#and i was able to do them all with time to spare to make up something new | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

techhasmjolnir · 1 day

Text

Crossroads

Plot: When what should have been a day of celebration and joy for you turns south, Echo's there to provide all the comfort you need.

Author's Notes:

*This short story is a combination of a few prompts I've had on my to-do list for awhile. Mainly, writing a story with Echo, because he's so underappreciated, and frankly, underrepresented. Additionally, I wanted to write a story involving one of the Bad Batch lads that involves a casual massage turning into something more.

*When it comes to Echo's prosthetics, there seem to be two camps – one that sees him as having them be permanent fixtures, and the other seeing him as being able to remove them. This story has depictions of Echo being intimate without his prosthetics. If subject matter like this makes you uncomfortable, please DNI.

*This is written in the second person POV, with no use of Y/N.

*The reader has a contraceptive implant.

*Word count 17,930 Important Notes: Most of this content is strictly for audiences 18+. Minors, DNI. As stated, the roles in this story assume female/AFAB readers and Echo. There's plenty of SFW action in here, but the NSFW depictions include: dirty talk, female ejaculation, fingering, F oral (receiving), PiV

The insistent chirping of your alarm breaks the silence in your dimly lit bedroom, the first light of day just beginning to peek through the gap between the curtains. You roll over and throw an arm out, barely cognizant of the time as you slap your hand blindly on your bedside table and manage to hit the snooze button. Falling back into sleep almost immediately, you're able to slip back into the dream you were having and quickly pick up where you left off. Echo's arm pulls you down to his chest, pinning you to him while he bucks his hips up into you, driving himself deeply into your wet heat. Each hard thrust earns him a beautiful feminine moan and his name pouring out of you, both sounds of which he will never tire...

Brrrrrrrrrrtttt? Mrow?

“Echo, since when do you sound like a...”

Something warm and furry nuzzles your cheek, softly at first, then more insistently as it's punctuated with deep purring. You crack open an eye to see little more than an amorphous blob in your field of vision until you rub the sleep from your eyes. A black and creamy ivory face peers down at you quizzically before it sniffs near your nose and rubs against your cheek again.

“Bocha? Oh...Bocha, it's you. Did I forget your breakfast? What time is it, anyway?”

You reach over for your chrono, blinking slowly as you adjust your vision and then sit up quickly, cursing loudly as you rip the covers off and fling them over Bocha, your loth cat. A muffled indignant meow comes from underneath as you get out of bed and nearly fall flat on your face after tripping over your shoes you left at bedside the night before. Dashing over to your closet, you pull out the first blouse and pair of pants that end up in your hands, running on autopilot as you somehow in your sleep-addled state manage to finish dressing, brush your teeth and put on your makeup.

Of all the days to oversleep, this is not one of them. You and a few other candidates have been vying for a top spot at the company you work for, and the decision is being made today. Being late is not an option, and as you slip into your shoes and grab your chrono, you realize that you missed the transport you normally take each morning to work, but have just enough time to catch another and make it with a few minutes to spare. You grab your bag off the chair in the corner of your bedroom and dash to the kitchen with Bocha hot on your heels, meowing loudly for her breakfast.

“Sorry, baby, it's just dry food this morning,” you say as you set the bowl down. “Mama's running late and I don't have time to give you wet food.” Bocha eyes her bowl suspiciously, gives it a single sniff, then marches off with tail up, clearly unenthusiastic about the morning's offerings. “Well, starve then, lady! I don't have time for this!”

You step out into the hallway and look back into your empty apartment, having the distinct feeling you're forgetting something. It dawns on you that every second is officially counting, so you engage the door, watching it close and lock with a soft hiss and a click. Luck seems to be on your side as an elderly neighbor down the hall just stepped into the elevator; he holds it open and watches curiously as you sprint and almost stumble into it, rapidly pushing the button for the ground floor. The door rolls closed and starts making its descent. You can't help but constantly let your eyes drift down to see the time, watching your ability to catch your ride quickly evaporate.

“Running late?”

“Yes, and if this kriffing thing doesn't hurry up, I'm going to miss the next transport and my well-deserved promotion!”

“No need for vulgarity, miss,” your neighbor gently chides. “I think you should have just enough time. Let me give you a little piece of advice. It's always the same pilot for the 8:00 transport, and let's just say that he flies like a bantha walks.”

“So you're telling me I'm still going to be late?!” you exclaim, feeling the worry sitting in the pit of your stomach grow heavier.

“You didn't let me finish. He flies like a bantha walks...up until he hits the lane for downtown. Then you'll think you're traversing a hyperspace lane. You'll make it. See? Ground floor.”

The bell chimes and the door rolls open, although this time you don't feel like you need to run through the lobby. The advice may have been unwarranted, but you feel like you can trust his observations. As you approach the main doors, something compels you to turn around and look back at the elevator. Your neighbor holds up a hand and smiles at you.

“Best of luck to you, miss. May your day be filled with adventures!”

“Uh, thank you!” you call to him. “Whatever that's supposed to mean,” you mutter before stepping out into the radiant sunshine, and the promise of a glorious day ahead.

As your neighbor predicted, you make it in plenty of time, joining several impatient would-be passengers when the low rumble of the transport's engines greet your ears. The rust-colored, boxy looking craft reminds you of a beetle trundling along a tree branch as it slowly crawls its way down and comes to a stop. A few people disembark, then you and the others rush aboard. You find an available window seat and clutch your bag to your chest, still having a gut feeling that something else is going to go wrong and ruin your entire day.

Hey, at least I got this far. Just calm down, girlie. You're going to be fine, and everything for which you've worked so hard all these years is going to pay off.

***

The lobby is nearly empty when you step out of the elevator, save for the security guard at his desk and a maintenance droid busily cleaning the floor. The rapid clicking of your heels on the pristine white tiling disturbs the peaceful ambience, the sound echoing almost obscenely as you walk faster. You keep your head down as you sniffle occasionally, fighting to keep another round of tears from falling and failing miserably as your vision blurs. The tightness in your chest and the rising nausea are rapidly pushing you into a panic attack, and right now you need to get out of the building before you scream your lungs out...or vomit profusely. The security guard starts to wish you a good night, but the words never come as he watches you blow by the desk, nearly tripping over the maintenance droid.

You storm the main entrance, the doors barely opening before you force yourself through them. Stopping at the top of the stairs that lead down to the main promenade, you sit down heavily and drop your bag between your feet. Nothing can stop the flood of emotion now as your hands cover your face, your sobs muffled but still loud enough for passers by to hear. You realize there's no way you can take public transportation home in this state, lest you die of embarrassment from being a complete wreck in front of total strangers. Pulling yourself together the best you can, you reach into your bag and find some tissues to wipe your eyes and clean up your face.

You slowly get up and brush off your pants before slinging your bag over your shoulder and dejectedly plod down the steps. Trying to get an air taxi home during rush hour from the financial sector where you work is almost impossible, but for the first time today you feel like things are looking up when you spot a lanky Twi'lek pilot on standby at a nearby landing platform. You call out to him and he nods in acknowledgment, waving you over. Judging by the look of surprise on his face, you're guessing you look completely unhinged.

“Is everything all right?” he asks cautiously, suddenly unsure whether or not he wants you as a fare.

“Just a really, really, really bad day at work, and all I want to do is go home and curl up into a ball and disappear.”

The exhaustion on your face and in your voice is evident, and the pilot immediately opens up the door for you. “That bad, eh? Come on, get in and we'll be on our way. I'll try to get you home as fast as I can. Now...where to, miss?”

You give him your address and within moments, you're on your way. This pilot isn't afraid to get aggressive with his flying and you find yourself digging your fingers into the back seat until your knuckles turn white as he weaves in and out through traffic. Silently thanking the Maker that he's more focused on his driving than conversing with meaningless small talk, the shared silence gives you the opportunity to think about everything that transpired today and where you go from here. It doesn't take long to get lost in your thoughts – so much so, that it doesn't register that you've finally come to a stop in front of your apartment building and the pilot is trying to get your attention.

“Miss? Miss, are you in there? We've arrived, so if you'd be so kind, your fare is 20 credits.”

As you pay him and slip him a hefty tip, you feel like you should say something. “Thanks for getting me home so quickly. Also...don't take this the wrong way, but thank you for not trying to force a conversation. I'm just not...”

The pilot holds up his hand to silence you, a small smile crossing his face. “No offense taken, miss. I can tell your day has been absolute bantha shit, and I didn't think you'd be up to talking. Humans are especially easy to read,” he chuckles. “Go. Do yourself a favor and take a hot shower, get some good food and alcohol into your system, and if you have someone to curl up with at night, do just that. The likelihood of tomorrow being just as bad as today is slim.”

You crack a smile for the first time all day and the pilot takes that as his sign to depart. You watch him pull back into the nearest lane and even from where you're standing, you hear him lay on the horn as he is nearly sideswiped by a garbage trawler. Feeling a little more invigorated after the pilot's pep talk, you decide to take his advice. You've been walking around all day feeling like you're being suffocated by your emotions and anxiety, and unwinding with a hot bath and a good meal is a perfect place to start. There's only one thing missing from this equation, and that's –

Echo. Oh, no...Echo. He's going to be furious with me, I just know it. He's going to think I've been blowing him off the whole day, and it's not my fault. I'm almost afraid to see how many messages I have...

You set a brisk pace as you head inside and cross the lobby to join a few other residents in one of the elevators. It's a quiet ride up to your floor, and by the time you reach your apartment, the exhaustion is really starting to sink in. Your whole body is pulsing with ache, your limbs feeling leaden and useless as you key in your code. You can hear Bocha meowing loudly inside, and as the door opens, she comes rushing out to greet you.

“Hey, lady,” you sigh, squatting down to pet her as she rubs against your legs, purring non-stop. “Yeah, you know I'm feeling like shit, don't you? Come on, let's go inside before someone sees you. I don't need another complaint from management.”

As if she understands you, Bocha turns and leads the way into your apartment before disappearing into your bedroom. Dropping your bag on the kitchen counter, you slip out of your shoes and walk into your living room, your heart sinking when you spy the comlink Echo gave you sitting on your coffee table. It's one of the military grade comlinks he and his brothers use, after you complained the civilian versions barely work, thanks to all the electromagnetic interference on Coruscant. The private frequency you two share offers a welcome sense of security, and more than once you've both been flirtatious to downright obscene with your conversations while you've been at work. But now, the comlink feels like a dead weight in your hand as you hold it in your palm, staring at it as if you expect it to come to life. This is what you forgot this morning before you left, and it was the first calamity that sent your day spiraling downward.

“I just can't... I know he's probably worried, but if I tell him, he's going to ask a bunch of questions I don't want to answer because the responses will probably get him angry, and then he's going to want to stand up for me, and...”

You set the comlink back down on the table and pick up the personal datapad you left lying there. Echo occasionally sends you messages if you aren't able to get back to him on the comlink, and as you feared, there's a number of them waiting for you. You tap the screen for the first one and are met with a simple, “Good morning, mésh'la. You must be busy this morning, but all I wanted to say is, I love you, and I can't wait for you to tell me about your promotion.” A lump forms in your throat and tears start pooling unbidden once again. You open the second, sent no more than an hour later. “Is everything all right? You're not answering the comlink, which isn't like you. I hope nothing happened on the way to work. Please respond when you're able.”

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to keep from crying, but you're too emotionally spent to fight it. Your cheeks are already wet as you look at the remainder of Echo's messages, each successive one betraying his rising level of concern. Your hands tremble as you set the datapad back down on the table before throwing yourself onto your couch, only to stare at the ceiling. You don't know how long you sit like that before Bocha's sudden weight in your lap snaps you out of it. Your hands gravitate toward her head and back, stroking softly before you pick her up and cradle her to your chest. She purrs quietly as you rub her ears, and when you look down at her, the rich golden amber eyes blink slowly back.

“What do I even tell him, Bocha? I don't even know where to start. I should probably just tell him that his girlfriend is a –”

The soft beeping from the comlink breaks your train of thought, and as if on cue, Bocha jumps out of your arms, meowing once at you before she vanishes. Glancing down at the table, the tiny light on the comlink flashes in time with the beeping, and you know you have to answer it. The slow creep of nausea returns as you hesitantly pick it up, snuffling loudly and coughing to clear your throat with hopes you won't sound like you've been crying. You've never been good at hiding your feelings from Echo, but damned if you're not going to try now.

The way he says your name when he speaks almost wrenches another sob out of you. “About time you picked up, cyar'íka. What the hell is going on?! You haven't had your comm on all day, and you didn't respond to any of my messages. Do you know I spent the whole day worrying about you? Why didn't you –“

“Echo, I... I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose,” you croak, your voice sounding strange and thick. “I forgot my comm this morning before I left, and I just got home from work, and...”

“Cyar'íka, you're not all right. I can tell you've been crying. Did someone try to hurt you on the way home? Do you need medical attention?”

“No, Echo, nobody tried to mug me. Um...literally everything that could go wrong today went wrong, and I...I...karking hell, I don't...”

He hears you break down again, and he can almost feel your anguish as you completely unravel, robbed of your ability to speak. “Listen to me. You stay put, cyar'íka. We just got back from escorting Senator Chuchi to Pantora, but I'm coming over as soon as I'm able. We're staying on Coruscant for the next few days, so you've got me until then. In the meantime, I want you to do this for me: go change your clothes, pour yourself a stiff drink, cuddle Bocha, and don't worry about dinner. It'll be a surprise, all right? We can talk about what happened when I get there. I love you.”

As soon as Echo ends the call, you push yourself up off the couch and head back to your bedroom, peeling off your clothing that feels like it's been a second skin the entire day. You unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor, then slip off your panties. Standing naked in front of your full length mirror, you finally get a glimpse of yourself, and you're mortified. Your eyes are puffy and swollen from all the crying, and your makeup is smeared in spots where you wiped at your face. Even your hair is somewhat disheveled, and now you finally comprehend the look the air taxi pilot gave you earlier. There's no way you can present yourself to Echo looking like this, and you hope you have enough time to shower before he comes over.

You crank the hot water on as high as you can stand and dawdle under the stream, trying to pretend that all of the day's woes are washing off your body. Realizing you're on the clock, you reach for your shampoo and quickly wash your hair. You're already starting to feel better from that simple act, and as you wash yourself, your mind begins to wander, imagining that Echo's in there with you. It's his hand guiding the loofah across your breasts, down your stomach and between your legs while you feel his cock stirring to life, pressing against your ass impatiently. You reach down and brush your fingertips over your clit, moaning softly as you think about him breaching your entrance with a few of his fingers, fucking you steadily with them while that authoritative voice of his orders you to touch yourself for him...

I know you're horny, but you're wasting time. Echo could be here any minute...

You let out a groan, your fantasy dashed to pieces as you rinse yourself and shut off the water. Grabbing a towel, you wring out your hair, then drag a comb through it before you finish drying yourself. You pad back to your bedroom and pick out a beautiful lacy crimson colored bra, along with the matching panties. Even though you still feel like shit, there's no reason you still can't look sexy for Echo. You take another look in the mirror and this time, you can smile at what you see. Your eyes no longer look swollen and your complexion is smooth and clear. Confident you're presentable, you grab a clean nightshirt out of your dresser and slip it over your head. A tiny meow gets your attention and you look around for Bocha, who's been curled up on your bed the entire time.

“Yeah? You think Echo will like this?” Bocha meows again and you laugh, sitting down on your bed to scratch her head affectionately. “I think you're right, Bocha. Red really is my color. You know, Echo is probably going to be here soon, and you probably want your dinner, don't you, my love?”

Bocha lets out a tiny brrrrrrttt and jumps off the bed, standing in the doorway as she waits for you to follow her to the kitchen. You take the hint and walk behind her slowly, watching her stop and sit by her food bowl. You grab a can of her favorite wet food and a small plate out of the cabinet, and as you spoon it out, you look over at Bocha, her thick, fluffy tail curled elegantly around her feet. Those beautiful eyes of hers watch you patiently, and it's only now you realize that Bocha's and Echo's eyes are nearly the same color. No wonder I fell in love with her when I saw her at the shelter... As you set the plate down, the doorbell chimes and your comlink beeps.

“Mésh'la, it's me. Would you mind letting me in? Some of your neighbors are giving me strange looks.”

You hold back your laughter as you open the door for him, and then you see what the fuss is all about. Echo's dressed in his full kit, except he's taken off his helmet, in which sits a bag with something that smells absolutely delicious. You hold your finger to your lips and he nods as you peek out around the corner and see the resident two doors down from you hanging around outside his door, shooting Echo a dirty look, and a young couple with their toddler just getting off the elevator are peering curiously at him. The little one's eyes are as big as dinner plates as he stares at the strange robot man standing there.

“Dwoid?” he asks, looking up at his mother. “Dwoid! Dwoid!”

“No, honey. Not a droid. That's a man, just like me,” his father says, clearly looking embarrassed. “I'm very sorry, sir. This won't happen again.”

Echo chuckles and turns to them. “No offense taken. Your son is quite smart, and he's not entirely wrong, either.” He gives a nod to the mother and father, and winks at the little boy. “Sir. Ma'am. Ad'íka.”

Now it's your turn to laugh as your eyes meet his, a huge smile breaking out on your face that he happily returns. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Echo. This entire day has been a karking nightmare.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nudge his cheek with the tip of your nose before your lips move to hover just above his. “I think that tonight, I'm going to need a lot of comforting.”

“A lot, you say? Just what did you have in mind, cyar'íka?” he replies playfully before his lips capture yours for a tender kiss.

You return the favor, this time nibbling on his lower lip gently. His lips part just enough for you to grant you entrance, both of you moaning softly as your tongues collide and glide past each other. You withdraw, kissing the corner of his mouth and then his chin. Echo can see a spark of playfulness in your eyes, but he also can see the lingering hurt you're carrying. You loosen the grip around his neck and rest your hands on the chestplate of his armor.

“Weeeeeeellll...I'm thinking dinner first, because whatever you brought smells incredible, and I haven't had much to eat today,” you admit. Echo raises an eyebrow and frowns. “After that...hmm, I don't know, maybe see what new movies are on the HoloNet? Or maybe you could fuck my brains out?” You say this last part loudly enough that the nosy neighbor lets out a noise of disgust and disappears into his apartment. Echo rolls his eyes, then bursts out laughing. “Seriously, Echo, that guy's an asshole. I don't know why he was staring at you, like he thinks there's something wrong with you.”

Echo kisses your forehead fondly and then makes a gesture for you to take the bag of food out of his helmet. “I get that quite a bit, my love. With some people, it's because they have no love for the GAR and we clones. With others, it's because they think that people like me are somehow...defective and unworthy. When I first joined the 99s, it was Tech that assured me, “we're more deviant than defective.” I still hold to that, you know. I know that technically, I qualify as being disabled, even though I'm enhanced with all these infernal cybernetics. I couldn't care less what people think of me, however. I have a job to do, and my brothers to protect. I don't have time to weigh the infantile opinions of others. Now, can we please go inside? I don't want our dinner to get cold. There's something special for you in there.”

You pluck the bag out and head back inside, Echo staying behind briefly to close the door and activate the security system. He finds you in the kitchen, already taking out the containers and setting them on the table.

“If you don't mind, I'm going to ditch my armor before we eat. The rest of the lads are heading out to 79's tonight, and know not to expect me back at the Marauder later. They wanted me to give you their best, however. None of them were pleased to hear that you were in a bad way. Speaking of...you and I need to have a talk about what happened today. I'm just going to listen and you're going to talk. I have never heard you cry like that in the time we've been together, and it was extremely upsetting. Wrecker happened to walk by when you broke down, and he started getting misty eyed in sympathy.”

You stop what you're doing and look at him, and he can see the guilt written all over your face. “I upset Wrecker? Ugh, just add it to the list of things that went wrong today. Next time I see him, I'm going to apologize. I don't need to be sharing all of my angst with the rest of the squad, y'know.”

Echo starts taking off his armor slowly, placing each piece in a neat pile at the entrance to your living room until he's down to his blacks. “You are aware that by the time you get to apologize, he's not going to even remember what made him upset, right? But he'll accept your apology anyway, and probably try to crush the life out of you with one of his bear hugs.”

“Hey, I'm not going to turn down a Wrecker hug, honey. They're almost therapeutic.” You giggle as you pull the last container out of the bag, and it's considerably weighty. “Wow, they must have overfilled this one,” you remark.

“No, they didn't. That one is yours, and yours alone, cyar'íka. This wasn't listed on the menu, but the owner and I go way back to my early days as an ARC trooper, and he's got a few specialty dishes he'll make if you ask nicely. Now, I know you don't get to have this much anymore, but I remember how much you love it, so...”

You look at him quizzically for a moment, then open the lid. The rich scent of butter and unmistakable aromatic spices hits your nose first, and you don't even have to look down to see the contents to know what it is. “Squid gut pasta?! Oh, Echo, you didn't have to go out of your way to get this for me! Where did you even get this? This is only made in certain parts of the galaxy, and so far, I haven't found anyone on Coruscant who makes it!”

Echo's expression softens and he looks at you fondly, his heart filling with joy to see you get excited over something as simple as a pasta dish. He fetches plates and silverware and sets them down on the table, then pulls out your chair. “Where I got it shall remain a secret. Squid gut pasta is considered a delicacy most everywhere, but it pays to know the right people.”

You pull out two wine glasses and then disappear into your pantry for a moment, returning with a bottle of a deep ruby hued wine. “I'm not having squid gut pasta without a glass of wine. It would be sacrilegious to drink anything else.” You carefully pop out the cork and fill each glass, waiting for Echo to fill his plate. “What did you get, by the way? Certainly smells good, whatever it is.”

“Pan fried buckwheat noodles with vegetables and pahzik meat,” he replies, closing his eyes and inhaling the fragrant scent of onions and garlic, the scent reminding him of his days in the Domino squad. “Back when Fives and I were first called up to join the Dominoes, we sneaked out constantly to this little hole in the wall place that offered it. Couldn't get enough of the damn stuff, and Rex always got on our case about it. He claimed he could smell the stench of it coming out of our pores.”

“Is this your first time having it since...?” you ask quietly, slipping a few noodles into your mouth, chewing slowly. You can see Echo's demeanor immediately change, and when he speaks, his tone is melancholy.

“Yeah, it is. Would you mind?” He raises his glass slightly and it takes you a second to understand he's initiating a toast. You raise yours and wait for him to gather his thoughts. “To Fives. To the Dominoes. To all my fallen brethren. To you and I.”

The glasses clink together and you both quaff your wine liberally before digging into your food. Minutes pass in silence, and you're starting to feel the gravity of the unspoken question. You put down your fork and dab the corners of your mouth with your napkin, then take another sip of wine before clearing your throat. You figure that you should rip the bandage off now and get it over with, rather than souring the mood later. Echo finishes the last of his food and sets his fork down, taking his glass and swirling the remainder of the wine around in it. His eyes shift from his glass over to you, and he can see you're uneasy.

“I told you, mésh'la. I just want you to talk, and I'll listen. You know you can tell me everything with no fear of judgment.”

You shift your empty plate off to the side and set your hands on the table, clasping them tightly. “I can't promise you I can tell you all this without crying again, Echo. I feel like I've wept an ocean of tears today as it is.”

“Your vulnerability will never be alienating to me. If you need to cry, do it. Just let everything out. I'm not going anywhere, and whatever you need from me, give the word. You know I can't stand to see you unhappy.”

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, then let your breath out with a loud huff. “I didn't get the promotion, Echo. I didn't...karking...get it. I have been there almost ten years and given them so much of my time, my knowledge, and my abilities...and for what? For what?!” Your voice rises sharply and grows unsteady. Echo's brow furrows in both concern and disbelief, but he stays silent as promised.

“There were three other candidates. One was a woman who's a recent transfer from one of our field offices. To be fair, she did have enough credentials to be considered for it. I don't know much about the two men that were in the running, other than the fact they were both recent hires, which means they shouldn't have even been able to qualify for a promotion in the first place. I was the only one with all of the qualifications and the years of experience necessary for the position.”

Echo nods and slides his chair back, getting up to clear the table, but not before pouring a little more wine for you. “Let me take care of this. I'm listening.”

“I don't think I ever really explained just what position I was in the running for, Echo. It wasn't something as mid-level as, say, a director of branch operations. This was much, much bigger. Your girl was gunning to succeed the chief financial officer of the company, who just accepted a position at the Ministry of Finance. I wanted the challenge, and...I... Well, I wanted the salary that came with it.”

The clattering of the dishes on the countertop startles you, and you look over at Echo. Tears spring to your eyes when you see the look of unmistakable displeasure on his face. Your lower lip trembles and the dam lets loose, hot tears of shame trickling down your cheeks. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Please don't be mad at me, Echo. I wanted to do what was best for me, and for us.” Your voice drops to a whisper and you turn away from him, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into you.

“Cyar'íka, look at me. Come on, it's all right. I'm not mad at you. I'm never going to be upset with you for doing things to make your life better. I know how long you've talked about trying to get a bigger place, with the ultimate goal of one day having me come to live with you. I want that more than anything...you know that. Already, I'm finding it hard to keep quiet, but this is not about me right now. Go on, honey.”

You push your chair away from the table and slowly get up, walking into the living room and coming back with a box of tissues. After blotting your eyes dry and blowing your nose, you gather the courage to look at Echo. Even with his unhealthy looking pallor, there's only warmth and undeniable love in his smile and those rich golden eyes. You take another sip of wine and pull another tissue from the box to keep close at hand while you prepare yourself to relay the most difficult part of the story. Echo returns to his seat, leaning across the table to extend his hand to you, curling his fingers around yours protectively.

“After we had our daily morning meeting, the other candidates and I had to go before a panel. Imagine my trepidation when it's not just my boss sitting there, but our director of operations, the VP, and the president of the company. We were not told ahead of time that this is how they'd be making their decision. We just assumed our boss would be the one to call us into his office and tell us the good...or bad..news. They did the usual shit that employers do to make their employees anxious with the whole, “you're all strong candidates and we had a very hard time making a decision” tripe. I was so giddy, just waiting for them to call my name. When the president announced the name of one of the men instead, I almost threw up. But I still had to put on a happy face and shake his hand and congratulate him, and wish him luck.”

“What the hell?!” Echo exclaims. “Something is seriously rotten, here.”

“Oh, it gets worse. After the panel adjourned, I briefly talked with the other woman on the way back to my office, and she was just as furious and disgusted as I was. Even though she had been a rival for the position, she knew that in the end, I would have been the better choice, and told me as such. Then she went on to tell me...and I quote: “This is complete shit, and you know it. That guy doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground and has no business accepting the role. If I were you, I'd start looking for another job, because just between you and me, it's abundantly clear we're not going anywhere in this company. I'm seriously considering putting in my two weeks by the end of today.””

“Hm, sounds like the way the Imperials handle leadership roles, if you ask me. Too many people in positions of power that are grossly unqualified, and their ineptitude gets people hurt, or worse.”

“That wasn't the end of the conversation, Echo. She brought something to my attention that I'd never given much thought, and now it all makes sense. Granted, her phrasing was...crude, but it was damning.”

Echo closes his eyes and shakes his head, squeezing your hand firmly. “Why am I not surprised?” he mutters, lifting his scomp-link up to rest on the table.

You reach out and take the tip of it in your hand, its coolness offering you much-needed comfort in the moment. “She flat out asked me if I knew when the last time was when a woman got promoted to an executive position, given that I've been there so long, and I couldn't give her an answer. I must have looked completely dumbfounded to her, because she went, “That's what I thought. They don't think we don't see, but we do. And it's obvious this place is run by the good old boys' club.” You pause to finish your wine, then chuckle dryly.

“What did she mean by that?” Echo inquires, not familiar with the colloquialism you just used.

“It means, honey, that...” you start, feeling your cheeks starting to grow hot with mild embarrassment. “I'll just use her exact phrasing, and please don't be offended. She said, “If you don't have a dick, then you're not moving up. They make sure to hire just enough women in mid-level leadership positions – like you and I – to maintain the illusion of equality. But they have no intentions of letting women hold an executive office.””

“That's certainly, uh, descriptive,” Echo replies, trying to stifle his laughter.

“It's okay, Echo, you can laugh. For as bad as I felt, it got a smile and a chuckle out of me. I know she was trying to make me feel better, but when I got back to my office, I holed myself up in there and then I came apart. Never did I feel more worthless, inadequate, and invisible. All those years of working myself to the bone, doing everything they asked of me, always saying yes... It was all for nothing.” Your voice cracks and with a sob, out comes “Absolutely kriffing nothing. I feel so betrayed.”

Echo watches helplessly as you bury your head in your hands and let the anguish pour out, crying so hard that you're gasping for breath. A sharp spike of anger rises in him over the blatant sexism and discrimination you and your coworker experienced, the feeling intensified by the extreme pain he's witnessing. He waits until you cry yourself out before he says quietly, “Mésh'la, come here.” He pushes back from the table, extending his hand out to you while tapping the scomp-link on his thigh in an open invitation for you to sit on his lap. “There's something I want to say to you, and you need to hear it.”

Under normal circumstances, you would jump at the chance to be sitting in Echo's lap, but in your compromised emotional state, this feels more like a punishment. After wiping your eyes and nose for what feels like the millionth time today, you acquiesce and go to him, letting yourself be pulled in while you straddle his lap. One of your hands comes to rest on his shoulder while your other falls upon his chest. Echo lets out a soft sigh when he feels the heat radiating from between your legs through the material of his blacks, and for a split second, you think you feel his cock twitch. But arousal is the furthest thing from your mind now as Echo brings his hand to your cheek and tenderly cradles your face. When your eyes meet his, he smiles gently and reaches in to plant a feather light kiss upon your lips.

“There's my girl,” he says warmly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Do you remember when we first became a couple, and I told you how much in awe I was of your intelligence, your work ethic, and that unbelievable drive of yours to persevere in the face of adversity?”

“Mhmm, I do. I also remember you telling me that with qualities like that, I would have been a very welcome addition to the squad.”

“You know that offer will always be open, should you desire it,” he replies with a light laugh. “Now, I need you to listen, and listen well. I don't understand all the ins and outs of what you do, but from what I've come to conclude is that you're exceptional at what you do, truly. You're quick-witted, and a creative problem solver. You are empathetic and selfless, even at times when neither trait serves you well. Your desire to help others is commendable, and your loyalty in all aspects of your life is without question. You are not worthless or inadequate – you are anything but. Cyar'íka, I don't know where you got the notion that you're invisible. You are beloved and well-respected by many, and you are...” He takes his hand away from your face and rests it between your shoulder blades. “...without a shadow of a doubt...” He moves lower and cups your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Seen.”

In a flash, your arms are around his neck, lips crashing into his for an appreciative and impassioned kiss. The scomp-link presses against your spine as Echo holds you tightly, parting his lips as your tongue seeks out his. He groans into your mouth as you catch his tongue and suckle on it, and this time, you feel his cock starting to press into your leg as it awakens. Now he lets his hand wander, sliding it up your silky thigh and under your nightshirt. When his fingertips connect with the lace of your panties, you grind on his lap and a deep chuckle of satisfaction comes from him.

“I take it that you're starting to feel better, love?”

“Mm, you could say that,” you murmur, leaving a kiss on his forehead before you sit up and look into his eyes. “But like I told you earlier, I think I'm going to need a lot of comforting. Lots and lots, Echo.” You run your thumb along his lower lip and he reaches up to take you by the wrist, never breaking your gaze as he kisses each one of your fingers.

“Y'know, mésh'la, I just had a thought. If you want, I could ask Crosshair to...make it look like that guy had an unfortunate accident, if you know what I mean.”

He sounds so serious that for a second, you actually believe him. “Echo, NO. Don't you dare! I hate him for what happened but he doesn't deserve to be killed!” Then it registers that you've been duped by his incredible talent for deadpan humor, and you burst out laughing. “Damn it, Echo, that was uncalled for, and you know it!”

“I know, but I couldn't help myself. But in all seriousness, I hope you know that everything I said to you were things you should have been hearing from the people who rely on you the most. But they let you down, and your coworker was right. You've come to an impasse, and it's up to you which path you want to choose. You have my support no matter what you decide. Now...I think you've had quite enough hardship for one day, so here's what you're going to do. Go rinse that beautiful face of yours in some cool water, then go lie down and let me clean all this up.”

“Is that an order, Echo?” you purr, trailing your finger down his chest, stopping when you reach his waist.

You miss the sly grin that emerges just before he swats you, both of you breaking out in laughter as you climb off his lap and get to your feet. “Yes, it is. Now get going or else.” “Or else, what?” you question innocuously, but Echo sees right through you and narrows his eyes, trying to look threatening. “'All right, all right, I'm going! Just don't keep me waiting, baby.”

***

Echo shuts off the kitchen lights and heads down the darkened hallway to your bedroom. He stops short, noticing the door isn't shut all the way. The serene blue glow of your ambient lights emanate from underneath it, and cautiously, he pushes it open. Echo lets out a startled cry as Bocha materializes right in front of him and bolts out into the hallway, meowing loudly before she takes off. You can't help but laugh, and he turns to look at you, greeted by the sight of you in bed, sheets pulled back and propped up against a mound of pillows with your legs tucked up, nightshirt clinging tantalizingly to your hips.

His mouth goes dry as he drinks in the curves of your silhouette, unable to tear his eyes away. “See something you like, handsome?” you ask as you wink and beckon to him.

Like a moth drawn to flame, Echo comes to your bedside and slowly lowers himself. You extend your hand to him and he takes it, interlacing his fingers with yours. When you start pulling him down to you, he eagerly joins and climbs atop, caging you between the scomp-link and his arm while you stretch out underneath him. He wastes no time, his lips falling upon yours hungrily, tongue worming its way into your mouth forcefully for an ardent kiss. You moan loudly at the intrusion and return the favor, swirling and flicking your tongue over his. Slipping your arms out, you rest a hand on the back of his neck while your other traces its way down his back. Echo groans when your fingers come into contact with the plugs in his spine, a shudder passing through him just as he ruts into you, his growing erection nudging persistently against your mound.

He breaks the kiss and shifts his attention to your jawline, planting gossamer light kisses along it. You crane your head back and to the side, opening your neck and throat to him. A quiet sigh escapes you as he licks and nibbles his way down, sucking on the delicate flesh where your neck meets the shoulder. Your hand closes down on his nape and he lets out a soft hiss as he rolls his hips into you, inordinately pleased when you squirm around in an attempt to spread your legs. Bearing his weight on the scomp-link, Echo reaches back and takes your hand off his neck and pins it back behind your head. He'd love nothing more than to yank your panties aside, bury his cock in your depths and fuck you senseless, but the night is young and he has something else in mind.

“Not just yet, cyar'íka. There's plenty of time for that. I'd like to do a little something for you to help you relax, if you would let me.” He sees the interest flicker in your eyes and a shiver passes through him when your hand on his back slips just under the waistband of his pants, your fingers resting on his tailbone.

“I'm listening,” you reply, a mischievous grin on your face as you lift your hips up into him and shimmy a little, feeling the head of his cock create delicious friction when it rubs against your clit through your panties.

Echo squeezes your captive hand firmly and brings his legs closer together, trapping you between them. “Are you? Because it seems like you're hellbent on making me come in my pants, with the way you're teasing.”

You sniffle loudly and turn your head away from him, feigning sullenness. Your little act doesn't last long, because Echo can see the corner of your mouth take an upturn just before you burst into helpless laughter. Gently, the tip of his scomp-link touches your cheek, turning you to face him. “Maybe it's because I've been exceptionally needy today, Echo,” you retort, cracking a cheeky smirk.

“Well, then, Little Miss Needy, may I interest you in a massage? It'll take me longer to do because of...you know, one hand and all, but I'm sure you're carrying the stress of the entire galaxy with you right now.” He lets go of you and reaches under your nightshirt, following the curvature of your side until he comes to your breast. He maneuvers a finger under the cup of your bra and pulls it down, eliciting a sharp gasp from you when the flat of his thumb flicks over your nipple. “So? What do you think? My only goal is to take care of you tonight, ner cyaré.”

“I think...” you begin, distracted by Echo circling his thumb around your nipple, “...that sounds – Maker, that feels so good, Echo... divine. But what about you? I want to make you feel good, too.” He sees you starting to frown and he tucks you back into your bra. He pulls his hand back out and places the tip of his index finger on your lips.

“We'll come to that road when we get there. But before I get started, why don't you take this thing off?”

He tugs on the shoulder of your nightshirt for emphasis, then pushes himself up into a sitting position to let you extricate yourself from underneath him. Rising to your knees, you make a point to leisurely pull it up over your head, hearing Echo suck air in through his teeth when your chest is unveiled to him. He watches transfixed when you support your breasts in your hands, pushing them up to create extra cleavage. With one of your middle fingers, you tease a nipple through the fabric, moaning softly as it stiffens. You repeat the process on the other side, rubbing and plucking until it's fully hard, and then your fingers hook over the top of the cups. Carefully, you draw them down until your ample breasts spill out.

“Mésh'la, you are a little fucking tease,” Echo says, his voice growing heavy with arousal. “Look what you're doing to me.” He palms his cock through his blacks, and even in the altered light you can see that he's concealing a sizable bulge just begging to be released. “Keep that up, and I'll rip that spicy little number off you, and I'd rather not do that because you look...” He stops and bites his lower lip to hold back a groan, because you've taken to rolling and pinching your nipples between your thumb and forefingers. “Light years beyond sexy in it...” he whispers.

You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, bunching it up in your hand before you cast it onto the floor. “I knew you'd like it, Echo. Bocha did, too,” you giggle, scooting over to him on your knees. The hem of his shirt finds its way into your hands, and you pull it up a few inches, stopping when the scomp-link comes to rest upon your hip. Your eyes lock on his and go wide, breath catching in your throat when his hand turns its attention from his cock to guiding its way between your legs. “I...I...always thought that...” you stammer, rooted to the spot while Echo's fingers travel over the sodden fabric of your panties.

“You were saying, love?” he questions, his voice dripping with amusement. “Don't mind me. I'm merely returning the favor.” The tip of his index finger catches the material and pulls it aside, a hum of approval coming from him as his middle finger probes between your outer lips and finds you deliciously slick. “We've barely done anything, cyar'íka, and already you're dripping wet for me. But go on; finish your sentence.”

Not to be outdone, you let go of his shirt and park one of your hands on his cock, the other on his ass. “I always thought you've looked super fucking hot in your blacks,” you answer, your voice becoming low and sultry. The hand on his cock goes to work, rubbing and squeezing, feeling it swell and twitch in your palm. “The very first time I saw you in them, I thought I was going to pass out.”

Echo lightly bucks himself into your hand with a faint moan when the pad of your thumb traces its way around the outline of his thick, swollen glans. You press down on his frenulum and rub it in tiny circles, this time bringing forth a deep sigh of relief from him. “That's not the first time I've heard that. But the only person I want to hear say it is you.” He takes his hand away, readjusting your panties before he sticks his finger into his mouth to lick it clean. “You taste so delectable, my love. I don't think you have an inkling how much I want turn you around, bend you over and pound that sweet little cunt of yours until you become a boneless mess.”

A rush of heat flares deep within your cleft, your clit pulsing at the sound of his words. Echo had never really been comfortable with using dirty talk before he met you, but when he discovered just how much it turned you on, he eased into it and never looked back. He brings his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up, searching your eyes and seeing the fire of arousal blazing within them. He caresses your lower lip with his thumb, fascinated by how pliant you've become for him. You extend your tongue and give him kitten licks before he lets you take him into your mouth, eyes locked on his while you suck on his thumb. Echo whispers your name heatedly and wedges the scomp-link under your hand to release the grip you still have on his cock.

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth and you let out a little whimper of disappointment. “Enough, baby. This time is supposed to be about you, not me. Arrange the pillows the way you'd like, and then lie face down. Do you still have that special oil? It's the one you used on me when you were tending to my residual limbs.”

You let go of his ass, but not before giving it one solid, good-natured squeeze, laughing at the look of surprise on his face. He grins at you wickedly and takes you by the shoulder, pushing you back into the pillows. “What, you mean that massage oil? The one that's infused with uneti blossoms? Yeah, it should be in...” You roll over onto your stomach and reach over to your nightstand, pulling open the drawer and rummaging around until you come away with a bottle.

Echo reaches over to take it from you and prods your thigh with the scomp-link. “Move over and stay just like that. But before I begin, all I ask is that if something doesn't feel right to you, or you need me to do something differently, just stop and tell me. You're also going to feel the scomp on you here and there; I'll need it for balance.” He moves off to the side to allow you to get in place, watching as you take a single pillow and then finally lie down. “Just one thing, mésh'la. I think you need to get rid of these, first.”

You feel the tip of the scomp-link against your hip as it lifts the band of your panties while his warm hand is on the other doing the same. You raise your ass up a little and Echo eases them past your hips and down your legs, pausing momentarily once they're off. A husky groan comes from behind you as Echo brings your panties to his face, burying his nose in them and inhaling your scent deeply. His pulse quickens, heart hammering in his chest with his cock throbbing incessantly. This is one time where he wishes he had Hunter's enhanced senses, so he could fully understand and appreciate the level of your arousal. All he can think about now is stripping off his clothing to sate the burning desire to be skin-to-skin with you, longing to hear you fervently beg for his touch.

You lift your head a little and turn to look at him in the process of tugging off his shirt, drinking in the sight of his richly muscled chest and the large hand print tattoo on his right pec as it comes into view. The steel plugs embedded in the rest of his chest and abdomen gleam in the suffused light, a stark contrast to his pale grey skin, and in that moment you're reminded of just how especially sexy he is. He starts undoing his pants but stops when the low wolf whistle from you catches his attention, and he looks down at you, a suggestive smirk on his face.

“What? See something you like, cyar'íka?” he teases, watching your eyes roam down his body and zero in on his hand that's making a show of massaging himself through his pants.

“Mhmm... I see the fucking sexiest man in the galaxy here in my bed, and he's about ready to show me what a big, gorgeous cock he has,” you reply luridly. “Come on, baby, show me how hard you are for me.”

Echo slips the scomp-link just underneath the waistband while he hooks his thumb in on the other side, easing his blacks down his narrow hips just until his cock springs free. A sigh of relief escapes him as the cool air of your bedroom hits the hot, turgid flesh. Long and thick with a graceful upward curve, you stare unabashedly at him, nearly salivating when he flexes for you, a bead of pre-cum just beginning to ooze from the tip. He reminds you of masterfully carved alabaster statues that you've seen in fine art museums, and the soft oh fuck, you're beautiful that falls from your lips sends heat flooding its way into his cheeks.

“You certainly know how to make a man feel appreciated, ner cyaré,” he chuckles, enjoying having his ego stroked. “And to think that when we first met, I thought you didn't like me.”

“That was before I learned how to read you and see past that standoffish, cranky façade you maintain, Echo. What I found is that you're an incredibly attentive, caring, empathetic, and loving man. You want to talk about me persevering in the face of adversity? No, baby. That's all you. All you, and I don't want to hear otherwise. However...” you draw out the last syllable slowly, “I think you'd better put that beast back in your pants before I pounce on you and do all sorts of terribly wonderful things to you.”

The two of you look at each other for a few solid seconds before you both dissolve into rambunctious laughter. Echo lifts his pants backs up and grunts softly as he rearranges himself. He picks up the bottle of massage oil and pops the top, looking at you expectantly. “Alright, as you were, love. No more procrastinating, and let me get to work. I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I'm going to enjoy doing it for you.”

He waits until you've settled in, then gingerly climbs on top of you and straddles your hips. A shiver races up your spine at the sensation of the cold steel of his prosthetics against your legs, but there's only reassuring warmth radiating against your ass when he partially sits on you. You feel the dribble of the massage oil all over your upper back and down your spine, and as Echo's steady hand skims its way along your skin, the calming aroma of the uneti blossoms hits your nose. He grips one of your shoulders and traces his thumb along the curve of your shoulder blade before he presses it into the muscle, already feeling how tight and knotted you are. You let out a muffled groan as he applies more pressure and starts rubbing in tiny circles, watching you closely for any overt signs of pain.

“You carry the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, mésh'la. Let me relieve some of that burden,” he murmurs.

Despite having one functional hand, Echo is remarkably dexterous. His skilled fingers know just where to touch you, and you can't help but wonder where he learned how to do this. He travels his way across your shoulder, rolling and kneading out all the tension you've kept locked away, smiling to himself each time he feels a knot dissolve underneath. His touch feels like flame as it burns away the last vestiges of your stress, and you don't hold back the deep moan of contentment when he moves from your shoulder to your neck. Echo strokes the tips of his fingers along the base of your hairline, then spirals his thumb downward.

“Feels so good, Echo,” you mumble as he works his way back up and takes time to gently rub the base of your skull. “Who taught you how to do this, anyway? I'd swear you were a professional.”

“You remember me telling you about Kix, the medic? Got it from him. He taught me and a few others some basic therapeutic massage techniques so that if need be, we could help each other out instead of having to wait for him to do it.”

“Smart boy. Wish I could thank him for it,” you sigh, feeling like you're melting into the sheets. “You're doing so well, baby...please don't stop.”

Echo stops what he's doing and leans down to leave a few open-mouthed kisses on your neck, the sudden tickle of his lips against your skin making you squirm. Your hips involuntarily clear the bed and you discover that he's still mostly hard, the head of his cock rudely poking against your ass cheek. “I'm nowhere near finished, love. Right now, your pleasure is my pleasure, and that's all that matters to me.”

“You're so good to me, baby,” you moan softly when the heel of his hand makes contact between your shoulder blades. “I don't ever tell you that enough.”

You don't see his contemplative expression as he weighs the significance of your words, and for awhile he is quiet, choosing to focus on working out a particularly tenacious knot just off your spine. “I could say the same for myself,” he eventually admits, sounding a little sheepish. “You're amazing and beyond supportive, and you treat me like none other. I love you so much, ner cyaré. Believe in that, if there ever comes a time when you can't believe in anything else.”

Now it's you who is at a loss for words while Echo finishes working out the last of the tightness along your upper spine. He turns his attention to your other shoulder, again letting his thumb glide along the gentle curve of the bone. He discovers you're loaded with knots on this side and wonders just how long you've been carrying this pain with you. You can hear him click open the cap for the massage oil, a fresh round dripping onto you followed by his thumb rubbing back and forth, digging into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut and you wince, trying not to cry out when he finds a large nodule. You let out a whine anyway, and Echo curses under his breath.

“I'm sorry, baby, this is a bad one. I'm trying not to hurt you. Just a little more...almost got it...” Echo presses his thumb into the lump and you bite back a gasp as you feel it let go in a burst of stinging pain. “If it helps, pretend that every one of these that I find is a negative thought, or a bad experience you've had. When they're worked out, consider them wiped from memory.”

A wry laugh comes from you while his fingers soothingly caress the dull ache left behind. “Easy for you to say, Echo. You're not the one with the – fuck, just like that – landmines embedded in your shoulders.”

“Heh. No, just these Maker-forsaken plugs that at least for now, can't be removed, so consider yourself lucky, mésh'la.” He busies himself tending to the remainder of any aberrations he finds, and you find that you're almost being lulled to sleep by the soothing heat and pressure of his hand. Minutes go by before he makes a final pass along your shoulder, looking for any places he missed. You're so relaxed that you startle when he calls your name. “Hi there, love. Still with me? Everything feel like it's been worked out?”

“Mmm, I think so,” comes your dozy reply. “Sorry for almost falling asleep, but that felt so good. I still can't believe how good you are at this.”

Echo laughs and reaches over to pull your hair away from your face. “So what you're telling me is that I have a future as a massage therapist, yes? That's going to come as a shock to the boys when I break it to them! I can see it now - “Sorry, Hunter, I'm leaving the squad to pursue my lifelong dream of massage therapy.” I'm sure that will go over wonderfully.”

“Hey, if anything, I think they would be supportive, Echo. It's not like they haven't thought about what they're going to do when they fully transition into civilian life,” you say honestly. “When that time comes, you can be whatever you want, and you know I'll be with you every step of the way.” You shift underneath him and he rises to his knees to allow you to turn onto your side. “Wanna take a little break for now? I bet your hand needs a rest.”

“Whatever you desire, love. Just tell me what you want from me, and it's yours.” He swings a leg over yours and moves over to let you settle on your back.

Reaching up for him, you take him by the shoulders and pull him down until your nose touches his. “I want you to spread my legs and see how wet you've made me, Echo. Then you're going to eat me out like it's your last night alive; I don't care how you make me come – tongue, fingers, toys...your choice. And after that, I'm going to take care of you.” Your lips connect with his for a charged kiss laden with impatience, a faint moan of surprise coming from him. “But first, I think you need to ditch these.” One hand slips from his shoulder and takes a hold of his pants, pulling them down over one of his hips. “And that...is an order, trooper.”

“Yes, ma'am! You don't need to tell me twice,” he mutters close to your ear, each word dripping with lust. His breath is hot against your cheek, lips greedily claiming it as they lay down a trail of fiery kisses and send frissons racing up your spine. “I think you should help me take them off, cyar'íka. But once they are, keep your hands to yourself.” He lies back and slides his thumb under the waist, waiting for you to do the same.

“And you call me the tease?” you reply mockingly, giving his pants a sharp yank and watching as they quickly slide down over the curve of his ass and down his lean thighs. The material snags and bunches when it gets to his knees, caught on the metal of his prosthetics. “You wanna take these off, too?” You rap gently on a leg, the hollow metallic ring dulled by the fabric. “Only if you're feeling up to it, of course. I know sometimes you don't always want them off during sex—“

“Consider it done,” he cuts you off. “Get my blacks off, and then I'll do the rest.”

You carefully ease them down and drop them over the side of the bed onto the rest of your clothes. Now you let your eyes rove over him from head to toe, in awe of every line, curve, and scar he bears as silent testament to the trauma he's endured. You reach out and Echo's about to take you by the wrist until he sees that you're slowly running your finger over the cold durasteel of his leg. There's a nearly inaudible hiss as he activates the release mechanism for his legs. Rising onto his elbows, he shifts backwards until he's free of them, and you look back to see him with that ever-charming little half smile.

“Much better,” he sighs. “They were getting irritating, anyway.” He looks up at you and sees nothing but sheer love and desire all over your face, a far cry from the heartwrenching grief he saw earlier. “Something you want to say, mésh'la? You look like you have something on your mind.”

You shake your head softly, a gentle smile riddled upon your lips. “Nothing much, Echo, other than I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I mean every word of it. There really aren't many words that can describe how much I love and value you.”

The way he breathes your name in response sends a tremor of anticipation through you, the hunger for him sitting heavy in your chest. Without saying a word, you pick up his legs, immediately surprised at how lightweight they actually are. Echo watches as you get up and stand his prosthetics against the wall, making sure they won't topple over. “Quit fussing with them, love. If they fall, they fall. Get back here so I can feed on that exquisite pussy of yours.”

Your ears start to burn at the sound of his vulgarity, and you turn to take a few steps before jumping onto your bed. You can't help but peek between his legs and see that he's half hard, and steadily growing firmer with each passing second. Fluffing up your pillows, you sink back into them while keeping your knees up and legs tightly closed, wanting to make Echo work for his prize. He sits up and positions himself before you, your feet between his legs so closely that you nudge his balls with your toe. Echo closes his eyes and exhales sharply, waiting to see if you'll do it again. You push your toes forward a little until you can feel the heat of his perineum, and when he doesn't stop you, you smoothly circle them around the thick root of nerves.

“M-mésh'la, please...” he groans through clenched teeth as his cock flexes hard from this new form of stimulation. “You'll get your turn, I promise. Just be a good girl for me and be patient.”

The tip of the scomp-link slots itself just below your knees, his hand resting on one of your shins. Slowly, he wedges the attachment down farther, pushing one leg to the side while he pulls on the other. Like a rare and extraordinary flower blooming at the first light of day, you bare yourself to him, the soft and glistening wet folds of your pussy reminiscent of petals blanketed in morning dew. He drapes your legs over his thighs before reaching between your folds with the flat of his thumb, taking his time as he draws it all the way up, watching in fascination as it's coated in your wetness. Stopping short of your clit, he takes his thumb away, a long bead of your juices trailing along behind it.

You watch intently as he slides his thumb into his mouth and sucks it clean, the husky groan coming from him utterly sinful. “That's all for you, baby. Come and get your dessert,” you coax, tapping your fingers on your mound. He looks down to see you retracting the hood of your clit, fully engorged and waiting to be teased. “Look at this tasty little pearl, Echo. See how hard I am for you already?”

“If you stay just like that, I have a little something to show you,” Echo replies, a deviant little grin emerging as he brings the scomp-link down and holds the tip a hair's breadth away from your clit. “You said I have your permission to make you come any way I'd like, with toys being one of the options. How about a little warm up with...this?” You hear a gentle hum, not recognizing what's making the sound until Echo touches the attachment to one side of your clit.

The loud gasp followed by, “cold, cold, COLD!!!” sends Echo into a bout of laughter, but his concentration never falters as he tenderly moves the makeshift vibrator around and underneath your clit. Each nerve ending feels like it's sizzling with electricity, and at this rate, you know it won't take him long to pull the first orgasm out of you. He draws the tip around you with care while his index finger breaches your folds and stops short of your entrance. You snake your hips to and fro, silently begging him to penetrate and stroke your depths until you're a sobbing, quivering wreck. A tiny squeak comes from you as Echo pushes his finger in and finds your G-spot, massaging it gently with his fingertip.

“What's that, mésh'la?” he asks, watching your mouth drop open and contort when he strokes the soft tissue a little harder. You're speechless, only able to focus on how much stronger the pulsing in your clit becomes. “I can feel you squeezing the life out of my finger, baby. Tell me what you need,” he coaxes.

“I...I...” comes your breathless reply, back arching off the mattress and fingers clawing at the sheets as the scomp-link brushes under your clit. “Fuck...'m close, Echo, don't stop...”

He chuckles darkly and maneuvers his middle finger toward your entrance. “I can see that, but you didn't answer my question. Do you want to finish like this? Or do you want my mouth? You know how much I love it when you come all over my face.”

You unleash a fervent moan as your walls tightly stretch around his thick fingers that have taken to pumping themselves in and out of you at a languid pace. The scomp-link continues its assault, threatening to tip your scales at any moment and send you headlong into ecstasy. A vision flits behind your eyes of Echo pulling out his fingers and holding his mouth against your pussy, his moans vibrating through your core as he swallows every last drop of your juices. You let go of the sheets and scrabble for his thighs, digging your nails into them as you force yourself to speak.

“Mouth! Want your mouth,” you gasp, bucking your hips in time with each deep plunge of his fingers. “Make me come, Echo...make me come, baby.”

In one swift motion, he pulls the scomp-link away and brings it under your leg, resting it on your hip as he awkwardly positions himself onto his stomach. His breath is hot and ragged against your still-throbbing clit, and you can't tear your eyes away from his lips closing around the tiny bud, tongue picking up where machinery left off. He flicks his tongue relentlessly over the swollen flesh, each slippery pass sending bolts of pleasure racing through you. Echo thrusts his fingers into you faster, a choked moan coming from him as your walls contract around him and rhythmically squeeze. Your legs take on a mind of their own, twitching uncontrollably the closer he summons to you release, the scomp-link tightening around your leg to pin it against his shoulder. A sharp cry erupts from you when he changes his tactics, firmly sucking on your clit while letting the tip of his tongue continue its gentle skimming from below.

“Not...far...now...” you rasp, shutting your eyes as each intense wave ripples out from your center. Mindlessly, you reach out and rest a hand on the top of Echo's head, hearing him exhale audibly through his nose followed by a deep, rumbling moan. “Just a little more...fuck me, Echo, please...”

Echo takes your directive to heart, hooking his fingertips up into you as he pistons his digits at a blistering pace. Heat rapidly pools between your legs, and he can feel your juices leaking out around his fingers. Your wanton cries grow louder, begging him for release as your whole body tenses up, trembling as he drives you to the precipice. He buries his fingers deep within and applies pressure to your G-spot with short strokes, feeling you clench around him. Echo pulls his mouth away and returns to sweeping his tongue across your clit, looking up at you when he hears your breath hitch, only to see you watching him wide-eyed with your mouth agape.

“Like that...keep going,” you urge, your voice trembling. “Yes...yes...I'm gonna...oh, Echo, I'm gonna—”

You hear him give the command without ever speaking the words. The tightly wound coil in your core shatters into a million pieces, hoarse cries bursting from you as you cascade over the edge. There's nothing but white noise buzzing in your ears as the shockwaves of your climax begin oscillating through your body, every nerve ending blazing with light. You roll your hips as Echo starts pumping his fingers into you again, pushing harder and faster with every depraved utterance of his name. Your juices soak his hand and run down your ass cheeks in a hot torrent, and Echo doesn't hold back a carnal moan of his own, watching you grind on his fingers with reckless abandon.

“That's it, cyar'íka. Come all over my face like a good girl. You can do it,” he urges. “Give me everything you've got, sweetheart.”

You watch his tongue emerge, mouth open and eager to catch every last drop while thrusting his fingers deeply into you. He looks up at you expectantly when he feels you bearing down, another flow of wetness seeping from you while trying to push him out. Dragging his fingertips along your G-spot, Echo closes his eyes and then pulls his fingers out, hearing a feral cry of elation accompanying the river unleashing all over his face. He grabs your thigh and squeezes, moaning loudly as he gets a mouthful of your nectar, swallowing greedily while the rest runs down his chin. His mouth latches onto you, tongue seeking out your entrance and imploring for more. One of his fingers slips back inside and tickles the soft tissue, wringing out a last spurt of fluid that he downs with gusto.

“Fuck, Echo, that's enough,” you pant, trying to catch your breath while your heart threatens to slam its way out of your chest. “That's enough, baby... Holy... Fucking... Shit...”

Echo pulls away and sits up, licking your spend off his lips before taking the back of his hand to his chin, wiping away residual wetness. “Should've warned me I needed a rain coat,” he chuckles while disengaging the interface for his cybernetics. He pulls the unit off his head and shakes it off, watching curiously as you cover your face with both hands out of embarrassment. “I thought Kamino was the wettest place in the galaxy, but I think you're the new contender!”

“Echo, don't make fun of me,” you groan. “It's not my fault that—”

“That, what? That you get worked up so much that you can't help but squirt all over me? Hmm, is that it? Ner cyaré, do you even realize how jealous the others would be if they knew you do this for me? Crosshair, for starters.”

You uncover your face and scramble into a sitting position, Echo registering a fleeting moment of panic in your expression. “Don't you breathe a word of this to any of them, Echo! Promise me! Oh, Maker...if Crosshair ever found out I would never hear the end of it.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, smirking. “You know I'm teasing you, right? I would never willingly divulge one of many things about you that makes me insatiable. In fact, I think you should see what you've done to me.” His cock stands proudly at attention, pre-come dribbling out in a lengthy trail. He takes the base between his thumb and first two fingers, stroking slowly and watching you get to your knees.“Now it's your turn, love. What were you thinking?”

You close the gap and sit cross-legged before him, looking up into his pale amber eyes while running your hands back and forth along his sinewy thighs. “Mm, let me suck your cock for a little while, and then I'll get the wedge out so I can ride you. Would you like that?”

“Help me lie down, and then it's time for dessert,” comes his cheeky reply, followed by wickedly deviant laughter.

You reach back and grab a few pillows, arranging them near the foot of the bed. Moving to Echo's side, you slip an arm around his lower back, the other around his shoulders. He touches your cheek with the scomp-link, turning your face until your lips connect with his for a slow, passionate kiss. His mouth parts when your tongue caresses his lower lip, letting you slide in and flick playfully over his tongue. Echo moans deeply into your mouth when the hand on his lower back reaches around to grasp his aching cock, stroking it gently. Now you take to sucking on his tongue at the same unhurried rate, swallowing each lecherous sound he makes each time he pushes himself through your fingers. You finally release his captive tongue, kissing the corner of his mouth before pressing your cheek to his, looking down to admire your handiwork and the hot, pulsing organ in your hand.

“Mm, I think you like this, baby...don't you?” you purr in his ear, his only response a truncated sigh. “You have such a beautiful cock, Echo, and I think it'll look even better when it's in my mouth. Don't you agree?”

The pleasure radiating through his core is beginning to cloud his mind, words becoming unnecessary because his actions speak volumes. He lifts his hips up into you faster, his breathing quickening when you shift behind him to rest your chin on his shoulder with your arm slung across his chest. A sharp gasp comes from him as your fingers graze over one of his nipples and tweaks it firmly. “Harder, mésh'la, please...nngh, just fucking touch me,” he whispers. “Want to come so hard for you.”

“I know you do, honey...I know. Soon,” you murmur into the hollow of his cheek, pressing your lips to the heated skin. Your grip on his cock tightens and he moans, thinking only of how constrictive you're going to feel around him. The muscles of his abdomen ripple under your fingers the harder he snaps his hips, and you feel him growing tenser by the second. “That's it, baby... Just think about how much better it's going to be when you're fucking me.”

Echo can feel his orgasm slithering up on him quickly, and he brings the scomp-link down to touch your hand. Without asking, you let go of him, a noise of confusion dying on your lips as he sags back against you. You can feel his heart slamming in his chest from the exertion, each breath rapid and shallow. Positioning yourself back at his side, you rest a hand between his shoulder blades and the other on his lower back, guiding him down. His head sinks into the pillows and he sighs contentedly, reaching up to pet your cheek with his hand. You lean into his warmth, closing your eyes while his thumb ghosts its way across your chin. He watches you take him by the wrist, bringing your lips to his palm for a heartfelt kiss.

“Too much, too quickly, I know,” you mumble, shifting your attention to his fingertips as you kiss each one. “'m sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for, cyar'íka. Whenever you're playing with my cock, words kind of go out the window,” he chuckles.

“Gee, I never noticed that before,” you reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. You look at him and a few seconds pass in silence before you crack a grin and start laughing. “I think I lost track of how many times I made you moan, Echo. Maybe this time I should pay attention.”

“Maybe you should,” he says, his voice dropping roughly. “This thing isn't going to go away by itself, so if you'd be so kind?” He spreads his thighs out, waiting for you to slot yourself between them. “Just one thing. Before we do this, the scomp and the interface come off. I want you to feel me. Are you all right with that?”

You rest your palms on his thighs, easing them north until they rest on his hips. It's clear to you that his old insecurities want to shine through, and after all he has done to boost you up tonight, you want to do the same for him. “Do whatever you need in order to be comfortable, baby, and I will keep saying that for as long as you need to hear it.” You lean over to kiss a path down his stomach, smiling to yourself when he shivers beneath you. The head of his cock is within reach of your mouth, pulsing hot and slick with his own arousal. The moment you press your lips to his frenulum, there's a sigh of relief. “That's what I want to hear. Now take them off, and then let me take care of you. I'm going to make you feel so good, Echo.”

There's another minuscule hiss as the scomp-link releases; you gently pull it away from his body and wait for him to disconnect from the interface. He lifts his head, pulls off the unit and hands it to you, waiting patiently as you set both pieces next to his legs. Stepping over to your closet, you dig around until you find the special low angled wedge – a custom made piece of sex furniture you had gotten for Echo early on in your relationship to help make sex easier and more enjoyable for him. You leave it at bedside and return to your rightful place between his legs, resting on your stomach as one arm slides underneath and around a thigh to hold him steady. Your lips meet the soft skin of his other thigh, leaving ethereal kisses while your free hand sneaks up to encompass his balls.

Echo sucks air in through his teeth sharply as you gently palpate, rolling each testicle between your fingers. “Fuck..keep going, mésh'la,” he groans, winding his fingers into your hair and pulling you closer until he feels the heat of your breath dancing across his skin. “Give me that mouth.”

“Mm, with only the greatest of pleasure, my love. Look at you, so thick and full for me,” you purr, applying a little more pressure as you squeeze, drawing out a low growl from him. “I can't wait to taste you.”

You brush your nose against his balls, giving them a gentle nudge before planting tiny, chaste kisses upon each one. Your tongue snakes out to lick a wide stripe up his perineum, causing him to buck involuntarily at the sudden intrusion. You wrap your other arm around his thigh and sling it over your shoulder, leaving him wholly at your mercy. Echo shuts his eyes, cursing under his breath as you tease him with each silken flick of your tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your lips graze over one of his balls before you draw it into your mouth, in no great hurry as you suck on him languidly. His fervid moaning rushes straight to your core, arousal bursting into flame with each breathless utterance of your name.

Echo lets go of your hair and takes the first few inches of his cock in his fist, jerking himself slowly as you turn your attention to his other testicle. This time, you add a new dimension of pleasure for him by pressing the flat of your thumb against the perineum, massaging in a gentle circular motion while you suckle. His thighs tremble against your shoulders from the tension of trying to maintain control, but it's a losing battle. He strokes himself a little faster and you can feel his pelvic floor tensing up. Realizing he's going to finish quickly thanks to your aggressive edging, you release him. He lets go of his cock, the tip weeping a sticky trail of pre-come onto his stomach.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he pants, covering his face with his hand. “I don't know where you learned how to do that, but you've got to do that more often!”

You shrug nonchalantly, pretending it's no big deal. “What can I say? I watch a lot of holoporn vids when we're not together. Contrary to popular belief, they actually can be educational.” You look up at him and he's looking right back with an unreadable expression.

This time Echo cracks first, breaking into an open guffaw. “You are such a little shit, cyar'íka, you know that? What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm...I think you're going to let me stay the course and let me finish,” you reply slyly, getting to your knees. Your hand closes around his cock, holding still for a moment while it throbs in your hand. Echo takes you by the wrist and you let go. “Or not? Are you okay, Echo? Did I do something wrong?”

“Everything's fine, love...you don't need to give me a blowjob. If it's all the same to you, I would much rather you get on top and let me fuck you. I've never seen anything more beautiful than when I'm buried in you, with the look in your eyes screaming that I'm your man. Come on, mésh'la, let me worship you...I'll give you whatever you need.”

Echo watches as you reach over the side of the bed to pick up the wedge. Maneuvering it under his thighs, you help him adjust his position until he's at a comfortable angle. Being cautious not to jostle him out of place, you swing a leg over him and lower yourself, moaning softly when his cock nestles between your outer lips. Echo's first inclination is to rut himself into you, coating himself with your juices while his hand seeks out your hip. Your hands slide under his back and over his shoulders as you lie down upon him, and bring your forehead to his. You can feel him trembling a little, and you give a reassuring squeeze while your parrot his words back to him.

“Echo, I've never seen anything more beautiful than you when you're buried in me, with the look in your eyes screaming that I'm your woman. Enter the temple and worship me...I'll give you whatever you desire.”

Echo pushes down on your hip, guiding you into position as he slowly rocks himself upward, slipping through your slick channel. Your lips tussle with his for a feverish kiss the moment the head of his cock presses against your dripping entrance, a soft whine coming from you as he finesses his way inside. Echo consumes every gasp and moan from you the deeper he sinks into your cleft, taking his time to let you stretch out around him. At long last he fully sheathes himself, a lusty groan rumbling out him when the head of his cock greets your cervix and you respond by clenching your walls around him. Your head seeks sanctuary in the crook of his neck, and for a split second, Echo has the strange sensation of being able to feel his missing hand upon your back. He dismisses the notion when you distract him, lips tattooing him with kisses while you start moving yourself forward along his length.

“You feel so fucking good, baby...wish you could feel what I do,” you mewl, pausing as his tip breaches your entrance and spreads it wide. “Just breathe, Echo.”

You quickly rock back and slide down his length, forcing him all the way into you. Echo gasps like he's had the wind knocked out of him and he grabs your ass hard, digging his fingers into the supple flesh. “Fuck...do that again,” he whispers hotly. “Take my cock like it's nothing...”

You're more than happy to oblige, rising slowly while your walls drag against him and feeling a tremor pass through him when the head of his cock splits you open. With no hesitation, you spear yourself on him, moaning deeply when you're greeted by a single hard flex. You pull your arms out from under his shoulders and right yourself, planting your hands on his chest. Echo lets go of your ass, skimming his hand along the curvature of your spine and wishing his eyes were a camera so he could capture in perpetuity the exaltation before him. Eyes glossy and heavy lidded with arousal look back at him, your mouth going slack as you churn your hips. He reaches up and strokes your cheek, brushing your lips with his thumb.

“You couldn't look more beautiful even if you tried, ner cyaré...I love you.”

With that, the power shifts to you; Echo remains motionless while you set a languorous pace. You rock to and fro upon him, noisily moaning each time the head of his cock massages your G-spot. Tendrils of pleasure lick like flame deep within as you exploit the angle of your bodies and hungrily grind your clit against him, the beginning of another orgasm already creeping up on you. You chase the sensation, riding him faster and feeling the tingling in your clit grow exponentially. Echo groans, his cock twitching and stiffening while your walls flutter around him and his self-control finally cracks. He takes command, waiting for you to lift yourself only to catch you on the way down with a hard thrust. You cry out in surprise and his hand returns to your ass, gripping roughly while he takes you faster, using the wedge for leverage to snap his hips up into you with ease.

“So perfect, Echo...like you were made for me, baby...”

Echo reaches up to touch your back, already damp with a fine sheen of sweat. “Come here, sweetheart,” he huffs, bringing you back down toward him. You cradle his face between your hands and rest your forehead against his. “Fucking kiss me,” he orders, each word a hot puff of air against your lips.

Without hesitation, you drag your tongue along his lower lip, his mouth automatically parting to grant you access. A low, throaty moan comes from him when you claim his tongue as your own, sucking rhythmically on it in time with each strong pump of his hips. Echo's hard thrusting tapers off into long, slow strokes when you break the seal of your mouths to dot his face with tender kisses. Your lips travel from the corner of his mouth along his hot, crimson-flushed cheek until you reach his temple, kissing not only the skin but also the embedded plugs. Echo reaches for the back of your neck, his fingertips winding up into your hair to massage the nape, mouthing your name when your lips ghost across each eyelid. He turns his head as you make your way down his other cheek, nuzzling at your earlobe as he pushes himself all the way in and abruptly stops.

“What? Echo...?”

“On your side, cyar'íka,” he murmurs into your ear. There's a tiny noise of protestation from you as Echo pulls his cock out with a creamy trail of your slick following right behind, leaving you feeling strangely empty. “I don't want to finish you like this.”

“Anything you want, baby,” you reply, dismounting him and slowly working the wedge out from underneath, dropping it over the bedside.

Sliding your hand under his lower back, you help him onto his side before you recline with your back against him, propped up on an elbow with your hand resting on his terminated arm. Echo's hand glides down your thigh and slips under the back of your knee, lifting your leg into position. You turn your head back to him and his mouth is immediately on yours, but this time there's no urgency behind his kisses. The gentle curling of his tongue around yours is sensuous, each slippery pass making your clit pulse in anticipation. You sling your arm around the back of his thigh, leaving him free to take his cock and re-align himself with your entrance. Echo moans into your mouth as he pushes his way back inside with one smooth motion, welcomed back by your walls clenching around him.

He breaks the kiss and drapes his arm over you, palming your breast while rubbing your nipple with his thumb, feeling the sensitive flesh quickly grow to a stiff peak. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he whispers in your ear, sending frissons racing down your spine like a bolt of lightning. “So fucking beautiful, and worth absolutely everything, ner cyaré.”

“Echo, I...”

The rest of the words lodge in your throat, robbed of breath as Echo starts to move, rolling and grinding his hips with each slow thrust. Your eyes close the moment his mouth dances over your neck in a dizzying array of licking and kissing, with his thumb and forefinger tweaking the pebbled bud of your nipple. A husky groan comes from him as your hand gravitates from his hamstring to his ass, letting your fingers trace over its well-defined contours before cupping it and giving a firm squeeze. He releases your breast and runs his hand down your stomach until it reaches the soft swell of your mound and the hard nub of your clit. You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck as he takes his first two fingers and calmly rubs in small circles, taking care not to launch you over the edge too quickly.

“Such a good girl, letting me play with your clit while I fuck you,” he croons, rocking himself into you a little faster and stifling another moan when your walls tense around him. “Come all over my cock, mésh'la. Think you can do that for me?” You hum in response and he chuckles, applying more pressure as his fingers caress the tiny bundle of nerves. “That's what I want to hear. Now...” His lips are searing hot against your pulse point as he kisses a path from your ear down your neck. “Move with me, baby.”

You turn your head back again and press your cheek against his, closing your eyes when he withdraws and pushing your ass against him as he sinks all the way in. You hear him exhale sharply through his nose as you constrict around him on his way back out, with a huffed sigh on the return. It doesn't take long before you're mirroring each other perfectly, your cries of ecstasy and Echo's deep-chested moaning harmonizing with the lewd sound of wet skin on skin. He switches from rubbing your clit to flicking the pad of his middle finger underneath it, making your legs shake helplessly and your pussy tighten around him with every stroke. Once more, Echo shortens his thrusting so that the head of his cock massages your G-spot, feeling yourself slipping headlong toward another orgasm.

“Just a little more, honey...I know you're close. So 'm I,” he chuffs as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

“Touch me, Echo,” you whimper, digging your fingers into the hard musculature of his ass.

Echo lets out a hiss and a labored moan when minute contractions start plucking at his cock in a steady pattern, your walls closing solidly around him. Your vision blurs as hot tears begin to flow outward and down your temples, triggered by the intense waves of pleasure coursing through you. “That's it, baby...just let everything go. I've got you,” he murmurs, taking your clit between his thumb and index finger to roll the delicate skin of your hood over it.

You surrender to his ministrations with a loud sob, body quaking violently as your back arches into a taut bow. Echo gasps as you writhe and buck, your pussy squeezing the life out of his cock all while trying to push him out. He quickly slips his arm under your knee and your hand leaves his ass, grabbing him by the forearm and sinking your nails into it. Echo curses under his breath and starts pumping himself into you, feeling a gush of your juices drenching him and the sheets. He fucks you hard and fast, each deep thrust tightly winding the knot of arousal in his core. You beg for him to come and Echo presses his nose and lips against your cheek, shutting his eyes as he nears his peak. He drives himself in fully and goes still, moaning your name in orgasmic bliss while his cock throbs, unloading hot streams of his seed into you.

Echo wraps his arm around your waist and grunts softly, putting his weight against your back until you're sprawled out on your side. You can feel him affectionately ruffle your hair with his nose while he slides his hand up your stomach and rests it between your breasts, feeling your heart still racing. Placing your hand over his, your fingers interlace and squeeze, and Echo reaches over to leave heartfelt kisses on your cheek and jawline. Both of you bask in the residuum of your coupling, still lying merged for neither of you want to be parted from the other. Here in his arms you feel safe and sheltered, always protected by his love and inimitable strength.

“You were incredible, ner cyaré,” Echo praises, loosening your grip so he can take your chin in his hand and turn you to face him. “How do you feel? Better, I trust?”

“Better than better,” you reply with a smile so big, Echo can't help but to return it. “I feel...restored, if that makes any sense.”

“It does, and that's all that matters,” he agrees, kissing the corner of your mouth as he starts to lift himself off you. Blissful numbness floods your body and you scarcely notice when he pulls his cock out. You can hear him chuckle and clear his throat as he looks down between your legs to witness milky droplets of his spend dripping out onto your inner thigh. “As much as I love seeing myself run back out of you, mésh'la, I think we should get cleaned up and change the sheets, then get some sleep. It's late, and there is absolutely no way you aren't exhausted.”

Slowly, you push yourself up into a sitting position and before you can stop it, a huge yawn escapes you. “Yeah...yeah, just give me a moment...I feel like I got hit by a speeder,” you reply with a grin. “Go sit at the edge of the bed and I'll grab your legs.”

Echo shifts to your side and wraps his arm around your shoulder and you don't see his golden eyes fill with tender care when your head drops wearily against him. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you're very tired. We'll make this quick.”

You swing your legs over the side of your bed and cautiously get to your feet, legs wobbling as you shuffle to retrieve Echo's prosthetics and the interface. You lie back down while he reassembles himself and takes initiative, heading to your bathroom where you hear the water running and the sound of your linen closet opening and shutting. He comes back with a warm, damp cloth and clean bed sheets tucked in the crook of his arm. Setting the sheets aside, he takes you by the knee and pulls your legs apart to wipe your inner thighs, then gently holds the cloth against your folds. The warmth is incredibly soothing and you find yourself wiggling your hips to push into his hand.

“Still hungry?” Echo asks with a chuckle. “You're going to have to wait. Hold still, cyar'íka, I'm almost done.”

He finishes cleaning you up and returns to the bathroom to rinse out the cloth. You've already gotten the sheets stripped by the time he returns and in no time, the two of you are back in bed. You settle in with your head on his chest, your fingers idly tracing patterns over his skin. Echo kisses the crown of your head and brings his arm around you, closing his eyes as he hears your breathing slow and deepen. You're almost asleep before you feel Echo brushing his fingers over your cheek to get your attention, accidentally startling you.

“I'm sorry, love. I didn't know if you had fallen asleep yet. Did you remember to set your alarm?”

“No, and I'm not going to set it. I made up my mind. Fuck that place and those people, Echo. I'm never going back.”

He sighs softly and says your name, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Are you sure this is the kind of decision you want to be making, well, now? Something like that needs a little more consideration.”

Echo lets go of you as you prop yourself up on your elbow and bring your other hand to his cheek. Your eyes bore into his and you swallow hard, knowing you're about to speak the truth that you've denied yourself from believing for years. “I know what I'm doing, Echo. I'll be okay. I've got more than enough to live on while I look for another job. I'm done wasting time somewhere that I'm not appreciated. Life is too short for bullshit like that, and...” You stop, feeling a lump trying to build in your throat.

“And...?” he replies softly. “Hey. It's okay. You know you can tell me anything.”

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, and Echo's hand closes on your hip, giving you the courage you need to finish. “You said that you would support my decision no matter what I decided to do, right?”

“I do, and I will always stand by that.”

“I know what I want to do with my life, Echo, because I did something I shouldn't have. Really, I did something no one should do. I poured everything into my career and neglected my well-being. But it's time for me to stop being afraid and do what needs to be done.”

“What might that be?”

“Live.”

Echo puts his hand on your shoulder, easing you down until your head rests over his heart. Its strong, steady beat has a soporific effect on you and it's not long before your eyelids grow heavy. He strokes your arm softly and presses one last kiss to the top of your head. “That's it...just let it happen. Get some well-deserved rest, and I'll be right by your side when you wake up. I love you, mésh'la.” His words fall on deaf ears, for he hears a faint snore and glances down to see you're completely out. “The galaxy is yours,” he whispers. “It always was. Time to shine, baby.”

#star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch echo #tbb echo #tbb echo smut #comfort smut #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo x you

23 notes · View notes

gojonanami · 7 months

Text

❝ 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

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo fluff

9K notes · View notes