his lip to keep his voice at bay, but the monologue of nonsense continues to run through his head.

Halsin bobs his head, licking and sucking Gale like a man starved, and Gale’s hips begin moving on their own accord. He takes everything Gale is willing to give him as he works the wizard over, and he doesn’t even flinch when Gale suddenly thrusts forward, tenses, and spurts come down his throat. The elf slows his movements, greedily swallowing every drop that the other man releases and working Gale through his peak.

As Gale becomes to sensitive to handle the sensation anymore, Halsin pulls his mouth off of him but otherwise makes no attempt to move from his position. Gale breathes deeply, grounding himself by running his fingers through the druid’s soft yet tangled hair. Halsin moves to stand, caressing Gale’s sides as he does so. The room quiet around them, they stand in comfortable silence for a few moments and just breathe. Gale’s fingers are still in Halsin’s hair, Halsin’s hands rest on Gale’s hips as if stabilizing him, and they gaze into each other’s eyes. Gale doesn’t know what to say, simultaneously wanting to process everything and not wanting his mind to drift away from the current moment.

“I think it’s time to get some rest,” Halsin suggests.

“But what about you? Do you want me to return the favor?” Gale asks, his mind suddenly trying to fill in his understanding of the expected etiquette of the situation. Halsin chuckles and strokes the wizard’s cheek.

“We can save that for next time. Right now, I think Tav’s got the right idea.” They both glance over to where she lays, nude and sprawled across the bed, only one leg under the covers. An adoring smile creeps over Gale’s face as he watches her shift in her sleep. He turns back to Halsin and his eyes flit over the elf’s face, carefully cataloging every freckle, dimple, and wrinkle.

“Let me get cleaned up and then I’ll join you two,” Gale says, tipping his head in the direction of the bed.

“Will you stay?” Gale’s voice is quiet, but no longer shrouded in uncertainty. Halsin brings his hands up to the wizard’s face and smiles.

“I’d like that.” Halsin presses a gentle kiss to the other man’s lips, and Gale’s surprised at how natural it feels. Gale knows that at some point, likely the next day, his mind will take over and need to analyze every aspect of the situation, but for the moment, he feels safe and desired and loved.

Halsin smiles and caresses Gale's jaw with his thumbs. “Take your time, we’ll make sure there’s room for you.”

#Halsin x Tav #Gale x Halsin x Tav #Gale x Halsin #Gale x Tav #baldurs gate 3 #gale x reader #halsin x reader #Gale x Halsin x reader

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bookyeom · 4 hours

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whatever you say, bro - chs

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 1.2k warnings: kissing, Shrek slander request prompt: "You're cute." "What did you say?" + "are you flirting with me?" "I’ve been trying to do that for three years."

A/N: Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I'm doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

Vernonie [8:59pm]: we still on for tomorrow night?

Your heart leaps, like it always does, when Vernon’s name pops up on your screen.

Y/N [9:01pm]: yeah! see you then, bro

You sigh heavily, throwing your phone down onto the bed beside you and rolling over, pulling your pillow into your chest.

Bro.

It’s a defense mechanism, you know, but it’s getting a bit ridiculous now. You’ve taken to throwing out the word nervously when he gets too close – which seems to be more often than not lately. You’d been worried that your crush on Vernon was getting disgustingly apparent, and so you'd started with this whole "bro" nonsense. Now, you don’t know how to get out of it.

Every time he catches you looking at him and raises a dramatic brow; every time you’re making plans to hang out just the two of you; every time his hand accidentally brushes yours while he hands over a headphone for you to listen to a song – you find a way to call him 'bro'. So that he knows it’s all strictly platonic. Which it’s not, of course – not for you – but his friendship means more to you than anything in this world, and you’re not going to jeopardize that just because you think he’s hot. And kind. And funny.

Sure thing, bro. See you tomorrow, bro. I love movie nights with you, bro. I love when you show me new music or video games and your face lights up, bro. I love your eyes and the way you laugh at your own jokes, bro. While we're at it, your smile is pretty nice too, bro.

You close your eyes with a sigh.

"Thumb war."

"What?"

You’re sitting on the floor in Vernon’s apartment the next day, arguing over which movie to watch. It’s been at least a half hour of back and forth, so you'd decided to take matters into your own hands, and had proposed the most obvious solution.

"Thumb war," you repeat. "Winner gets to pick the movie."

Vernon eyes you warily. "Fine. You're on."

As soon as his fingers curl into yours, you can feel your stomach flutter. His touch sends goosebumps across your skin, and you regret the suggestion instantly, but you must carry on. For honour – and for the fact that if he makes you watch Shrek 2 again you might scream.

You square your shoulders and laugh at Vernon’s face, which has instantly turned competitive. You count down, and as your thumbs begin to battle, you feel the competitiveness in yourself grow, too.

“Yes!” You cry. You have him pinned.

You’re counting down when Vernon suddenly surges forward, your hands falling apart as you let out an ‘oof’ and fall to the ground. You let out a squeak as your back hits the floor with a soft thud, Vernon landing on top of you. His arms are on either side of your head as he pushes himself up a little, chest hovering above yours, and you can audibly hear the way your breath catches in your throat.

"Just shut up and let me pick a movie," he says breathlessly, and you’re sure you've forgotten how to breathe. His hips are between your knees, his chest pressed to yours, and you can feel every part of him against you.

"Make me shut up," come your words, and you regret it immediately. His eyebrows raise, just as surprised as you are, and you swear he falters a little.

"I will," he says back after a pause, and you can’t tear your gaze away from his. "I'll kiss you."

The blood is rushing to your cheeks before you have time to think. Around now would be the time that you look away, but he’s so close that you can’t. Your heart is nearly pounding out of your chest, and you’re certain he can hear it. Or feel it.

Your head is spinning as you force out a laugh before saying, "Okay, bro."

Vernon’s eyes search your face before meeting your gaze again. His expression is serious, and you hold your breath as you wait for him to react.

But all he does is stand up, holding his hands up in surrender. "You can choose.”

For the rest of the night, things feel a bit awkward between you. You don’t comment on it like you normally would, because Vernon hasn’t said anything, which means he’s probably forgotten and it’s just you that’s making it weird now. You make it through your pick, and then he surprises you by picking one of your other favourites to watch as a second movie. It’s sweet, but you’re confused since he'd caused such a fuss earlier.

As the movie progresses, you begin to relax a little. You can feel Vernon’s eyes on you as you giggle to yourself, and you shoot him a glare.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. You turn back to the TV, focusing again when you hear him add, quieter, “You’re cute.”

Your head whips back in his direction. He avoids your gaze this time, the only telltale sign he notices you looking shown in the way he fidgets with the remote.

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re annoying.”

You think ignoring everything that’s just transpired in the last minute is probably for the best.

“I’m about to be really annoying, then,” you quip – and then you begin to quote line after line.

It’s one of his biggest pet peeves, and he knows you’re doing it on purpose. You continue, waiting for him to break. It doesn’t take very long.

"Oh my god. Shut up." You can hear the smile in his voice, and you know you aren’t annoying him that much.

"Make me," you shoot back without thinking, your heart stopping as you quickly remember where those two words had gotten you just a couple of hours before. You think Vernon is holding his breath, too, and you resist the urge to shrink even further back into his couch. Don’t make it weird, it’s fine, you’re just joking, don’t make it –

Vernon’s hand is on your face before you can finish your thought, tilting your chin up towards him – and then he’s kissing you.

When he pulls back, it takes a second for your eyes to flutter open again. And when they do, he’s already looking back at you, unwavering. His thumb brushes against your chin before he smirks and says, eyebrows raised, "I told you I would, bro.”

Your mouth is agape as he drops his hand and turns back to the movie. You feel a bit like your entire brain is resetting as you process what just happened.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“I’ve been trying to do that for like, three years now, so… yeah.”

“You kissed me.”

Vernon looks at you again now, and you absolutely cannot understand how he’s so calm about all of this. Smiling about it, even. “I did. Thoughts?”

Your friend is stoic at the best of times, but his eyes always give him away. When he doesn’t break your gaze, when he just waits while you process, you can see it in the way he’s looking at you — that even if he seems calm on the outside, he’s nervous. Nervous that you’re going to reject him, nervous that he may have overstepped, nervous that you don’t like him back. As if that would even be possible. “I think,” you say slowly, “that the movie can wait a little longer if you wanted to kiss me some more… bro.”

@wheeboo @tae-bebe @waldau @eoieopda @gyuminusone @minisugakoobies @lvlystars @seohomrwolf @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @christinewithluv @wqnwoos @iluvseokmin

#vernon x reader #vernon fluff #seventeen imagine #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x you #vernon x you #chsfic #my writing #bookyeom700 #seventeen fluff #chs x reader

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honeybeefae · 3 days

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Cassian and Nesta head cannon that Nesta has to check in their closet and under their bed and leave a candle lit every night because Cassian is afraid that Bryaxis has turned up in the night court and is there to terrorize him.

AKSFALKSDJFASDJFASDF i love this

Nesta sighs as she finally collapses into their bed, the cool sheets a welcome respite from the heat and hard work of the day. Azriel and Cass had kept her and her friends on their toes while training, keen on making sure they were prepared for anything.

She's certain that tomorrow she'll have to ask for some balm for her legs but for right now, the only thing she cares about is sleep.

The moon is high in the sky, night air billowing the curtains, and just as Nesta feels herself drifting, she hears something. Or, someone.

"Nes?" Cassian whispers, his voice meek.

"Really, Cassian? What is it?" She knows what he wants and what she forgot to do, but after getting so comfortable, she can't help but snap at him.

"You forgot to check for-" Cassian doesn't dare finish the sentence, afraid that even speaking the name of the monster would bring her forth.

Tense silence fills the air before Nesta dramatically throws back the covers and all but stomps over to their closet, opening the door with a scowl.

Nothing.

Next, she heads to Cassian's side of the bed, making sure to give him a look as she falls to her hands and knees to look under the bed.

Nothing.

"I can't believe you, a grown Illyrian man, Commander of the Night Court Army, is scared of little old-"

"Don't say her name!" Cassian interrupts, making a cutting motion over his throat wildly. "Can you just light the candle? Please?"

She stands and looks him over, smiling at just how childish he looks with the covers drawn up to his chin and his eyes wide with fear. He looks like someone just read him a scary bedtime story. However, she knows there are things she still fears that some may find childish. Fears that would make her want to hide under the covers (if her pride would ever allow her to do that.)

So, instead of further mocking him, she changes her smile to something softer and nods. Within seconds, the candle is lit, and the flame is dancing to its own music, banishing whatever might be lurking in the shadows.

Cassian gives her a relieved smile, and she bends down and kisses him, patting his cheek, before pulling away and going back to her side of the bed. He is quick to pull her into his warmth, cocooning her and burying his face into her hair and neck.

"Night, Nes." He murmurs.

"Goodnight, Cass." She whispers back, falling into the most restful sleep she's had in awhile.

#nesta x cassian #nessian #this was so funny #and cute #acotar #acotar fanfiction #nesta x cassian acotar #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #nesta acotar

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hxltic · 23 hours

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i have this idea of gymnast! reader and bokuto that I can't get put of my headddd, like her going to his practice and him going to readers as well 😫 cute

Omgomg this is so cute!! I used to be a gymnast😼

The power couple. Y’all do everything together.

Before he went pro, you both attended the same college. He was captain for the last two years he was there, well known throughout campus, but mainly for reasons other than his volleyball talent. Innocent reasons, of course.

But I mean can you blame them? Look at him.

Big bright eyes, expressive and sweet. Huge too. On top of practically towering over everyone he meets, his vivacious nature makes you comfortable and him a likable person overall. It’s not surprising seeing all of the girls that would attach themselves to him.

He’d politely decline, and looking over his show-stopping smile, it provides enough comfort after being rejected to ask if they can recruit themselves as friends instead. He can’t say no to friends, especially after already saying it once, so he internally sighs and nods his head. It was awkward the first few times but he’s come to learn they never actually call. And if they text, it’s just basic conversation that he feels they don’t actually care to know about him.

You met at a meeting for the athletes held by the school, basically congratulating the hard work and achievements of the individual teams and important players. He went up in ranks for his hitting accuracy, dependability, and being an accomplished six rotation player. An overall asset to his team. He shakes the hand of his coach and an older man, taking his certificate, and standing up on the stage for the picture.

After entering the transfer portal, you were elated when one of the top scoring colleges for Women’s Collegiate Gymnastics gave you an offer. Of course you took the chance. With the sport being more of an individual achievement, even though the scoring is all added up in the end, you consistently dropped incredible numbers for the team. You like vault the best, but your teammates are in love with your floor routine and music.

So you go up next. Your hair moving behind you as you step up to your own coach and shake her hand, then receive the frame, ordered to stand right next to Bokuto.

His weight might be shifting, and his eyes may be flickering back and forth from you to the clapping audience of your peers, but he can’t help it. You’re the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

You’re only a few centimeters shorter, your skin glistens, and your pretty eyes are hid from him when your side profile leaves curly hair fallen over your ears. He forces himself to look forward for the last group picture of the ceremony, making a mental note to look up the name he’s heard called by the announcer more than once.

And he does just that. It was a little creepy at first but that was how you met. Now, you both go to the gym in your free time. He powers you through your sets, promising different motivators (new shoes) and food, while you try your best to do the same to him. Most of the time is spent giggling, but hey. Y’all work out with your respective teams on the days you’re supposed to, so does it really matter?

You mainly watch his games because some of your practices are on the same day. Watching these men swing with all their might knowing people on the other side are intended to receive the hit is insane to you. Watching who he explained is the libero throw himself around or get behind balls that seem to be barreling toward his face. You would literally shit yourself.

Meanwhile, when Bokuto comes to watch you, he admires the technical training and physicality that goes into running full speed at an inanimate object and tossing yourself around. How you manage not only to balance, but make it look pretty, and stay pretty doing it. He claims he gets sweaty and gross.

Sometimes after a workout, he’ll walk into your practice and finds a seat somewhere. He hears fast steps, vault boards going off, mats caving from being landed on—it’s all music to his ears now. He’s unironically close with your coach (as he is all the others, and the dietician), mainly because he’s around for you. You try not to get distracted by his slumped figure eyeing you from afar. It gets hard when you do full out routines at the end and you stick it.

He doesn’t truly understand the scoring and how meticulous it is, just that a fall is bad and you have to try your best not to wobble. Which is exactly why even if it wasn’t your best routine, it looked all the perfect to him, and he celebrates when you land your dismount.

There’s nothing more he loves than watching you get ready before meets. Braiding your own hair or letting your teammate do it, putting glitter of the school colors in spots on your face to match the leotard, doing the makeup, and putting the colorful bows in the bun— it’s all a process to him. You look gorgeous after, even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the school tracksuit that hides those thick legs he knows you has.

That’s what he loves most. God, your legs. Your whole physique really. Long, strong legs and thighs that could crush him. Arms that he has to remind you are sexy when you’re looking at yourself in a dress.

Bokuto is strong, he knows that. He’s been athletic and probably has never been out of shape a day in his life. To be with someone that matches his lifestyle and is amazing at her sport? He considers himself blessed. There’s nobody that understands him like you do.

©️hxltic

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ysrjune · 4 hours

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stephen walking in on you jumping his pillows??

Stephen had taken you to his apartment for the night since you decided to visit him for the last hour he had to work. You were in his office, staying quiet and watching him type and write things away. Once he was finished, you talked with him for a while until his shift was over.

You came in a taxi, so he just took you with him in his car. Laughs and conversations filled the car all the way from work, the parking lot, and his apartment. You both lay in his bed, kissing for a while. Kiss marks were left all over his face.

“Gotta go wash these off, sweetie.” He chuckled and kissed your cheek. “Be right back, don't run off.” Stephen jokes, quickly going to his dresser to find comfy bottoms and a shirt, then walks to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You lay on your back and sighed. Literally, nothing was planned for you today except for all the chores you had to finish earlier. Not to mention the fact that you were so worked up and needed your boyfriend so bad all day.

You had no idea if he was in the mood or not, but if he wasn't, you were gonna put him in it. You swiftly removed all your clothes and grabbed one of your boyfriends’ pillows. At a slow pace that eventually sped up, you rocked your hips on it and imagined it was Stephen.

“Babe, hurry up!” You called out to which he replied, “Almost done, I'll just be a minute!” He was probably brushing his teeth, too. You waited until he came out, wiping off his glasses, not looking at you immediately. “Sorry I took so long. I decided to brush my teeth and scrub my face real good.” Stephen explains and put his glasses back on.

As soon as he looked at what you were doing, he froze and started blushing. “Babe.. what are you doing.” He asks shyly. “What does it look like im doing?” You reply, going slower.

“you—you know, if.. if you wanted to.. do something you could've just asked..” he slowly walked over to you, placing his hands on your hips. “Mm—I wouldn't have said no, you know that, baby.” He breathes out, his right hand dropping down to your clit and letting his middle finger slide up and down.

You let out a small moan and drape your hands over his shoulders. “I don't know.. I guess I just—” you paused for a second, feeling his finger move back and forth on you. “just wanted to see what you would do when you saw what I was doing.

“Wishing my face was that pillow, if im being honest.” What? Did he really just say that, or did you imagine it..

“What did you sa—”

“Sit on my face. Please sit on my face, baby.” He cut you off and went down on his knees, hands reaching behind your thighs to pull you closer so he could suck on your folds. “You're.. wet.” He quietly states, pulling away while your bodily fluids connect with his lips.

“Makes me so hard to see you be the needy one..” He gently pushed you down and dragged you closer to his mouth. “if only you could see what I see. Mmm, this pretty pussy is all mine.” He groaned against the lips and then started to eat you like a starved man.

Your moans filled the room. Fingers tangling in his curly hair and hearing the sloppiest noises coming from his tongue exploring you. “Come on, baby, please? I dont wanna ask again..” He stopped.

“Okay, fine..” You replied, and he got what he wanted. Your hands gripped the headboard, and your hips rolled on his face while he was eating you out. His arms were gripping your thighs, too. He moaned and made all sorts of noises while doing this.

After cumming all over his face, he wanted you to ride him. And what happened? That pretty boy got what he wanted. He tried ditching the glasses, but you didn't let him. Not ever.

His hands kept moving from your tits, ass, hips, and thighs while you were doing this. A hair fell onto his forehead, making him look so cute. Cheeks stained deep pink, glasses that kept falling down the bridge of his nose.. that piece of hair did wonders.

A bunch of babbles came from him, saying how he loves you and your pussy so much. Or telling you how hes so lucky to be with a gorgeous girl like you. He just praised you so much since its all he ever does. Stephen likes to show you how much hes enjoying himself.

“‘m gonna cum, baby, pleasepleaseplease dont stop.” he whined into your shoulder, shaking his head. sniffles fell from his nose. was he really crying? was he that overstimulated? “im—shit, mm! im cumming!” he thrusts into you, moaning as soon as his seed shot into you.

—

so it mine el

#stephen glass x reader #stephen glass imagine #stephen glass #stephen glass fluff #hayden christensen #anon

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postazkabansiriussupremacy · 11 hours

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would be so funny if after sirius and reader fuck for the first time, the next time he sees remus hes debriefing like they used to when they were younger and remus is like “you never change do you” but sirius goes “she’s different!” because she is 🤭 and then glimpses of how sirius and reader act together that make remus realise that his friend is indeed whipped, head over heels, long gone

my first ask 🙇🏻‍♀️‼️ thank u. i’m not super confident in writing dialog but i gave it my best effort lmao

from the moment Remus gets back to grimmauld place… he knows something’s up.

The air feels different, and Sirius is all but skipping around the house.

Remus quickly puts two and two together as it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s been going on. Sirius wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it’s been obvious from the very beginning that he has an interest in you.

After a meeting, Remus pulls Sirius to the side and sighs. “Really, Sirius?”

Sirius can’t help the smug little smile on his face. He knows exactly what Remus is referring to, but he likes to play coy, and the back-and-forth between them is always a bit of fun. “Something on your mind, Remus?”

Remus wants to roll his eyes. He speaks in a quiet but firm tone. “Must I spell it out for you? Do you think what you’re doing is appropriate?”

Sirius responds with a simple glance of his eyes. He locks eyes with Remus, slowly looks over to Tonks, and then meets eyes with Remus again. As if saying ‘You’re not one to talk’ without having to say it

Of course Sirius would know about that. Remus thinks bitterly. It’s sometimes easy to forget that Sirius is smarter and more perceptive than he lets on.

Not bothering to try and save face, Remus defends quietly, “That isn’t the same.”

“How so?” Sirius asks, knowing he’s already won the confrontation without even having to say much.

Remus could create a list of reasons as to why Sirius Black of all people shouldn’t be sleeping with one of the new order members. No matter the reasons why, Sirius was never known for committed relationships or monogamy.

But right now isn’t the time for this discussion. The meeting’s just ended and everyone’s rounding up for dinner. Remus sighs. “You’ll never change, will you?”

Remus thinks the conversation is done, but Sirius replies after a short pause. Remus is mildly surprised by how genuine Sirius sounds when he says “This time is different, old friend.”

Remus knows Sirius. He knows him better than anyone else. And he knows that Sirius won’t take this so-called ‘relationship’ seriously.

In Remus’s mind, he thinks that Sirius is just bored. He knows it’s hard for Sirius to be trapped in his childhood home, and having a pretty girl around is a good distraction.

Throughout dinner, Remus can’t help but steal glances at the two of you. He watches the way Sirius listens to you when you speak, his eyes never straying from yours.

After dinner, Remus watches Sirius as he makes you a cup of tea. Sirius adds a generous amount of milk and a small pinch of sugar as if he’s already memorized your preferences.

Then in the middle of the night, Remus rises out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom. Whilst passing by Sirius’s room, Remus can hear bits and pieces of your late-night conversations. It’s difficult to make out your quiet mumblings, but it’s got something to do with life after the war and possible children.

Remus decides to stop pestering Sirius. Perhaps this could be a good thing in the long run

#i wanted to make it longer and REALLY show some fluff #but it felt like it was going on too long #idk why maybe it was just insecurity talking #sirius black #sirius black x reader #post azkaban sirius #post azkaban sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #ask

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slaymitchabernathy · 2 days

Text

Back Together Again

For once, Coriolanus is home before Soarynn.

It’s unusual and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. She’s at a dinner with some of her friends and his meeting was shorter than he had originally planned for so here he is, nursing a glass of whiskey while waiting for the love of his life to return.

The penthouse is so quiet without Soarynn in it. Normally, it’s filled with music and laughter. She often sings out loud or talks to her cat Petunia, who she claims can understand her. But it’s quiet.

He checks his watch again for the tenth time within five minutes and sighs. Is this how she feels all the time? Soarynn doesn’t work, he’s seen to it that she’s well taken care of but that leaves her with a lot of free time on her hands and most of it she spends shopping, going out with friends and taking care of his ancestral penthouse. She does however, spend a good amount of time waiting for him to come home every night.

Coriolanus eyes the cat sitting on the armchair across from him. Petunia’s tail flicks back and forth as the two sit in a comfortable silence. Both waiting for Soarynn. Then, they hear it. The sound of the front doors unlocking. Petunia jumps off the chair and bounds down the hallway to greet Soarynn whereas Coriolanus takes the more reserved route and simply waits. She’ll come to him like she always does.

But she doesn’t. He can hear her make her way inside and close the door. He doesn’t hear any greetings for the cat which he smugly notes but it’s so…quiet. He listens to the sound of Soarynn’s heels on the hardwood floor as they walk down the hall but she never makes it to the living room.

Coriolanus furrows his brows. Has something happened? Is she upset with him? His worries persist when Petunia comes back into the living room, her tail lowered in defeat.

Coriolanus pushes himself from the sofa and makes his way to their bedroom where Soarynn has most likely gone to. He’s proven correct when he finds the closet light on and catches a glimpse of Soarynn throwing her heels towards the other side, a childish act that he is not too fond of seeing from his girlfriend. Especially because he bought her those shoes and every fucking thing in that closet.

He also notes her expensive handbag carelessly lying on the floor as well. Coriolanus strides across the room and knocks on the closet’s doorframe before entering and finds Soarynn sitting on one of the ottomans they have in the closet. She’s hunched over as she fusses with the tights she wore tonight, trying to pull them off and not paying him any mind.

Coriolanus clenches his jaw and clears his throat, “Is there a reason as to why you failed to greet me when you arrived home?” Soarynn would often wait right in front of the doors when he got home, not wanting to wait a moment longer to see him again. This behavior is the complete opposite of what he’s used to receiving from his girlfriend and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Soarynn mumbles something incoherent and Coriolanus raises his eyebrows, “Excuse me?” Soarynn snaps her head up and he’s finally granted a few of his girlfriend’s face. Her eyes are red and filled with tears and a bit of her mascara has run down her face as well, “I said it’s none of your fucking business,” she snaps, so much anger in her tone.

Coriolanus is taken back both by the tears and the snippy attitude which he does not appreciate one bit. Soarynn is normally polite and sweet. This is not the girl he’s grown to love.

Coriolanus grabs her chin, squeezing it between his thumb and index finger, “Say that one more time,”he challenges, his tone sharp. Soarynn jerks away from his hold and stands up, slightly unsteady on her feet which means she had something to drink at dinner. “Just leave me alone,” she huffs as she brushes past him and into the bedroom. Coriolanus is right behind her and he reaches for her arm, wrapping his long fingers around it.

“Have you forgotten all your manners or are you just trying to piss me off?” He asks, pulling on her arm. Soarynn whips her head around and he can see fresh tears falling from her face, “It doesn’t fucking matter so just let me go,” she says, her voice trembling. He’s more concerned than upset at the moment but when Soarynn attempts to break free from his grip, it all goes downhill.

She succeeds in pulling away from his grasp but the alcohol in her system has stunted her senses and her foot catches under the rug they have laid out on the bedroom floor. It’s within five seconds that Soarynn is hitting the hard floor with a loud bang. Coriolanus flinches and quickly reaches down to check on her and her shaking form. He rests and hand on her back and Soarynn lets out a whimper, “I…” Her voice dies off, “I just want today to be over,” she whispers.

Coriolanus furrows his brows at her words. “What happened tonight? Did someone hurt you? Try to touch you?” He can already feel his blood boiling at the thought of another man trying to hurt his precious girlfriend.

Soarynn slowly sits up on her knees and shakes her head, “No one touched me,” she whispers. Coriolanus withdraws his hand from her back in exchange for making his way around her so that he can look her in the eye. He kneels down until they’re almost at eye level with one another, even on his knees he’s taller than Soarynn.

Her eyes are trained on the floor, tears falling onto the rug. He ever so carefully reaches out to cup her face with his hand, being oh-so gentle while doing so.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

Soarynn sniffles and shakes her head, “It’s nothing of importance.” It probably isn’t. It’s probably about something silly and something that would never bother Coriolanus. But it’s bothering Soarynn which means it’s bothering him.

“Tell me,” he gently urges, his heart clenching at the sight of his girlfriend upset. Soarynn wipes a tear and takes in a shaky breath, “Clemmie said some things and…” Her bottom lip trembles and he knows she’s about to start crying, “And I don’t think she’s ever going to talk to me again,” Soarynn gasps, her entire body shaking as she begins to sob.

Coriolanus wishes he could take every bit of pain away from Soarynn, who’s already been through so much already. He doesn’t hesitate to pull her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her small frame as she sits on his lap, crying into his shoulder. “She hates me,” Soarynn cries in between sobs, “she absolutely hates me.”

Coriolanus highly doubts that Clemensia hates Soarynn, especially because the girl is somewhat easy to piss off and often gets into arguments with everyone. It’s a miracle that she and Soarynn haven’t already gotten into some sort of disagreement.

But it’s clearly weighing on Soarynn’s heart. Coriolanus knows how much she values all her relationships and how devastated she can get when faced with a fight. Soarynn doesn’t like arguing, she’d rather apologize and move on with things whereas Clemensia can hold a nasty grudge.

Coriolanus grows more worried though as Soarynn struggles to breathe, her breaths growing more and more erratic. “Soarynn,” he says softly, “Soarynn look at me.” Soarynn lifts her head and his heart shatters into a million pieces at the sight of his girlfriend’s teary eyed complexion. The tears aren’t slowing down and neither is her breathing.

Is this a panic attack? Does she need to lie down? Should he call the doctor?

He pushes all those questions to the side and simply focuses on her. He rubs soothing circles on her back and takes her hand in his other hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Just breathe,” he instructs, “in and out darling. In and out.” He does the breathing exercises with her, both of them taking in a deep breath and holding it before slowly pushing it out. “That’s it,” he praises, “you’re doing so well my love.”

The tears haven’t ceased but her breathing is much better and he’s no longer considering medical assistance. He wipes away a few tears before resting his forehead against hers. “It’s all going to be okay Soarynn. She’ll come around, I promise.” Soarynn scoffs and shakes her head, “I fear that she’s quite upset with me, and I’m rather upset with her as well.”

He doesn’t ask what the fight was about. Not now, when clearly anything can trigger her into another spiral. Right now he needs to do damage control, calm her down, get her some rest.

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead before cupping her face with both his hands, cradling it whilst rubbing under her eyes with his thumbs. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I saw you weren’t being your normal self and yet I attacked you before making sure you were alright,” he says, the guilt already eating away at him.

Since dating Soarynn, Coriolanus has found himself to be a better man. More patient and kind. The old him attacked first and asked questions later. He acted like that version of himself tonight, attacking his girlfriend before finding the root of the problem. Soarynn sniffles and shrugs, “It’s alright. I…I should’ve told you right when I got home.”

Coriolanus shakes his head and gently presses his fingers into the soft skin of her face, his eyes looking into her with such deep conviction, “It’s not alright Soarynn,” he insists, “I should’ve gone about it in a completely different way and yet I’ve hurt you even more in the process.” Soarynn looks down at her lap and sighs, “I forgive you Coryo. Tonight has been horrible for both of us.”

He can agree with that. He still wishes he could do more to help with the ache in her heart. “Is there anything I can do?” He asks softly. Soarynn bites her lip, “I think I just want to take a bath and go to bed.” He nods, he can do that. “Of course darling.”

꧁ ꧂

With Soarynn safely tucked in bed next to him, Coriolanus feels much better already.

She’s fast asleep in his arms, tonight’s events had taken a massive toll on her. He’d bathed her with her favorite soaps and washed her hair. Then he brought her a dessert that was undoubtedly her favorite, chocolate covered strawberries. Petunia finally proved herself useful and cuddled with Soarynn for a good half hour and the two of them seemed to help improve each other’s moods significantly.

He watches her as she sleeps. She looks so beautiful. Tonight was a painful reminder of how nasty he can get, what he’s capable of. There’s some things he knows he could never be capable of. Harming her is the main thing. Hitting Soarynn is completely out of the question. How could he harm the love of his life with his hands?

He’d turn himself into the authorities if he ever stooped so low.

Tomorrow they’ll talk about it more, what led to the fight between the girls, how to make amends. Then he’ll take her shopping and spoil her the way she deserves to be spoiled.

And should something like this ever occur again, he’ll know how the put the pieces back together again.

| tumble oneshot/drabble |

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anika-ann · 8 hours

Text

Back and Forth - part 6.2

Part 6 - Back-Up 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 14500 (cough-)

Chapter summary: In which it's your turn to look back at the events at the Hydra base and have a revelation or two. And some of these involve a certain Captain.

Series masterlist

Warnings: blood, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries and possible death, unhealthy relationship with pain, mentions of chronic illness, issues with self-worth as a courtesy of a completely shitty parenting, language, feels and fluff ✨ Please, let me know any time if you think I missed any!

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: hello, loves, thank you for your patience and enjoy nearly 15k worth of words. Ehm. If you want to break it into two parts, I recommend you to do so at the change in POV (but know that it's in like 2/3 of this part 🥲) Enjoy ✨

The swirl of delicate fabric around your ankles came with a soft swooshing sound, a faint glimmer catching your eye as the light reflected off the sparkles peppering your dress. Warm hand between your shoulder blades holding you securely to a firm body, the other cradling your hand gently. Gaze trailing from the bowtie over the faintest hint of stubble and plush lips curled in a barely-there warm smile, bright eyes soft with affection that still sent butterflies flipping their wings like mad in your stomach. The subtle caress of his thumb over the silver of skin revealed by the tiny opening of the dress on your back causing you to shudder, heat pooling in your abdomen.

He noticed the effect his minute touch had on you. He must have, the loveable bastard, because his smile earned the familiar innocently wicked edge, his pupils dilating just a fraction, his thigh slipping between yours further with the next step, firm muscle feeling like a teasing taste of heaven against your centre.

“Steve-“

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips at your ear, brushing down the sensitive skin of the column of your throat, the masculine scent of him enveloping your senses, your head tipping back to make space for his demanding lips. The graze of his teeth had you whimper, hips rocking against him, a soft menacing ‘oh doll’ rolling off his tongue before all pretence of what used to be a dance was gone, hand slipping to your lower back, encouraging you to press into him further, his other hand releasing yours in favour of cradling your jaw and leading your parted lips to his hungry ones. “My beautiful doll… I’ve got you.”

You sighed as you could already almost taste his lips, a tingle burning on your own, instinctively chasing after the pleasure they could provide when you felt their warmth retreat.

You winced when the touch of his hands disappeared too, all but a brush of fingertips remaining, wet and sticky; flash of crimson on his skin, startled gaze, sharp orders followed by words of soft reassurance whispered between heavy breaths, intrusive acrid smell of copper and chemicals causing you to scrunch your nose. Blue and purple of your gown turning black, pristine white shirt torn and drowned in terrifying red; a flash of glowing symbols, an absurdly evil smile replacing Steve’s face in your vision. Gunshot. Body flying backwards. Gun going off twice more. The world tilting to side. Heavy, painless crash. Beeping. That goddamn fluorescent lamp.

A gasp.

You blinked your eyes open, acutely aware of the twitch of your fingers feeling uncertain and heavy.

A dimly-lit room with a few bright points.

A flicker of grey and rust-like red on your right, flash of white on your left. A lab coat.

You drew in another sharp breath, startled, pulse hammering in your temples in fright; Doctor Barret. You were still-

“Well good afternoon, Spectre. You with us for a while this time?” a familiar voice asked, causing you to snap your head from the white coat worn by a doctor who was most definitely not Doctor Barret when you actually looked at him. Even as the menacing glint in Hydra’s doctor eye still flickered in your mind, your brain registered you got a glimpse the pleasant neutral face of a man you vaguely recognized as one belonging to the AI medical team, before you turned your eye to the right.

There, you were met with a subtle smirk on the face of a redhead; Natasha Romanoff, the world’s deadliest spy, a title she was perhaps sharing with Agent May.

Uncomfortably vivid flashes of memories flooded your brain as you were coming to, your heart racing; but upon seeing Natasha, you felt your body relax into the bed. Because you were in a bed – and you were most definitely not in a Hydra facility, but at the Tower’s med bay.

They had come to the rescue. Daisy had come. And probably many other too; you recalled voices, shouting, hissing, whimpering, a glow behind your closed eyelids-

You shot up on your bed, biting back the dull but very intense tug of pain in your thighs as you sat up with a startle. The glow.

“The artifact! Natasha, they can’t touch it, we don’t know-“

A gentle hand landed on your arm; you didn’t realize how close she was standing until she touched you, your heart, having jumped in fright at the mere idea of someone else getting tangled in the mess Kree artifacts tended to stir, pounding wildly at what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture.

Was that even safe, touching you? What if she got involved by merely doing that? What if the power somehow transferred---

--alright, that didn’t make any sense, because the brainless sadistic Hydra jerks had touched you as well, probably with no consequence, but-

“Relax. Breathe. The artifact is taken care off, locked up as of now,” Natasha stated calmly, her eyes roaming your face with what you were pretty certain was concern, even as she retreated her hand. “Doc, could you-“

The doctor – you were quite sure his name was Doctor Cuesta – excused himself in an instant, promising to check on you later and left without protest. Such was the power of Natasha Romanoff’s words; no questioning an order or even a request, just following it.

Some might find it odd, but to you, such behaviour was nothing new – you’d expect nothing less.

The baffling part of the scene would be the presence of Natasha by your bedside. That itself made for a peculiar but warm feeling in your gut, the only plausible reason for that being that she had come to check up on you; but it was another thing entirely to allow yourself to realize that the probability of you waking up the one moment she was here before she’d move on to tend to other things was almost absurdly low.

Which meant she wasn’t only checking up on you, but actually was spending some time here. And that was a hard thing to swallow, even as it tasted a little sweet.

The rational part of you was very firm in its reasoning that perhaps she and other Avengers took turns in your room just in case a new side effect of the power switch appeared and needed to be tackled, and now it was simply Natasha’s time.

The reckless part of you, the sentimental fraction of that part of you, shyly suggested that she was simply here because she cared. It wasn’t entirely unheard of that she was capable of feeling, naturally. Ater all, she had let a few people peek behind the hard shell of the Black Widow, Bucky Barnes making the top of the list.

It was just rather strange that you were included in that group of people at all.

And yet.

It still wasn’t the strangest thing about the whole scene.

As relief flooded your veins, the most acute fear having been soothed for the moment since you were no longer in Hydra’s clutches, you noticed that the already surreal scene – with all your senses in overdrive and dulled at once, probably due to whatever meds they were pumping into you through the i.v., which you had only just noticed – was a full fever dream. Because as the doctor left, your gaze caught on another person in the room. One that had had to been there the whole time, silent, only an echo of his harsher breaths having been reaching your ears, too quiet for you to notice before. And his cerulean eyes were firmly set on you, a tired minute smile on his lips.

The one person whom your very next words would have concerned, because your thoughts were consumed by him as well.

He was wearing a sling on his right arm and shoulder, a butterfly band-aid over what was probably a cut over his brow, a dark shiner on his cheek. Dressed in a simple grey hoodie and black sweats, he seemed as hulk-like as usual, even if worn to a bone and slightly hunched in his chair; but intent as he rose to his feet, stepping closer to your bed.

Now his presence was truly puzzling, even as it shouldn’t be, you supposed. Despite that, however, confusion was a feeling firmly pushed out by a very different sentiment, a whole sea of it.

Your shoulders sagged as you felt tension you hadn’t been aware of melt off your body; because he was okay. Well, as okay as one could be after what you had been through.

Steve was okay.

You were alive. Both of you.

And you were home.

Safe.

Despite the raging storm of sensations and emotions that seeing him stirred, it was relief that crashed into you with enough force to turn your eyes uncomfortably glassy.

It was over. It really was over.

There must have been so much mess to sort through; you had no idea where you stood with the powers exchange, had even less of an idea about where you stood with Steve, Captain Rogers, The Mighty Captain, the jerk, the kindest soul – but the horror was over.

Hydra would not shoot you in the head; Hydra would not cut you open and dig around in your body with glee, discovery that required experimentation. Not today.

And Steve was okay.

“Hey,” you whispered, the single word slipping off your lips unwittingly, causing his smile to widen, his eyes lighting up with life – and with a speckle of concern. Because of course he had noticed your tears welling up a bit.

The flash of a memory of his eyes, truly glowing with something, affection and desire, had your cheeks burn and your stomach flip in as much excitement as shame; that had been just a dream. A very, very nice dream that you could surely blame on medication just in case you had been making any embarrassing noises.

However, if you had, Steve didn’t mention it. Instead, he greeted you with a ‘hey’ in return, with a gentle sound of your name.

The feeling in your belly stirred by that had nothing to do with shame this time; the corners of your lips turned upwards without conscious effort. You felt fresh wave of heat rise to your cheeks; it was no doll or sweetheart, but it wasn’t Spectre either, nor Agent.

Wherever you stood with him now, it wasn’t at a distance; and it wasn’t on a battlefield where you’d face each other either.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you from what probably looked like embarrassing gazing, Natasha’s lips curling up further in concerningly knowing amusement.

“As I was saying. No need to worry about the artifact now. Between the glowing, live feed, Steve telling us and Johnson being able to recover the draft of the message you were trying to send from the auction, we knew enough to keep our hands off,” she explained. “And if that wouldn’t have done it, Johnson had a few colourful curses for us when she saw the symbols, mostly about all things Kree, so that was quite a dead giveaway.”

For all the new information, the corners of your lips twitched at the last piece of it. Of course. You could imagine that after everything that happened especially to Daisy, she would have had a plethora of swearwords at her disposal for such situations.

It wasn’t like your last shared Kree escapade had been kind to you either; you might have not been mind-controlled by an ancient Inhuman named Hive to turn against your team like she had been, but you had sort of been the person who turned out to be the SHIELD agent from a vision of the future Daisy had once been offered; stuck on a quinjet aimlessly flowing through space right before the craft exploded. The memory of body-wrenching invasion, Hive’s clutches having been slowly seeping into your spectre even as you had been snapping back from the quinjet so your spectre wouldn’t end scattered all over the Milky Way, still made you shudder and had made for recurring nightmares.

For a single alien race, Kree sure had messed with your life enough for ten lifetimes already.

Chasing away the dark memories, you latched onto another piece of information; Steve had told them about the artifact. That meant he had been conscious when they had picked him up, or at least hadn’t been unconscious for long. Certainly not longer than you. Which meant that even though he looked a little worse for wear – he was beautiful still, it truly was unfair, you’d bet you looked like an utter mess, while he looked like a warrior demi-god who needed a little nap – he truly was mostly fine.

You couldn’t but wonder if the serum was the reason for that.

“Fair enough,” you hummed absently before your gaze turned back to Steve, drawn to him like a magnet.

He was still smiling a bit, the concern evident on his face; it reminded you of the way he had watched you back in the cell and despite the cold fear that had gripped you several times back there, all you felt now was warmth; because the flash of dreadful memory of blood and pain digging into your mind came with a soft memory of his tender touch. Unfairly, beautifully tender touch of his hands that had not been strictly limited to treating your wounds.

You cleared your throat, attempting to snap your mind back to the present and much more business-like reality. “So… the artifact is safe, locked away. Does that mean we’re back to normal? We’ve got our abilities back?”

You should probably be able to tell on your own; but with no doubt generous dose of medication in your system, evaluating the intensity of stimuli to your senses was… rather difficult.

Steve’s smile grew an even more tired note when Natasha shot him a meaningful look at your question and he shook his head, causing your lips to part in surprise.

“Not yet,” he said simply, returning Natasha’s glare before he fully turned his attention to you, moving to the left side of your bed. It felt like you had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other; and despite their looks, Steve’s hair always resembling a halo and Natasha’s being distinctly devilish red, you weren’t sure who was which. Why weren’t you back to normal? Why- “First, we’re not sure how exactly the artifact works and we’re not risking anything before Agent Campbell goes through the archives and Jiaying’s notes. Secondly… frankly, we think we should stay like this a little longer. We agreed you could definitely benefit from more time with accelerated healing. What do you say?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it again, no sound coming out. Your gaze flickered back to Natasha – it seemed she had quite a lot to say about that, but she didn’t make a sound. At least not here, not in front of you.

Guilt instantly bit into your stomach.

The longer you benefited from the effects of the serum, free of pain, the longer Steve suffered, caught in completely unnecessary pain. The latter was simply unacceptable and the former… well. That was always a dangerous thing for you to trifle with. Painless days – even as you were not completely pain-free now – were a thing of dreams you’d easily grow used to. You never had tried heavy drugs for the fear of having your performance messed up, but ever since you had gained your powers and discovered what they entailed, you imagined painless days as a mixture of heroin and morphine; euphoria and relief.

You’d soon start craving that cocktail once you wouldn’t be able to get your hands on it. The sudden absence would cause absolute havoc in your life.

But even if you accepted that; it wasn’t fair at all. It wasn’t fair at all that Steve should suffer consequences of your abilities and its faults. You understood the concerns about unpredictability of using the artifact, but besides that, it shouldn’t even be a subject to discussion.

So you couldn’t say you didn’t understand Natasha’s meaningful look at Steve or her stance; except perhaps you didn’t. Because when you dared to meet her gaze, fully expecting reproach, she was smiling instead, perhaps a little exasperatedly; and while you had misjudged her behaviour before, she appeared genuine in her concern. She might not like seeing her friend in pain in the slightest, but she heard the argument loud and clear. And perhaps, whether one could call you something akin to friendly colleagues or not, she didn’t revel in seeing you in pain either.

Yet, Steve saying they had agreed, whoever the ‘we’ was supposed entail, felt like a farce.

You might be on pain medication, the world slightly hazier than normal, but it was abundantly clear that Stevewas the one who had decided and accepted no counter-arguments. He could get like that sometimes. The infamous ‘everyone’s input counts, don’t be afraid to say your piece, we are a team’ of his flew out of the window if he felt strongly about something.

And he apparently felt very strongly about this.

You gulped as you gathered courage to look at him again, a not-so-quiet voice whispering sleazily about how pathetic you were and about that being the reason why he wanted to wait with the exchange. About how he had seen you at such a low point he could never believe you were good enough for any mission ever again, deciding that you were weak and needed all the support you could get to even survive, to even-

-but the emotions playing on his face, even as you couldn’t decipher them all, didn’t speak of contempt or pity. His smile remained nothing but soft, without a single hint of perceived or believed superiority of his own being. And without as much as a hint of him minding being in pain and taking longer to heal, not when it helped someone else, not when-

God, how that lit up fire in you, how that drove you up the wall. That stupid perfect ultimate good guy with a hero complex, his absurdly big heart larger than his already impressive body, so irritatingly kind, wrapped in a flag of self-sacrifice for good of others--- god, how you despised him for being that good. How you admired him for the very same reasons.

“But you-“

“I have one fully patched-up gunshot wound, mostly just a scratch, a few cuts and bruises, and a transfusion and some quality painkillers in my system,” Steve listed evenly, clearly having expecting your protest.

Those don��t work on the chest however, you reminded yourself, your gaze probably conveying the message even as you hadn’t said it, because Steve’s eyebrow arched slightly. “I’ll sleep it off. And I will heal the rest once I have my abilities back… we think. So truly. Your body needs the serum a lot more than mine.”

The lump that had started growing in your throat under Steve’s watchful gaze expanded further, suffocating and warming at once.

His choice of words felt like everything but accidental: your body. Not ‘you’.

Because that bastard, that infuriatingly observant sweet bastard, even without his serum momentarily but with about a hundred of injuries big and small, remembered and understood that feeling like less, being called less especiallyby someone like him andhim in particular, even if not intentionally, set off your attitude. He knew that now; because you had put almost all your cards on the table back in the Hydra facility. The fact it hadn’t been all cards clearly meant nothing; because when Steve had chosen the words, when he had seen, you might have been under at least two covers and in a hospital gown, but you’d be damned if you didn’t feel completely naked and exposed.

And the absolutely scariest part was… that it wasn’t as scary as you’d have expected it to be.

Not in front of him. Not when he had seen you at the bottom of the pit already. If anything, this was progress; after all, you were fully conscious and he wasn’t tearing your thigh-highs to shreds for the sole reason of treating two bullet wounds. But still. He was watching you with such a knowing gaze and yet, you weren’t bolting and it had nothing to do with your momentary inability to do about a single step. The tidal wave of emotions washing over you at that realization was… baffling and disconcerting to say at least. And rather difficult to process.

And his eyes… that gaze, so damn inquiring, caring and soft. It made your skin prickle and your fingers tingle and not all of it was entirely unpleasant.

“And before you ask, I admit I don’t like it, seeing either of you in pain, but I second that,” Natasha said, snapping you from your thoughts even as her voice was quiet, no doubt sensing this was a lot. And perhaps she was feeling a bit like an intruder. An intruder to what exactly? You would not dare to give it a name or ponder about it too much; it would only bring you a headache. Worse, a heartache. “You need to heal and we have no clue about the risks yet. So. I’m going to call Agent Campbell to check on his progress… Excuse me. And in the meantime, rest. Both of you. Feel better.”

She sweetened her last words with a smile and another meaningful look at Steve, whatever that was about; your best guess was that she was calling him out on not resting properly and being here in your room instead. Then, she cleared the space, the door sliding close behind her quietly.

Why was Steve here in your room instead of resting?

The question was silly really – you already had your answer. You would have known even before he had admitted to you back in the cell just how profoundly responsible he felt for his team and their wellbeing. He felt responsible for his subordinates and equals alike. He cared; though depriving himself of accelerating healing for your benefit seemed like an overkill.

And it certainly felt like a lot more than should be done for you.

You already had the best medical team in the country if not in the world at your disposal, one that could accommodate you and your Inhuman mutation, more than well-equipped to deal with the fact that it now somehow combined with the effects of Steve’s serum. It was already a lot more privilege than an average agent should have. Using the accelerating healing felt like an unfair profit and you wanted to protest despite being grateful and despite the valid argument Steve made.

But one single look at Steve told you arguing was useless. One look at the faint flame of determination in his eye and you heard the echo of his words from the cell clear as day.

You’re a person first, an asset to the team next.

You deserve to rest, you deserve having your needs met, you deserve to be treated like a damn human being.

You deserve better than that. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.

The lump in your throat grew another three times bigger, the burn of tears in your eyes intensified; but you spilled none, swallowing heavily instead. There was a faint buzzing in your temples, but you tried to ignore that. Because this was important. If you weren’t about to try and argue Steve out of doing something stupid as you usually did and should, because you’d have about as much success as trying to move a mountain, you might as well express your gratitude at least.

“Thank you for checking up on me,” you rasped, clearing your throat; your tongue felt a little heavy too, especially when he smiled and you did not want to think about why. “For agreeing… for deciding about the… postponing the switch. I’m sorry, I don’t—it’s hard to form words, I-...”

It’s hard to say ‘thank you’ when you look at me like there’s no reason for that gratitude.

When you look like it’s all as easy and matter-of-course courtesy as holding a door open for a woman.

When you look at me, now, without an imminent threat to our lives, and the things we talked about still hang in the air, exposing so many things that I never wanted to see the light of the day.

When you’re doing me an enormous favour and you look like it’s not just because of believing it’s the right thing to do, but maybe, just a little, because it’s for me.

“Of course. And don’t worry, they did mention they have a bit of trouble to balance our dosages of medication, unsure about the serum effects or the lack of it,” he said, so casually kindly again.

“Right,” was all you managed to muster.

Medication miscalculation was most definitely not the only reason why you had trouble speaking; if Steve realized that and he was giving you an out, you couldn’t tell, but didn’t want to investigate. You were simply grateful for not having to explain what might have been written all over your face despite trying your damnest to look mostly neutral and probably failing epically.

The silence that settled tasted a little awkward; as you tried, in the subtlest way possible, to assess Steve’s body language, mulling over his words again, you felt a fresh stab of guilt. He was hunched over a little – and he had mentioned that the med team had issues managing his pain too. They didn’t know how to deal with his natural pain, because his metabolism changed too; as if it wasn’t enough there was nothing they could do for the extra pain in his chest.

And you could easily rid of that, probably of both.

He'd deserve that. More than anyone you had ever met.

What kind of a person were you to deny him that? You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t ant to argue with him, not when whatever progress you had made in your relationship was so fragile, but… you couldn’t let him do that.

“Steve, about that switching, I don’t think it’s the best idea to wa-“

“I do,” he said firmly, straightening his posture a bit. Whether that was to establish dominance – as if he wasn’t already standing while you were semi-lying – or to cover up for the fact his chest was no doubt hurting like son of a bitch still, you weren’t sure. But he did; and when he spoke again, you had to admit it was probably the latter. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

God, that stubborn son of a-

You bit down the curse, mildly, very mildly mollified by the warm smile – with the subtlesthint of mischief – he charmed up as he tilted his head, waiting.

So you sighed instead.

He gave you time as you allowed yourself to feel your body, the muscles of your legs stiff and relaxed at once, a significantly duller ache than you’d expect, exhaustion seeping deep in your bones despite having barely just woken up. As you kept assessing, pondering about the right balance of honesty and propriety, Steve’s eyes flickered to a nearby chair standing barely a few feet from him, then back to you with an unspoken but clear question.

Despite your better judgement, you nodded, belly warm at the idea of him staying a little longer when you were indeed not in imminent danger and he was still being amicable with you.

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to know how you felt; he considered you a one of the people he felt truly responsible for.

He cared.

You shouldn’t be so content, shouldn’t give in, certainly shouldn’t be feeling like you were slowly melting on the inside. Your heart shouldn’t be fluttering. But you had already established your judgement was impaired at best, didn’t you?

And again, despite your better judgement, you also told Steve the truth. There was simply something in his eyes as he watched you with concern but a small smile, clearly content you had granted him his wish to sit down and stay a little longer instead of screaming your disagreement to his face, that just made you actually want to tell the truth. To be on honest terms.

“I’m… a little less than fine, I guess,” you admitted reluctantly, only to see his smile slip, gaze instantly drawn to the nurse button by your bed. But a nurse would not help you with this; not with feeling rather lost in all the sensations and emotions and feeling like you were losing your last defences to the all-kinds-of-gorgeous man by your bedside. “But I… I would have been dead without you.”

Steve shook his head in dismissal.

The sudden urge – to make him seethat dismissing all he had done as if it was some kind of a common courtesy was utter nonsense –flared up in your chest with intensity, shooting straight into your veins even before he spoke up.

“You removed the bullets yourself-“

“And you took care of me. You--- you protected me. With everything you had and caught a bullet for that, because I needed-“

“I needed to do at least something,” he interrupted you in turn, your mouth falling shut at the urgency of his tone, the atmosphere suddenly heavier and thicker than just a moment ago with something you couldn’t quite grasp except for feeling the gravity and passion behind Steve’s words. “The fact that I, at least partly, got us into that situation was just one of many reasons why. And you, you warned us that that might happen, and yet when it came, you didn’t throw it in my face, not really, but instead fought tooth and nail, suffering the consequences of a mistake that was not your own and tried you damnest to help even when you were fighting for your life. Healing a little faster than usual is the least you deserve and me having done what I did and enabling that healing now is the least I can do.”

You swallowed heavily, not daring to move otherwise, not ready to make a sound; too stunned. His words were heavy with guilt, bright with sincerity and laced with the echo of those in the cell again.

You deserve better than that. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.

And you understood. You understood that the guilt he had revealed might have been a strong motivator of his, but not the only one. He wanted to do that for you. Because he cared.

The thought was dizzying still, but with that, you supposed you could live. You could live, even though with heavy conscience, with him choosing to wait if it eased his conscience. It wasn’t written anywhere that the switch couldn’t happen right tomorrow – just not right now. Whenever that might occur, however, the delay was still an enormous sacrifice; one worthy of Captain America. One worthy of Steve Rogers.

It would enrage you to no end that he was willing to do that, if it only didn’t make your heart flutter.

You licked your lips, mouth having gone dry as you found yourself under his burning gaze the whole time you pondered your answer.

“I--- thank you, Steve. And not just for that. I am still grateful for what you did for me back there too… and how.”

And you meant that too.

Because you did remember with painful and startling quality. Remembered how tender and careful his hands had been, how soothing his voice had sounded, how sincere his words had been. You hadn’t really deserved such softness; and certainly, when looking back, hadn’t expected it either – used to a cold shoulder, drills and words that couldn’t be farther from the endearments Steve’s lips spilled – even as you had known Steve was simply a unique kind of man.

You’d always be grateful for all of it, even as his actions had been a double-edged sword.

Thank you for what you did and how; even if it ruined me forever. Even if it crushed most if not all the walls I had built so meticulously so I wouldn’t jump into the void of allowing myself to feel anything but caution, irritation and insanely bothersome admiration when it came to you.

The memory of his soft touch would haunt you forever; it had already haunted your dream, after all, the endearments whispered by his lips in a context and situation imagined, but fed by a real memory.

At your words, Steve smiled a bit, concern and determination replaced by sheer warmth that felt like a fluffy blanket caressing your skin, inviting you to sink into its softness.

“Anytime, doll.”

The conviction in the single word strummed your heartstrings gently; the endearment, falling from his lips so effortlessly again, tugged at them violently and made you shiver.

Your chuckle sounded foreign and nervous, the heat blooming in your chest a little heavy.

“Is that going to be a thing now?”

Steve sat up straighter in an instant, only reminding you of how close he had leaned forward to you before; he appeared a little flushed, a tinge of pink in his cheeks, expression one of a boy caught with a hand in the cookie jar. It took away five years of his handsome face and it was beautiful.

It was such an awfully sweet picture that the nerves melted away, giving into the gentle fire instead.

“Oh. Sorry, I-“

“No, I-… I like it…” you admitted unwittingly, slowly, feeling your cheeks burn with heat and your lungs with panic, because what were you doing? What were you thinking, not only feeling it, but confessing to that, no matter how true it was. You couldn’t--- you shouldn’t- “I think,” you added quickly.

You fooled no one.

But oh, that brilliant smile Steve’s lips split into and his fingertips brushing over your hand laxly laid on the bed, before his hand gently enveloped yours, made that admission damn well worth it. Even if your chest felt paper-thin, with your pounding heart threatening to burst right through.

God, you were glad you only had the oximeter on your other hand and were not attached to the kind of ECG that was hooked to a beeping monitor. You’d die of embarrassment if Steve could actually hear the somersaults your heart was doing; you were set on the course of committing ritualistic suicide by allowing yourself to feel that way already, there was no need to add to it, really, no need to let him hear-

And yet you couldn’t imagine you truly would care if he heard. Not when his warm hand carefully squeezed yours, a flicker of apprehension in his gaze when he did so, almost as if he was – arguably rightfully – worried it would make you pull your hand back.

But you did no such thing; like a fool. Like a fool in lo- no. That was so not a wise direction for your thoughts.

“Yeah,” Steve hummed, his shoulders sagging a bit when you not only hadn’t yanked your hand free, but instinctively – yes, certainly, it was pure reflex, not a conscious decision at all, right? – briefly squeezed back. “Me too.”

There was something setting off all alarm bells inside you at the direction you were both steering towards; but there was also something chasing tears of relief and affection into your eyes.

Because what you were experiencing, what you were seeing, was precious on so many levels.

Sweet. Vulnerable. Less than confident.

Stubborn. In pain not entirely hidden. Slipping. Soft.

New layers of Steve uncovered, revealed voluntarily for you to see. You had willed yourself to be a little more honest and accept, however reluctantly, his kindness; and in return, he took your words to heart too, letting you see more of him than what he was used to showing.

He had admitted back in the cell that what the agents could of him, a drastically uncomplete image with virtues having painted all of it, was what he believed was necessary. Ironically, you had never found yourself admiring him more – steering faster towards the very dangerous territory of liking him and allowing yourself to feel it and giving into it – than right now.

You were not blind to the opportunity; you were not blind to the fact it cost him something too, because letting go of masks and tearing down walls was a painful and often impossible process. You appreciated it; and he deserved know that.

“And, I-“

His smile grew a little curious, intent, so genuinely interested in whatever you wanted to say that you couldn’t bear his gaze anymore, your eyes focusing on his hand on yours instead; it only stirred emotion in you further, because the sight was all kinds of peculiar. Not only because of the simple insane fact that he was holding your hand – Jesus, you needed to get a grip and not on his hand, no matter how nice that would have felt – but because of his scraped knuckles and two tiny cuts. An image unparalleled; you had never seen that. Either you weren’t shown, obviously, or the small injuries hadn’t stuck for long enough, the serum coursing his veins working its miracles and healing.

And he wanted you to have that kind of miraculous luxury for now, giving it up for your benefit. For you. It might be unfathomable, but that made it no less touching, the feeling blooming in your chest no less consuming.

That large warm pawn of his might have as well be pulling directly at your heartstrings with every second he spent in your company, with every step forward you felt he was taking.

“I… it might be just painkillers talking, but I like you better like this. I mean-- better than the perfect Captain America. Not hurt, obviously,” you said, mentally cursing your choice of words.

And cursing the confession itself. The moment you said it out loud, you realized it revealed too much. You didn’t dare to look up for the very reason; but it felt like Steve’s smile widened, your mind supplying you with an image of his eyes crinkling for some reason.

The barely-there twitch of his hand felt self-deprecating, looking back at his own behaviour critically; that made you feel a touch braver. And a bit more confident that he truly wondered what was on your mind and wanted to hear and see what you thought and who you were; bad humour included.

It only felt right to show it.

“I also liked it when you told me to tell you what to do for a change.”

You were rewarded for speaking up; with a gorgeous sound of his chuckle sending tingles down your veins, a sight of his absurdly handsome face lighting up and him leaning a bit closer, brighter, but with serious note to his cerulean eyes, the faintest hint of hesitance as his laugh faded out, only his smile remaining

“Well. I’ll deny it and will never speak of it again if you just say the word, but I just… I just like you.”

Lightning.

It struck you like a lightning, electrifying, burning and icy cold all at once. Paralysing.

If holding his hand had seemed like a risk, now he figuratively took your other hand too and led you straight into the minefield. And you might have trusted him to do that, but reached for even more humour anyway, because the feeling coiling inside you expanded with the first breath you dared to take and then further with every other and you had no clue how to contain it.

He liked you.

“Such flattery.”

It did not come out as snarky as intended; in fact, it came out just as touched as you felt, the echo of his words resonating in your very bones, the marrow crumbling and rebuilding anew. You suspected your expression revealed a little too much of how profoundly that single statement seemed to change what might be a little piece of you, but changed you fundamentally. Your voice came out a touch too vulnerable – but you supposed that was only fair. He had been vulnerable first. Right?

So why did it feel like so much? Too much.

You half-expected Steve to take it back, if not for anything, than for the very magnitude of such statement; but he kept watching you, painfully gentle and unable to take it anymore, your gaze slid lower to his chest.

The flash of a terrifying image – a ghastly memory – had you wince, the bubble Steve had seemed to create bursting, reality crashing in.

“How’s… how bad is the chest pain?”

Steve didn’t call you out on the change of topic; but his smile earned a tense edge, the briefest flash of a grimace telling you the pain was, unsurprisingly and unfortunately, barely bearable. As it tended to be when a person got shot.

But he didn’t say a word about that pain, stubborn; and perhaps he was purposely letting you get a taste your own medicine, showing you another piece of the only almost-perfect puzzle he was – a tiny bit vindictive, proving a point when given the chance. You supposed you couldn’t exactly argue that you didn’t deserve that behaviour.

Or maybe he simply didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to disturb the nice warm moment by digging into a very painful spot. Literally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said simply.

And yet, there was an undertone to his voice, one that had your breath catch and took you all too long to figure out, only knocking the remnants of air from your lungs when you did realize what his patient gaze spoke of as well.

This was not only his answer to you.

This was his answer to anyone who asked.

And you wanted to be mad at him, for being a hypocrite, for hiding pain, no doubt telling people he was fine, as he had told you too-

-but the motivation behind that action was not as simple and straightforward as him putting on the face he always believed was necessary. Because it was so much more complicated than. Because it was about you too.

That was what he was telling you.

You did not believe that it would last. There was no universe in which Steve Rogers would make a discovery of such nature and kept it for himself, or would keep it but let it slide without any consequence, good or bad; but for now, he did. He hadn’t revealed your secret to anyone.

Your choked ‘thank you’, when you finally gathered enough air and wits to speak, was barely audible.

And that infuriatingly good bastard just smiled, a little conspiratory, as if he had a secret you now knew, even if it was the other way around.

“I should let you rest,” he said lowly, brushing over your gratitude – because of course he did. “Rest well. Feel better.”

Despite his words, he did not move an inch away from you; he didn’t let go either, the only movement being a painfully soft sweep of his thumb over the back of your hand, over your wrist.

The minuscule, seemingly instinctual caress made something warm hum in your chest, loud.

So unlike two weeks ago with the parting words after your fight – god, did it feel like a lifetime ago, and maybe it was, the experience of the past hours changing you, leaving you alive but reborn – you allowed yourself to respond in kind, consciously letting sincerity slip into your voice.

“You too.”

Steve smiled wide, eyes crinkling – and this time, you did see it, the image much prettier and vivid than your mind had conjured before. The feeling in your chest hummed even louder and fluttered its wings, an echo of a sweet melody and his words in your head.

I just like you.

He had exposed his heart, shared a good thing with you. That was another thing you should reciprocate, for it might be a dangerous truth, but one Steve would deserve to hear. Yet, you found yourself unable to do it.

You were no hero – not like him. There was not enough courage left to say those words – but that didn’t mean you weren’t willing to put in an effort, to hint at least. Because one thing needed to be made crystal clear; that reckless, beautiful thing, blossoming around your heart, pulling at the seams of your ribcage.

“And I… think I will want you to speak of… that again. Later?” you suggested quietly, half-expecting him to burst out with a laughter, a ‘ha gotcha!’ coming at last,; half-hoping he would do no such thing.

Sure, men being interested in your person might not be a foreign concept to you, be it your status, skills or abilities, but neither were the bets and conquests of the one with higher status and skills than their own – which for sure would not be Steve’s case. It couldn’t be. He would never.

Yet, you felt apprehension creep up your spine as you confessed; one quickly dissolved in his velvety voice.

“I’d like that too.”

You squeezed his hand back at that, vainly shushing the overly giddy sensation awoken. You really, really needed to get a grip on yourself. But you didn’t take your indirect confession back – which meant your judgement was most definitely impaired. And funnily enough, you didn’t mind one bit.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word; neither of you commented on the minute physical affection you showed, this time entirely consciously. Steve didn’t tease you about it, didn’t turn it against you in any way, nor exploited it, his smile only turning a tad warmer, without pressure.

It occurred to you it was no wonder you had been unable to say ‘I like you’ back to him; it would have been a lie. ‘Liking’ him just might be too weak of a word at the moment.

“Good,” you whispered simply, earning another caress on your hand, this time surer, firmer, but no less gentle.

Then, one last squeeze of a hand and Steve was rising to his feet at last. The way you missed the warmth of his touch instantly was downright criminal; you just weren’t sure whether it was you or him who should get arrested.

“See you soon, doll.”

Him. He was the one who should be locked up and with a warning.

Over the power of his words, a very faint sound of the door sliding open reached your ears but not your brain – so you responded in kind again.

“See you soon, stranger.”

He grinned – that criminal grinned – as if he could remember you calling him that back at the charity auction, and made his way to the door where he turned back to you just to spare you one more smile. As a consequence, he nearly collided with one Daisy Johnson before he disappeared from your sight completely.

But not before you witnessed Daisy’s appreciative onceover, a firm dutiful ‘Captain Rogers’ on her lips. Once the door slid shut, her gaze found yours, mutely, but very exaggeratingly mouthing a ‘wow’.

And you kinda wished she would have stayed in the mute mode when she actually spoke.

“Well, lucky you, doll.”

“Shut up.”

Despite your harsh words, you were smiling, feeling heat rising in your cheeks – and realizing there was a dull ache in them too. Given the fact you hadn’t been punched there, as far as you knew, it meant that your cheeks hurt from smiling too long. And you couldn’t seem to make it stop, trying, but failing as your lips instantly curled up again.

Daisy’s unoffended chuckle sounded like it was coming from an enormous distance.

What was wrong with you? What were you, a teenager? A kid?So Steve had said he liked you and held you hand for a bit, gee, yeah, a big deal. Except it was. And definitely not just because you couldn’t have stood each other – or acted like it – barely two weeks ago, which was just another thing that should make you freak out and in a way it did, because this was insane and dangerous, but--- god. The way he just casually swept his thumb over the back of your hand was doing visceral things to you; and your brain might have been screaming at you because of that, but heaven help you, you still liked it.

It was a good thing that Daisy, the closest thing you had to a friend, was here now, to bring your feet back to Earth.

Except she was about to do no such thing, naturally – damn her pure hopeful heart and dirty mouth.

“You know, I know I once said I’d like to get my hands on Thor,” she hummed, grinning, spying the chair by your bed and plopped down into it without bothering asking permission, “but I’m not picky about my Avengers… like, at all.”

You couldn’t help it; you snorted, even as an irrational growl of mine seemed to echo in your skull.

“Yeah, right, tell that to Lincoln.”

“What? I can appreciate a handsome beefcake of a man still, I have eyes!”

“Yeah, for Lincoln Campbell, your boyfriend,” you reminded her with amusement, even as she most definitely needed no reminder; the two were sickeningly, beautifully in love.

Only when she raised her eyebrow, you noticed the butterfly band aid on her forehead – it truly spoke of how out of it you were to notice it only now despite the injury literally staring into your face.

You sat up straighter, frowning. “Hey, what happened? How are you doing?”

Daisy’s right eyebrow joined the left one, her hand subtly pointing towards her – and then you.

“Me? I’m fine. You, however, have two gunshot wounds, Ms. Avenger. What the hell?”

Your smile slipped at the addressing making a return, instinct taking over. “I’m not… that, not really.”

Daisy tilted her head, her face speaking volumes.

Here was a thing about Daisy Johnson; even long before she was an agent, from what you heard, she could show very clearly when she was done with someone’s bullshit. And she was clearly expressing that she thought you were sprawling nonsense now.

You spoke quickly before she could, forcing your smile back as you remembered: “I met a girl recently, she was a fan of yours.”

“Oh? Cool! Tell me all about that,” Daisy took the bait easily, grinning with a mischief that should have clued you on something, but didn’t. “When was that? Was that during the Avengers’ Day, Ms. Avenger?”

You shot her an unimpressed glare; but the corners of your lips twitched up involuntarily at her shenanigans. Damn her. This woman. She was on a roll.

“And then, you’d better tell me all the juicy and mundane details you can about the blond beefcake… that calls you doll, apparently? You know, Coulson’s either gonna fistfight you for him or dry his tears of pride and joy for like a week.”

There was absolutely no containing the snort of laughter this time. Your cheeks burned; your belly tingled, warmth and nausea at once – but you snorted again, because that was a visual that should not be so plausible. Bless Phil Coulson and his heart. You admired him greatly, but the imagery Daisy painted should have felt much more absurd.

“You’re awful,” you accused her, giggling, not blind to her pride at her joke.

“Please, you love me.”

God help you, you did indeed. The insistent tug on the corners of your lips gave it away, as did the incredibly soothing bright feeling in your chest. Your giggles turned into a gentle smile, the gratitude you felt hopefully seeping into every word.

Because you were grateful to her – for a lot of things. You didn’t think you could put it into words; you didn’t think you truly wanted to put it into words. You just hoped that she understood. She always had.

“Thank you for checking up on me, Daisy. And for coming to the rescue in the first place,” you said, the sudden hoarseness of your voice and the burn in your eyes taking you by surprise – and with shame.

But she just smiled; because of course she did. She was a lot more than a kickass hero with a sense of humour. Most of all, she was a kind precious soul fighting the odds no one would have guessed she had to face.

She leaned closer, her expression speaking of sincerity you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to.

“Hey. Always. But please, do not test that again. You scared me… scared us. If it weren’t for another three fires that needed to be put out around the world, you’d have the full cavalry here, and I don’t mean just May,” she informed you, not giving you time to process the bombshell she just dropped and caused absolute havoc in your head. Surely, she was exaggerating- “Next gala, just get drunk and do something embarrassing, yeah? Nothing life-threatening.”

You just smiled weakly, latching onto the mischief appearing in her face again, the air feeling considerably lighter in your lungs at that.

“Now. What’s the word? Who was the girl? And… how’s the guy?”

She wiggled her eyebrows – actually wiggled her eyebrows – and you opened your mouth mutely, barely containing your smile at the sheer force of her enthusiasm. It had nothing to do that the memory of Steve’s hand on yours made you melt into the pillow again. Nothing.

Get a grip-

“He’s… it’s—complicated,” you stammered, having to admit that it was actually be the most accurate word ever to describe whatever you and Steve were. Were trying to be. Could be in some utopia land. Whatever.

Daisy grinned in return. “Riiiight, so right up your alley then, eh?”

Mentally, you scoffed. Figures, you supposed. And still – you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

I just like you.

Steve Rogers was most definitely entirely out of your league – a war hero who had literally fought the original Nazis, a hero of today, a demi-god in a barely human form, the gentlest man with a heart of gold and mind sharp like a knife that he only used to protect others – but as far as types of men went, he was certainly up there for you. You knew you shouldn’t reach so high, because you weren’t able to, but damn him, he made you want to try, even as the fall would hurt like son of a bitch.

“Yeah... I suppose it is.”

“Well, just so you know, there was not a single complicated thing about the way that guy was looking at ya’,” Daisy drawled confidently, crossing hr arms on her chest, watching you expectantly.

Your heart fluttered and started racing, stomach doing a funny flip-flop.

Get a grip, get a grip, he’s just--- he’s just a guy, just a guy, and you shouldn’t get your hopes up so much, you---

You pushed the burning giddy feeling away, catching yourself before you could grin and giggle and scream like a lunatic, and cleared your throat.

Daisy’s face told you that you fooled no one – or at least not her. Oh for god’s sake-

“Ehm… thanks. Duly noted. Now, about Daisy…”

“Oooh I like this girl already. Spill!”

And so you did, eternally grateful your Daisy didn’t push further. At least for now.

And if the ache in your cheeks persisted, maybe, just maybe, you only welcomed it with a wider smile.

As Steve walked down the hall, he felt the tips of his ears burning, even as what had happened between you to in your hospital room was hardly scandalous.

What was rather scandalous was the look Agent Johnson gave him when he nearly collided with her in the doorway. That woman conveyed a plethora of emotion in a single gaze; respect, curiosity, a wordless threat not to hurt her friend and somewhat platonic objectification, the reason for the flush to his skin.

True, the last part was significantly aided by his interaction with you – entirely pleasant, sweet, warm even, your hand in his certainly had been, and you had said you would like to talk about that. ‘That’ being Steve liking you. And while his choice of words was a little too simple, it clearly didn’t affect the result – and the warmth remained both on his face and in his chest.

Unfortunately, the droplets of sweat he could feel in his hairline and the rest of the flush to his face had much more to do with pain. Brutal, unrelenting pain which didn’t react to medication unlike the one coming from his actual injuries.

Now that he felt but a slight dull ache in his shoulder and arm and face, and he didn’t have other sensations to focus on, no little smiles, surprising honesty, no touch, no ‘I like you better like this’, the pain in his ribcage was nothing short of stabbing. He slouched a bit, allowing himself a few moments of reprieve since there were no witnesses momentarily; but as the ache didn’t subdue, Steve seriously questioned his decision to not bring it up not only with you, but no one at all.

The Avengers didn’t know about the issue yet – he had requested to postpone anyone watching the rest of the records from the Hydra facility until he’d review it, not even having to make up the worry he expressed about revealing too personal information or his concern about the action of showing the video to others appearing like dangling the less-than-completely-stellar moments you had shared in front of the team. While Steve held nothing but admiration for you and your strength in those moments and he was sure anyone would feel the same, he’d rather if you decided about what you wanted the team to see; the majority of what had happened at the two cells brought no useful intel anyway. However, the issue of your abilities, now that was something that needed to be shared with at least a few other people, but should be done so completely on your terms.

Which was also the reason why Steve hadn’t been interrogating and hurting the bastards who had tortured you – and it had been torture, inflicting not only pain, but fear, all for the goal of breaking you and him alike – leaving that to Natasha and Bucky instead. The Hydra operatives who were still able to speak – Steve admittedly found a little too much gratification in the fact not all of them could – might try to get a rise out of him. Or directly ask about how his chest was doing and thus steering attention to questions Steve did not want to answer since you didn’t either.

That was why he had opted for siting in your room, watching Natasha’s and Bucky’s impeccable and incredibly satisfactory work on his tablet, alternating with watching over the steadily drawn lines on your heart monitor and your calm breaths; an acceptable compromise of keeping your secret safer, keeping an eye on you, technically resting as he the doctor had ordered, and witnessing the men who revelled in hurting others metaphorically weave the rope to hang themselves on as either of Steve’s closest friends got them worked up.

Admittedly, Steve had nodded off at some point between all this, probably due to the amount of pain medication he was on and exhaustion from the pain that never left, but that wasn’t the point.

And sure – Steve didn’t plan on sitting on the information about your lingering pain forever, chest almost bursting at the seams with the need to discuss it with someone already and put a plan in motion so you’d suffer less in the future, preferably not at all, but he needed to be careful about it. Strategic. Take his time.

And process it fully himself first.

Because that was a hard, bitter pill to swallow and Steve wasn’t sure he ever would. Not the part about him not having known. Not the part about him having assumed. Not the part about feeling the extent of it on his own body. And most definitely not the part that this was how your powers worked and always had. His blood was boiling at not having known, but anger was not the only emotion stirred.

The mere idea you had suffered a pain like this, multiple times without a single soul knowing – or a single person who could have decided you wouldn’t be going on mission or even to training in such state – was horrifying and almost as paralyzing as the pain itself. And it wasn’t that Steve didn’t understand the need to push one’s self, swallow pain in order to function, to help, or didn’t admire those who could do it. He himself had bit through a fair amount of pain, more than he’d care for. But he had suffered through it only when it was absolutely necessary and lives were at stake, and you’d just--

…alright, perhaps that was a lie and he was a damn hypocrite, but that was different. You must have been suffering constantly and that was wrong and simply inacceptable.

Steve’s brain was in a slight haze, both physical and mental exhaustion catching up with him as did the suddenly lacking effects of the serum he had got used to, but he tried to strain his memory anyway. How many missions had you handled with pain not unlike the one he was feeling now? Without a single complaint, because you apparently believed complaining was notwithin your rights, because you were an agent, and pain was a part of life? Occupational hazard, easier on you than on other agents, because it was ‘only’ pain? How many of your missions had you taken on after having got hurt in your spectral form? A quarter of them? A third? He’d have to go through the records. He was going to read on every single one of them, remind you of all of them and make sure you’d never do that again. Because goddamnit you mattered.

He really thought you had believed him back at the base, but he was not so certain you’d stay in that headspace after you’d heal; he might be a hypocrite, but he was beginning to see similarities he was not appreciative of and he was more than aware that that was what he would have probably done too. But that was a problem for the future you and him and whoever would get involved.

Athe door to the communal kitchen came into focus, Steve sighed, trying to concentrate on the insistent twitch in the corners of his lips instead; because besides the persistent agony and burning, there a sweet warmth that lingered in his chest as well. A distraction, a soft painkiller that didn’t do much, but was still doing plenty.

He grasped at that straw, gripping hard as he reached the door, back straightening. He could handle the pain like this too; it wasn’t completely unbearable. It only hurt when he moved.

Or breathed.

And keeping your secret for now, keeping it safe, mattered. Because no matter whether he agreed or not, you hadconsidered your circumstance as one not allowing you to share how your abilities worked; not with him or any other Avenger, or even Coulson, since Steve hadn’t got any information of that kind when they had recruited you. Your heartbreaking ‘thank you’ back in the room had spoken volumes, nails of an invisible hand digging into Steve’s heart.

For that, hiding his momentary pain and not saying anything was worth it. For the trust you had showed him when you had confessed, it was worth it, because he couldn’t afford to break that. Not only it would feel like an utter betrayal even to him, let alone you, but because they’d lose you. Already having been so reluctant to fully lean into being an Avenger in any other but professional – and bleeding – capacity, caring but keeping your distance, you’d cut them off completely. Or left the team; even as in the past few minutes, Steve had not got the impression of you planning on that.

Hopefully.

Right before he entered, Steve took a deep agonizing breath. It reminded him of his asthma, only with the pain dialled up to eleven, the kind of hurting he was no longer used to fighting, not when not running on more adrenalin than blood. He granted himself the luxury of not straitening to his full height – he was about to meet friends, after all. He did not have to hide everything.

He could afford showing just a bit more, blaming it on bruised ribs he hadn’t want to admit to – if anything, that would make his charade more believable.

He allowed for the smile tugging on his lips to spread fully.

You had said yes. You hadn’t exactly said you liked him too, he wasn’t blind to that fact, but it was implied for certain that you did – and he’d take it, because he wasn’t blind to the enormous progress you had gone through compared to what you two had been two weeks ago when the major fight had occurred.

I’d like to talk about that…. Later?

Steve could wait. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to sort through, some pleasant, some less so.

Three faces with various levels of amusement and concern welcomed him as he walked in, Bucky, Natasha and Sam sitting at the table, taking a break in between digging into the sick minds of Hydra operatives.

They all watched him expectantly, no doubt having spied the smile on his face – but it was Bucky who spoke, the one teasingly prolonged word only causing Steve’s smile to widen.

“Soooo…?”

“Not a word.”

“Oh I think a lot of words probably happened, punk. Communication, huh? The wonders of simply talking...” Bucky continued, earning an unimpressed glare as Steve moved to the still fresh pot of coffee. He had a mission report to write, then another report as two AI high-ranking operatives had been hurt, he had the videos to review, a therapy session planned… he needed the caffeine.

Especially since he was to deal with his friends first; the snicker that escaped Sam and the smirk settling on Natasha’s face spoke volumes.

Clearly, Steve was friends with children. And as children he should treat them.

“I hate you all,” he uttered, his grin somehow only widening.

“Oooooh, careful! Careful, you guys,” Sam teased, extending his hand in front of Bucky and Natasha as if to protect them from Steve. “He might have caught more than her powers. He’s cranky now.”

A bit of indignation lit up in Steve’s chest at that mocking remark – you weren’t that cranky. In fact, you could be quite doting on others when you weren’t isolating yourself. Which, now that he looked back, might have been for a large part caused by the fact that when you were alone, it was your reprieve from pretending you were not in pain. For another, he was staring to understand that you felt like you didn’t belong – and so your exits could have seemed harsher than intended.

He wasn’t sure which was worse; but either way, making fun of you for it was incredibly unfair.

But before he could rise to our defence, Bucky was pushing Sam’s hand away with a shit-eating grin.

“Nah, he could always be cranky, especially when he knew others had been right the whole time. He’s just finally embraced the fact they are two peas in the pod with our resident lady Spectre. Didn’t you?”

“Har-har, jerk,” Steve commented, unimpressed.

But yes, that was true. The fact he had refused to admit that your similarities were one of the reasons why you occasionally clashed so hard was certainly among the list of his recent revelations, of which most sucked, but he was still glad for having made them.

Something must have shown in his face, or perhaps his voice had earned a bitterer note as his thoughts had, because Sam’s features lost a fair share of humour, sincerity shining through instead, as he made more space for him at the table, letting him sit among them.

“No, Steve, seriously… we’re glad to have you back. Both of you… cranky or smiling.”

Steve’s lips automatically mimicked the latter, especially when Sam very carefully reached out to briefly squeeze his unharmed shoulder.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“And happy to see you two idiots are making progress…” Bucky added, hiding his ever-present grin behind his cup as he sipped his coffee.

“…even if it took an alien artifact, a kidnapping, three gunshot wounds and walking a mile in each other’s’ shoes,” Natasha finished, causing Steve to sigh, the creeping unease they had called crankiness growing as she listed it all.

Natasha certainly had a point, because it had taken a lot indeed – and they didn’t even know half of it… or at least about one gunshot wound. And as much as Steve shared their sentiment, grateful – delighted, in fact – that your relationship with him was beginning not only to settle, but might actually grow into something more than pleasant collegiality or friendship, he couldn’t help feeling that the price for that was a little too high.

“Sure, laugh it up.”

“Oh, we will,” Sam agreed instantly, showing his pearly whites in a wide grin, the very moment Natasha’s quiet hum told Steve that he was never going to live that down and Bucky blurted out “Absolutely, we will, yeah.”

Yeah, I don’t think I will, Steve thought darkly, biting his tongue and resolving to drown the words in the hot drink instead, gaze lowering to the counter as not to reveal his musings, hoping to come across as flustered if not embarrassed a bit.

But he should have known better.

Between two deadly spies and a man who knew a human soul and trauma well-enough to volunteer at a VA, and with all of those being his close friends, there was no hiding.

He could feel the humour melt away from the room completely as concern filled the space instead.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, setting his cup down; and at that, Steve almost laughed, but sighed instead, reluctantly looking up.

A whole lot is wrong.

“Besides the obvious, he means,” Sam added quickly.

What was Steve supposed to say to that? He knew about the one thing he couldn’t reveal, but the rest… that he hated what had happened, that to a large point, he did hate learning all the things about you and revealing his own fears and insecurities, some of them healed and soothed, loving it all the same? That he wasn’t sure that if given the chance to come back and undo all the pain, not only the one you were put through in the past days, but all of it, there was a part of him, significant one, that would not have taken that chance, because it let you right here and may lead to something beautiful? How selfish was that? For the paragon of virtue you considered him, he sure felt like the opposite. And the fact you likely still thought you weren’t enough, hadn’t been enough, didn’t—

He cherished all he learned about you, but there was a part of him that simply wanted to scream and now he couldn’t. And he had no idea at all what he was going to tell not only to his friends, but to his therapist; because not telling anyone as he had promised himself and indirectly to you for now, surely included her as well.

So much for a fearless reckless leader, eh?

“It’s not… it is just that a lot has happened, that’s all,” Steve said at least, carefully choosing his words. It was the farthest thing from a lie. It just wasn’t a complete truth; and it wasn’t enough. His friends could tell; he could feel all of their gazes burning through his skull, even as they remained silent, waiting patiently. There was no doubt telling them would make his breathing easier, shared burden and shared indignation lifting some of the weight from his chest; but he bit his cheek, gripping the weight tighter, because he couldn’t. Not yet. “I just-“

“I swear to god, punk, if you’re gonna say again that it was your fault…”

Steve huffed a humourless chuckle, regretting it instantly as his ribcage protested with a sharp stab of pain. Okay, fuck, how did you even-

“It’s not that. Not only. I just… I wish that sudden understanding of each other’s perspective came in a different circumstance than getting hurt and nearly getting killed, that’s all.”

He forced a tight smile, rewarded with Sam’s compassionate gaze.

“That’s pretty understandable. Just like wishing we somehow did better despite having done our best and doing everything right,” Sam said, one corner of his lips rising as he knew he hit the one nail sticking out directly on the head, self-deprecating leading Steve’s brows to rise briefly – as did his satisfaction for getting them off his back without being insincere and revealing too much.

However, as soon as he glanced at Bucky and Natasha, he realized he hadn’t fooled them. Not all of them.

Natasha in particular was watching him like a hawk, not even trying to be subtle about it.

Seconds ticked by. Bucky cocked his head to side, suspicious, but resigning.

Natsha’s eyes, on the other hand, lit up with recognition.

With recognition that was not supposed to be there.

The flash of hurt burned hotter than his invisible bullet wound; and it ignited the same rage Steve had felt when you had confessed to him; the same rage that consumed him upon hearing your whisper of ‘not where I come from’; the same rage that whited his vision out back in the cell when he heard you scream in agony and he could do nothing.

Natasha knew.

Whether you had told her – and dammit did that made him feel inadequate and downright useless as the Captain that was supposed to protect his team, because you were supposed to trust him with that – or whether she had figured it out, his blood might have as well burst in flames at the mere fact she had kept it to herself.

How could have she just let you suffer, standing by watching him assign you to mission after mission when you were supposed to rest and heal, when-

The wave of nausea swinging his stomach and the new suffocating pressure in his ribcage made him doubt whether he wanted to yell or throw up; but either way, he was going to have a very strict and possibly very loud conversation with Natasha.

Right fucking now.

And she knew that – Steve could tell, because she still held his gaze, unrelenting, not appearing intimidated a fraction by the anger that must have shown on his face. Clearly, for some sick reason, she didn’t regret her actions – or the lack of it – one bit. Of course she didn’t.

But she should.

Steve didn’t look away from her face when he spoke into the suddenly chilling silence.

“Guys… can we have a minute?”

Steve asked, but he didn’t.

It wasn’t even a request.

His voice slipped into the mode of a Captain, one that despite valuing his comrades’ opinions, permitted no protests; he gave an order and they almost automatically followed, because they trusted him.

Now, Steve could feel their startled and baffled eyes flickering between Natasha and him, trying to decipher what on Earth had caused the sudden shift in atmosphere. Steve noticed from the corner of his eye that Bucky looked at Natasha questioningly, but she simply nodded minutely, causing Steve’s jaw to tense further. If Bucky knew as well-

When Steve’s gaze snapped to him, however, he appeared reigned but no less confused than before.

Good. Had Natasha told Bucky but had kept it secret from him, both of them, Steve would throw fucking hands – they would be balled in fists.

“…sure?” Sam hummed uncertainly, grabbing his coffee and walking away alongside Bucky, gaze flickering between the trio with an almost laughably puzzled expression.

Except laughing was the last thing on Steve’s mind, and the pain in his chest had nothing and everything to do with that.

Before he could as much as gather his thoughts and figure out where to even start with giving Natasha a piece of his mind, she propped her hip on the counter leisurely, lowly but very firmly requesting a privacy protocol from FRIDAY with her authorisation code. Only then, she looked at Steve, compassionate but no less apologetic.

“You got hurt when you managed to project, didn’t you?” she stated rather than asked and Steve could scoff. Because of course she knew. She knew everything.

“Yeah. Shot in the chest. Snapped back right away. Imagine my surprise,” he said, by some miracle keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact despite the explosive cocktail of emotions threatened to burst any second.

“I’m sorry.”

“And you should be,” Steve said, all too aware it was not the sorry he wanted to hear and his anger only spiked further. She was sorry he had got hurt. She was sorry he had not been prepared for the pain lingering. Sorry about him learning about it this way. But she was not at all regretting standing idly why you had suffered. And to think she called herself your friend. “What were you thinking? How could you-“

“It was not my secret to tell-”

“The hell it wasn’t!” Steve exploded at last, rising to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over the chair he had been sitting on. And Natasha, goddamn her, watched him steadily, not even flinching. How the hell was she so calm?! So indifferent? Did she not give a single damn- “Natasha, she’s in enormous amount of pain on daily basis! How the hell could you not share that?!”

Natasha only arched her eyebrow, a wordless comeback: so you are admitting to being in ‘an enormous amount of pain’ despite having told the doctor your pain was at 2 after the meds you had got?

Steve just scowled, heart thundering in his ribcage as his blood felt so hot it might actually start evaporating. What the-

“I’m pretty sure it’s not daily, but even if it was, it still wouldn’t be my secret to tell,” she said evenly, crossing her arms on her chest. “How did you feel back in the day when you still had chronic health issues? When they took one look at you, they knewsomething wasn’t quite right, and so they immediately started underestimating you?”

Steve just gritted his teeth, glaring. What the hell did that have got to do with that?

“And I’m sorry, what is it that you’re doing now?” she asked, a tinge of sarcasm to her voice. “I don’t hear you telling the team-“

Steve felt his hands curl into fists, the arm in his sling protesting against the move – but honestly, the flame of spite burned it away, taking over any sign of pain at the moment.

Was she serious?!

“The team isn’t assigning her to missions! They don’t need to know everything, they aren’t the ones unknowingly sending her to the field injured and it pain-“

“Oh, so it’s not the fact I didn’t tell you, it’s that you’re feeling guilty-“

“She could get herself killed, Natasha!” Steve snapped, fist hitting the table, droplets of coffee staining the surface just like the breathiness stained his voice, the nausea hitting him anew, his head spinning. “Did you think of that?! I can’t protect her—I can’t protect this team if I don’t have all the information! The pain doesn’t seem to affect functionality, but what do I know? I’m safe, not being hunted for sport. It might affect her range one of those days and it can get her hurt and killed! A second of hesitation, a second of not being at absolute best and she can catch a knife, a bullet, be kicked down the stairs or off a damn cliff, too weakened to hold on a railing and fall to her damn death, she can be taken and tortured-"

He didn’t register the burn in his chest intensifying until it was too late; images flickering in his mind, the blood staining his shirt and his hands dripping with it and yours, the stupid thigh-highs that would have driven him mad except they were soaked with your blood, your voice feeble, your shaking slippery hands suddenly appearing around a metal bar, cold wind slapping his face, biting into his skin, hand reaching out just a second too late, your screams, Bucky’s scream, like a hive in his skull-

Small warm hands on his shoulders, one barely laid there, the other squeezing hard, a harsh inhale through his burning windpipe.

“Steve. Look at me.”

Steve obliged, blinking the images away even as they persisted stubbornly, Natasha’s face, now softer, filling his vision, his chest rising and falling a little too fast, a stab of pain with every breath, dark spots dancing around Natasha’s concerned features.

Great.

Just great.

Fuck.

“Sorry.”

She just smiled, shaking her head and slowly letting go, stepping back to the counter and leaning on it, propping up on both palms. Steve’s face burned with embarrassment and too much oxygen, but he could not let that distract him from his point. And apparently, neither could Natasha.

“I hear you, Steve. I do. But you know me better than to think that I haven’t consider that,” she reminded him softly, and as much as Steve hated it, he had to admit that it was the truth. She did care about you too. She wouldn’t willingly gamble with your life.

God his chest and his throat was on fire.

“But she’s an adult, Steve. She’s an agent, a damn near perfect one. She knows best what she can and cannot handle. Whatever she’s facing… she’s working through it the best way she can at any given moment and she is at her best. We might not approve of her methods, but as long as it doesn’t affect her performance during missions, not approving and trying to convince her to change her ways is all we can do, especially if we don’t want to lose her – professionally or otherwise.”

Steve gulped, pointedly choosing to ignore the last bit as he considered Natasha’s words, however reluctantly. “We sure as well do not approve-“

“Shocking,” Natasha uttered dryly, one corner of her lips rising in a smirk despite her sincerity, as she kept advocating for her decisions as much as yours, now that Steve thought about it, remaining. “But it��s still her choice. Her body – her choice. Her methods. Careful, Steve, or you might end up sounding patronizing and controlling.”

Now against that, Steve had to protest.

“Hey, I don’t—”

Natasha only arched her eyebrows, lifting one hand to demonstrate a tiny space between her thumb and forefinger.

Steve’s shoulders sagged as he ran his hand down his face, the pain in his cheek at the action, and the insistent pain in his chest reminding him mockingly he was being a bit of a hypocrite and not being controlling and patronizing was exactly what he had been trying to do until he found out that Natasha… knew.

He sighed, glancing at her again, met with her smile, surprisingly inviting, considering he was practically yelling just a moment ago. It was a smile that felt familiar; laced with affection for her dumbass overbearing friend. Because she was his friend – and yours too. Perhaps better than he had thought.

“Did… did she tell you?”

“Does it matter?”

He remained silent, knowing she’d understand without him saying a single word.

It does to me.

And he wanted to know. Needed it. Even if the answer being yes was just going to hurt him more – not because you trusting Natasha with this wasn’t a good thing, but because that would mean you had trusted Natasha and not him. Which would be completely understandable, given your track record with him until recently, but it still stung like son of a bitch, because goddamnit he should have known.

“She didn’t. I’m not that special,” Natasha stated, her smile turning a tad sad and ironic. “Her methods are pretty universal, keeping it secret from the whole team. No exceptions.”

It might have been rather mean of him – and he did not like how isolated you truly were and had been – but that actually made him feel a little better.

Especially since after today, it seemed that might change.

“Well, hopefully those methods will change,” Steve hinted, feeing tension melting off his body, lips once again spreading into a smile, even if a little shy one, warmth blossoming again where the rage had been turning his insides into a wasteland.

Natasha smirked a bit, mischief and amusement glimmering in her irises. “Got the Cap speech, did she?”

“…something like that, yeah.”

At that, she smiled wider; way too knowing to Steve’s liking. And yet, he felt his cheeks ache with how wide he was smiling now, a ghost of your touch caressing his hand.

“I see. Well. A piece of advice?” Natasha offered, not waiting for a confirmation of Steve actually wanting it. “Do try to remember she is a big girl – ties her own shoes, does her taxes and all that, okay? Do not screw it up by acting like you need to sweep in and save her from everything including herself. Please. You both deserve a win.”

At that, Steve sighed, but genuinely tried to etch her words into his brain, because he had been told before – and had to admit it was not an incorrect assessment – he could get rather overbearing, even as his intentions were good.

So yes, he’d try. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that as fragile as the bond you had begun to build was, you were everything but. He fully agreed with Natasha’s point; he had even told you so. You were meeting his perhaps too high standard a little too well. That was one of the reasons why you captivated him. He just needed to remember that when he’d feel like locking you in the tower and never sending you to another mission again in order to keep you safe.

Not that you wouldn’t be able to escape, be in in physical or spectral form, because you were simple that capable.

“Duly noted,” he grumbled.

Natasha grinned, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“Good boy. Now, this had better be the only cup of coffee you get,” she pointed at the half-drunk cup, her voice allowing protests. “You need to rest for god’s sake. You’ve got shot. Twice, apparently. Jesus, Steve. Talk about hypocrisy.”

“Alright, alright. Quit being bossy. I’m still the Captain, you know.”

“Oh boooo. Trembling in my shoes, Captain,” she retorted cheekily.

Steve mirrored her smirk, knowing she wasn’t actually undermining his authority. Only calling him out… which was rather fair. And he needed that sort of people in his life, he had enough self-awareness to know that.

And he’d listen to her too. Once he’d complete all the tasks he had planned, especially the report; because while there were things he wished to remember, there was still the majority of the mission that he’d rather put it behind him forever.

But since his watch just vibrated with a high-priority message from an operative of the highest-level, he had to add meeting them to the list.

The fact that operative was Coulson – the current director of SHIELD and your former boss – was both rather soothing, and worrisome.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

HA. Not me having to pokerface hard when some of you told me that Daisy would be the number one shipper or that Coulson would weep and I already had a line about it three full chapters ahead (so like five chapters ahead) 🤭

Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is appreciated, and keep me inspired when I'm in the pit of despair, thinking I will never finish another chapter (which is shocking right, when I write them 15k long... well). May your days be sweet to you as Steve was to Spectre 💗

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america #agent reader #inhuman reader #avenger reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #back and forth #anika ann

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assaily · 3 days

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I have so many documents that have just little scraps of writing in them. A little while ago i was looking for an old howling draft and found some more random scraps. I cannot tell if i wrote this for howling or not, but it's cute Diego and Five fluff. Five is also baby in this and so a bit out of character, but y'know that's why it's a scrap

“Come here.”

Five scowled at Diego, at the peace offering in his tone. “Fuck off,” he snapped. He wasn’t done being annoyed with his brother yet to be swayed by the gentle, off-putting tone Diego just addressed him with.

“Stop being an ass and come here,” Diego groused, something still gentle and apologetic on his face, even as his tone veered back into irritation. “I’m sorry, alright.” He didn’t sound very sorry, but Five suspected that was why he wanted him to come closer. Diego was bad at verbal apologies, and they’d all learned a much more effective way to get under his skin.

Five knew that he could keep snapping, declare he didn’t want them to touch him and that would be that. Surprisingly clear boundaries for a bunch of people who traditionally didn’t have many to begin with. They treated Five a little like he was feral, but he supposed the treatment was earned.

“Five,” Diego said again, even softer in response to Five’s obvious hesitation. “It’s alright, I’m sorry. Let’s just calm down for a second.” He beckoned him over with his hands, and Five finally sighed in resignation.

He actually hated how much he wanted this, and how well it worked. He really was an animal, his siblings working very hard to keep him tamed. He gave in, stepping closer but making Diego close the distance himself with arms open to envelope him.

He knew, cognitively, logically, reasonably that Diego wasn’t going to hurt him, but his body still curled into itself without his permission, arms over his chest like that would protect him from an attack that would never come. Diego knew that was just how Five responded, didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his arms around Five’s shoulders and pressed their bodies together like they’d never been apart for over forty years.

Something lurched in Five’s chest, like it always did when they embraced him, his eyes burning with emotions he couldn’t even really feel anymore, but that swirled inside of him all the same. Churned to life in his brother’s arms. Five forced himself to breath, to feel the body pressed against him, the arms around his shoulders.

It was hard to be mad when he was reminded how much he loved them and needed them. It was hard to be testy when they offered him such blatant love, no strings attached, no work required. A safe place to settle against a heart he had fought for so long to keep beating.

It really wasn’t fair, how easy it was for them once they learned they could just hug him into submission. They definitely took advantage of the weakness, ending arguments before they got out of hand with an offer of open arms. And Five, the deprived creature he was, struggled to say no simply for how deeply he wanted the contact. He didn’t know how to ask, so he took what they offered him, even if it meant conceding an argument. One day, Five promised himself, he wouldn’t be this weak to them.

But as Diego secured him a little tighter, rocking him back and forth to loosen the rust in his lungs, Five had doubts. Diego threaded a hand through his hair, the pads of his fingers pressing into the sensitive muscles at the base of his head, bolting bone-deep pleasure down his spine; Five knew he wouldn’t be getting used to this any time soon.

He didn’t remember slumping against Diego, or closing his eyes as his fingers kneaded into the back of his neck, knees getting weaker and weaker until suddenly Diego was scooping an arm under him and pulling him up.

“You gotta tell us when you aren’t sleeping, Five. We want to help you, but we can’t do that if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Once, Five would have groused that he didn’t need help, certainly not their help. He had survived so much on his own, he didn’t need to be doted on like this. But Diego was slow to take him to bed, one arm holding his weight, the other wrapped around his shoulders, and Five’s arms secured around Diego’s neck like a buoy in the ocean. Diego walked slow, each step like a gentle wave, lulling Five down into a place of quiet and rest.

He didn’t say he didn’t need the help, because they both knew that was a lie. The biggest lie Five had ever tried to tell them, or himself. So he tucked his face into his brother’s throat and listened to his heart beating and his body breathing. He was so tired now, without the anger keeping him awake, and the warmth pressing against him, the sway and rock just as much of a comfort.

Like he was a child, a wayward animal in need of soothing. If he still had any pride left, he’d be mortified. But his pride had been long trampled into dust, and he was far, far too small now to take no for an answer when one of his siblings offered him affection like this.

“You’ll stick ‘round?” he asked, hearing the slur in his own words.

“Yeah, bud,” Diego said, voice wavering like it always did when Five asked this question. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Five sighed softly, tightening his hold on his brother and letting his thoughts go to focus on the sensations instead.

more snips here and here

#tua #tua fanfic #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy

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strangerthingslover69 · 1 day

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Popsicle

just some povs of how Walking Dead characters would react to you sucking on a popsicle 👅

Daryl:

Set during prison era.

The sun is hot today and shining beautifully. You find a stash of ice lollies in the kitchen freezers and hand them out to everyone. Everyone enjoys the sweet fruity taste. You plonk yourself on the bench sitting next to Carol opposite Daryl. You start to lick the fruity treat from the bottom to the top. Making mmm sounds as you taste it. A bit trickles down your chin onto your neck leading down to your cleavage, you fail to notice. But Daryl definitely does notice. You don’t feel his eyes on you but they are focused solely on what your mouth is doing to the ice lolly as now you have taken to sucking it, hell sucking the whole thing. Daryl can feel his trousers getting tight as he grows hard imagining you sucking his dick and moaning around it. He imagines how you would hallow your cheeks to take more of his dick in your mouth. How you would tease him. How he would struggle not to blow of load into your mouth straight away. How his fingers would intwine in your hair moving you back and forth, making you take all of him in at once. His piercing blue eyes stuck on you as you finish the lolly. You sigh happily as you lick the finally juices off your fingers. Looking up and seeing Daryl looking at you a way you’ve never seen before, his cheeks quickly turn a shade of pink not from the sun. He quickly looks away and leaves the table, walking away awkwardly and fast. Your eyes follow him confused. You turn to Carol whose just smirking to herself and gently chuckling. ‘What?’ You ask feeling confused. She turns to you? ‘Y/N did you not realise what you just did to the man?’ You shake your head. ‘Well let’s just say if I was a man and saw you eating the popsicle like that. I would of wanted to be the dang thing.’ She says wriggling her eyebrows in a suggestive way. Daryl didn’t even eat his. It was now a puddle on the table.

Eugene/Abraham:

Set during Alexandria era before savouries.

Yourself, Eugene, Abraham and Rosita share a lovely house in Alexandria. You’ve all settled in nicely and just finished a lovely home cooked meal made by yours truly. For desert you have managed to found some popsicles, Rosita didn’t want one she had not long come back from a day of hunting and was exhausted so decided to go to bed. You pass one to Abe and Eugene as you sit down on the sofa in between the pair. As you suck on the refreshing treat you start to talk about your day and what you had done. Not realising the men both watching your mouth very closely. Yes Rosita was Abraham’s girlfriend however he could not help but watch your lips around the ice treat. He noticed it made you get goosebumps all over your skin causing your nipples to get hard under your tank top, braless as usual. ‘Right well it’s getting late. I’m gonna head up to bed.’ Abraham left before either of you could reply. You turn to Eugene, ‘Wonder why he left so quickly. He didn’t even have his ice pop’ you say as you lean over the sofa to reach it causing your skirt to lift up and expose your knickers to Eugene. ‘Oh well. More for us’ you say turning to him with a smile. You notice Eugene is looking a bit hot and red in the face. You lean closer and being your hand to his forehead, he visibly gulps as he feels your gentle touch. As you open your mouth to talk a noise from upstairs stops you. You move back and smile awkwardly. ‘Well I guess why we know he went upstairs’ you say laughing as you hear Rosita’s moans above. Eugene was getting even harder now. The noises from above did not help, your lips sucking the treat, your hard nipples he also noticed, the exposed panties he saw. He was gonna explode. ‘You okay?’ You ask Eugene as you start to suck Abraham’s ice pop. ‘In all honest Y/N I also need to go. This situation is too much for me. Thank you for the ice popsicle but I will have to decline it.’ He stands up as your eyes flicker, you notice his hands covering the front of his shorts. You make a O shape with your mouth as you realise. ‘Don’t feel uncomfortable Eugene. It’s normal, especially since she’s so fricken loud and beautiful.’ You say with a reassuring smile as you stand. ‘You have miscalculated the situation in hand. Well in my hand to be exact. As you are correct about Rosita. She did not do this to me.’ Eugene says matter of factly. Just like Abraham he’s gone quicken before you can reply. You stood there confused by this whole evening so you decided to go after Eugene and ask what the hell he was talking about. You marched up towards his room and was about to knock on the door when you heard an unfamiliar sound. You pressed you ear to the door. ‘Y/N’ you heard Eugene moan your name. You heard fast movements along with moaning and groaning. Fuck. He was wanking. To you. Not Rosita. You couldn’t help get turned on by the sounds from Eugenes room. You left quietly and quickly to your room, as you walked towards your bedroom door the bathroom door opened and a topless Abraham stood in front of you. He gave you a quick wink before returning to his shared room.

Would you like to see me do this for any other characters? x

#eugene porter walking dead #the walking dead #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #Abraham walking dead #abraham ford #eugene porter #eugene porter smut #walking dead

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ecoqueer · 2 years

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I wish that people gave a shit about nonbinary people who don’t use they/them pronouns. You can literally give your friend group (which includes another nonbinary person) a list of your favorite pronouns, none of which include they/them, and mention several times that you don’t like they/them pronouns for yourself, but they’ll make the switch from she/her pronouns to…they/them. And feel super proud of themselves for being sooo progressive as to use they/them pronouns for you….when those aren’t your pronouns.

I think that saying “he she and they are my least favorite but are fine in combination with other things…I’m really fine with any neos but here’s a list of my faves that you can choose from!” Is polite and not a difficult request. I’m not good at being a pushy person, and I shouldn’t need to be.

#it screams #i guess I’ll pull the lists out again and re-link them #but the aforementioned friends view messages from me as a chore and check them rarely so when they do they’ve built up and so just skim #everything #which I’m fucking tired of #I’ve been going back and forth on whether it’s better to have no friends or a few friends who make you feel shitty #dunno which is worse #they also are extremely cavalier with covid while knowing I have no health insurance #and have supported some statements/actions that really make me sad #so idk I might be basically friendless at this point #i hold on for too long to people who have clearly moved on and don’t much care about being my friend anymore #I’ve tried reaching out a few times to no avail so idk I might just give up #try to cultivate online relationships more #which feels pretty impossible to me #sigh #I’ve been not able to sleep well #because of issues in my life with…all of the few people in it #issues that could be solved if I had kept a wider support network #instead of getting trapped with someone who was abusing me and my friends who don’t seem to give a shit about that and expressed more #concern for him than for me when the news was revealed to them #again I don’t have health insurance so no therapist #which I fucking desperately need right now #i have no one separate to talk to #the one who knows all of the different factors from all of the angles…is the abuser #i feel like I’m in so much fucking pain and I feel so alone and all of the people in my life who are supposed to be my loved ones #are standing around me ignoring me completely and acting like everything is okay #just causing me more and more pain #well this didn’t start out intended as a vent but it sure turned into one huh #i wish I could convey to y’all the desperation and loneliness and aching that I feel #vent

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lunetual · 2 years

Audio

#yoo kihyun #kihyun #monsta x #all of me #mx #audio #speaking of ki covers that are So Dear to me...#have you all heard...........#one thing i really !! love about kihyun is like. his love and his care for his craft and how he continually strives to improve.#and how he loves and wants to get better at jazz. ofc me being me i think he sounds perfect but him being him he would like to be better etc #sigh. i have feelings for him. so on and so forth. you all know the drill by now.

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gojonanami · 2 months

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❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,”

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it.

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead.

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?”

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,”

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,”

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?”

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,”

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?”

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,”

Yup, you have a headache now.

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?”

Why were you considering this?

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?”

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?”

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble.

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor.

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it.

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life.

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this.

He said your name, “Well?”

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did.

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place.

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself.

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now.

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was.

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair.

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh.

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?”

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,”

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror.

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?”

“Gojo, this is—“

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,”

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?”

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,”

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way.

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion.

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed.

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most.

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event.

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did.

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn.

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,”

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?”

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate.

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them.

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled.

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,”

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,”

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours.

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,”

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?”

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,”

“No one can see us,”

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,”

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling.

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?”

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks.

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?”

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn.

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,”

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you.

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare.

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?”

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst.

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,”

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?”

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.”

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,”

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,”

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?”

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru.

And you really didn’t hate Suguru — it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him.

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs.

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend.

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?”

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?”

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,”

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?”

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm.

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.”

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,”

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.”

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there.

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious.

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point.

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended?

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge.

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later.

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you—

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?”

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,”

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?”

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter.

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?”

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,”

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it.

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,”

“Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them.

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t.

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one?

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again.

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy.

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept.

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen.

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?”

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?”

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,”

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?”

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly.

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?”

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,”

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?”

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,”

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts.

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,”

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”

You glanced at the time, he’s late.

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground.

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked.

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad.

It was probably the latter.

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel.

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,”

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?”

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh.

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch.

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?”

“A bad rom com,”

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,”

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,”

He sighs, running fingers through his hair, “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,”

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,”

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table.

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,”

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,”

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,”

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,”

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,”

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?”

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem.

It was unspoken.

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t.

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now.

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever.

Your neck hurts.

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed.

Or what you thought was your bed.

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear.

Gojo.

Gojo???

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears?

You really should have fucking known better.

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer.

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh.

Fuck. Your. Life.

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes.

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first.

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?”

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—”

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone.

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur.

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace.

“What is it?”

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?”

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,”

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan.

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,”

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,”

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long.

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding.

Fuck. You were so screwed.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress.

Another knock.

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?”

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?”

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square.

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,”

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,”

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair.

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,”

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?”

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,”

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,”

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks.

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,”

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this.

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan.

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over.

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it.

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?”

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips.

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,”

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in, “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his.

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—”

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?”

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?”

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you.

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,”

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh.

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—”

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips.

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—”

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?”

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act?

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins.

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru.

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him.

Like it always never was.

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,”

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours.

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—”

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—”

“My apartment isn’t—”

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do.

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away.

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo, “Gojo, what do you want me to say?”

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head.

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“

“But what you said—“

“I said what I had to—“

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room.

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?”

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,”

“You don’t have to—“

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,”

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand.

“Give you what?”

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop.

No, it was. It was, right?

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,”

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,”

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?”

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?”

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you.

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?”

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,”

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone.

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer.

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards.

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,”

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin.

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,”

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,”

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,”

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress.

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?”

Slap. It’s definitely a slap.

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest.

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?”

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance.

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you.

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,”

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders.

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away.

“I��m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.”

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name.

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side.

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate.

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you.

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —-

And he realized it was you.

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?”

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat.

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you.

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit.

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased.

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,”

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,”

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief.

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit.

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,”

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back.

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined.

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,”

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin.

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,”

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.”

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life.

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again.

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off, I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body.

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle.

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,”

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes.

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—”

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—”

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you.

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours.

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.”

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist.

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips.

Fuck, it was real.

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake.

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more.

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort.

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body.

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,”

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,”

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?”

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips.

“How about we make breakfast together?”

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good.

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,”

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?”

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,”

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck.

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,”

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile.

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,”

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?”

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze.

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,”

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present.

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present.

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you?

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it.

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview.

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture.

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation.

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now?

There’s only one person who’d text like that.

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now?

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business.

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly.

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink.

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head.

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you.

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that.

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman.

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets.

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go.

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,”

“I was expecting to meet

I suppose we’re on the same page,”

He tilts his head, “Really?”

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,”

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,”

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her.

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?”

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you.

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways.

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back.

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen.

You needed to talk to him in person.

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet.

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt.

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,”

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,”

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line.

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,”

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,”

And he’s blinking, “Why?”

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—”

“But you didn’t—”

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,”

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?”

“No I don’t—”

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?”

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,”

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?”

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?”

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,”

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?”

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“

“But—“

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?”

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,”

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.”

And this time he doesn’t stop you.

It’s for the best.

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas.

It was for the best.

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories.

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them.

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru.

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did.

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing.

Fuck. You were home.

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye.

Gojo?

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name.

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops.

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address.

Satoru was…getting married?

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here.

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove.

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved.

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot.

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors.

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy.

Even if it wasn’t with you.

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now.

So you wait.

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom.

That wasn’t Satoru.

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding?

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were.

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head.

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows.

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands.

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?”

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze, “Satoru—”

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—”

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it.

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek.

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,”

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,”

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake.

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.”

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

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