reader was a highly skilled neuropsychologist who worked for what used to be SHIELD. a couple days after the bombing in vienna, her friend and coworker, sharon carter, asks a favor of her: to relocate to wakanda in order to help treat and rehabilita...
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He woke up without a trace of a nightmare. So this, this is what real sleep feels like.
It took him a moment to come to, memories fitting together like puzzle pieces to form the realization of what happened in the previous hours.
First, he remembered the scent of her hair filling his lungs. Something fruity - maybe coconut.
Next, he remembered her body heat. Skin on skin never felt so good in so long. Normally, he didn't like people to be so close to him, memories of pain inflicted and open wounds usually came too close to the surface. But with her, when she was close to him, his brain just went foggy and all he could feel was her. She made touch start to feel good again.
Then, he remembered the taste - the blissed out, love drunk flavor of her mouth.
Did that really happen? It was almost hard to believe. He hadn't "done it"in literal decades. He tried not to worry about his... performance. Although, he supposed he did well enough as the image of her back arching was seared wonderfully into his brain. He could be wiped and brainwashed a hundred more times and he didn't think would forget that. Or all the new and different ways she said his name.
That last thought woke him up like ice water. He sat straight up, quickly inundated with confusion as to the empty space beside him.
"Hey."
He turned to see Y/N sitting on the floor next to his bed, fully dressed and with a sheet draped over her shoulders.
Oh. She was still here. She didn't leave.
The sight of her like this was one he wished he could take a snapshot of in his head and keep forever: hair slightly tousled and makeup a bit smudged. But relaxed and pleasant; charmingly authentic and natural. He was grateful. Grateful that he got to see her like this, grateful that he got to wake up next to her, and grateful that she understood that he didn't want to take his shirt off because of the scars.
"Hey. What time is it?" he asked noticing the lack of light around them.
His voice was raspy after sleeping. She liked it. Almost as much as she liked the feeling of his stubble tickling her skin: her neck, her cheek, her inner thighs...
"Still today, just later," she blinked. "Some time in the evening. Maybe seven?"
