Work Text:
He comes back on a Thursday.
He comes back different.
It’s not a bad sort of different, to be fair, but still. When Shang-Chi and Katy first stepped foot back in the city, visiting you with matching sheepish smiles, you didn’t know what to think. They’d disappeared off the face of the Earth for weeks and now here they were, telling you stories of fathers and dragons and rings.
Believing them is not as hard as one might expect, but of course this is the kind of world you live in now. So it’s not the believing that’s hard, but the accepting. It stings that he didn’t take you, his girlfriend of nearly six months, with him. And it’s not like that’s as long as you’ve known him, either. You’d met him two years after Katy, and even then you’d known he was special. Feelings hadn’t entered the equation for a long, long time, but once they did you couldn’t be happier.
So yeah, you’re a little hurt. More than a little, actually. Really fucking hurt. But you can’t just say that; Shang-Chi had lost his father, not to mention nearly losing his own life. You won’t be the asshole who adds onto his grief. So you try your best to manage it on your own, but each time you see him now you never want to let him out of your sight.
Even two months later, you’re still halfway afraid he will one day up and leave again.
This evening you’re having a night in at his apartment, lounging on his bed in sweats and a ratty old t-shirt watching some B-list rom-com that neither of you are really invested in. You’re not sleepy but not exactly energetic—you’d call it peaceful if it weren’t for the way your nerves seem to be twisting over themselves. His arm is around you, his eyes halfway closed, and you steal glances at him every few minutes.
You tell yourself that this fear that he will just disappear is irrational. He has sworn that if he is needed by someone again, he will not go without telling you.
It did not escape your attention that he did not say he would take you with him.
You can’t say anything about it. You promised yourself.
And yet.
His arm tightens around you minutely, and you break.
“Shang-Chi,” you say, and his attention drifts to you.
This too is new; referring to him as Shang-Chi rather than Shaun. You find yourself slipping up from time to time, but you’re getting better. It’s a nice name, and Katy has already teased him plenty about the similarities between his identities, so you don’t need to.
“What’s up?” he asks, shifting so that he’s facing you properly. His arm leaves your shoulder and you’re already regretting starting this.
“I…” you begin. “Um.” This is just as hard as you imagined it to be, but you can’t back out now. He waits patiently while you try to gather your words.
Finally, you try again. “When you left,” you say, doing your damndest to not let your voice waver, “you didn’t tell me. And I get why! I just. It.” You sigh, frustrated that this is not coming out like you wanted it to.
Shang-Chi’s face shifts, filling with shame, and you immediately hate yourself so much. “I would have,” he says, “if I had had time, I promise I would have.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “Baby, I know. And I don’t need you to apologize. It’s my fault I can’t get over it.”
Shang-Chi grabs your hands suddenly, looking into your eyes. “None of this is your fault.”
“I shouldn’t be feeling this way,” you argue. “You saved so many people. You saved the world, and I’m over here complaining because you…” Trailing off again, you try to reign in how emotional you’re getting.
“Are you mad?” he asks. “That I took Katy and not you? Because she didn’t really give me a choice, honestly, she would’ve hopped on that plane no matter what I did.”
“No, I don’t have a problem with Katy,” you say, and you mostly mean it. You’ve never been jealous of Katy—she and Shang-Chi have always been attached at the hip, that’s true, but their dynamic is closer to that of siblings than anything else. But there’s no denying they’ve been through something together that has fundamentally changed how they see each other.
And you weren’t a part of it.
So it’s not really Katy you’re jealous of, but the fact that she got to go along on this amazing life-changing adventure while you remained clueless in San Francisco.
“I just wish you had told me,” you admit. “I didn’t know where you’d gone. I thought something terrible happened.” And you think maybe something did, because he still hasn’t told you all of it. You should be more angry about that, probably. But you’ve been his girlfriend for long enough that you’re all too familiar with the fact that there are some things Shang-Chi just doesn’t talk about, and maybe never will.
“I was alone,” you whisper. “I know why you thought you couldn’t take me. But I felt so alone.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, and the guilt in his tone is almost enough to have you taking it all back, to say you were just overreacting and that he shouldn’t worry about it. “I’m sorry.” He leans over, pressing his forehead to yours, one of his favorite gestures of affection.
“I know,” you reply softly.
“I wish you’d told me earlier,” he says.
Your hands slide up to cover his. “I didn’t want you to feel bad.”
“You could never make me feel bad.” Oh, this man. How he makes your heart ache, in the best way.
“I love you,” you murmur.
You can feel his breath ghost across your lips. “I love you too.”
He pulls away from you slowly, and you’re relieved to see that he looks like he feels much better. “I know I said it before, but I really am sorry.”
“You don’t need to say it again—”
“Let me make it up to you?” He’s smiling now, eyebrows lifted.
Oh. Oh.
Well, you’ll never say no to that.
He tilts his head, silently asking permission that he knows you’ll give. You give it by sitting up straight and wasting no time in pulling your shirt over your head. Your bra is beige and has a bandaid right in the middle in order to cover the wire that has popped out of the fabric, which is not at all sexy, but he still looks at you like you’re the hottest thing he’s ever seen, and it does awful, wonderful things to your stomach. It takes a bit more maneuvering to get your pants off, and while you struggle to do that he shucks off his own clothes, leaving him in only black boxers that don’t leave much to the imagination.
You swing your leg over his lap so that you can straddle him, cradling his face in your hands and kissing him deeply. His tongue slips into your mouth and you moan, relishing in the feeling of him. His hands grip your hips and you can’t suppress the shiver that runs through you. He’s so warm, so full of life, and you remind yourself that he is here with you. He’s not leaving, not now.
You kiss and kiss and kiss for what might as well be an eternity, the way you two are wrapped up in each other. At some point you unhook your bra and toss it carelessly off the bed. His hands come up eagerly to cup your breasts. You gasp when his thumbs brush across your nipples, his touch feather-light.
You would gladly stay in his lap forever, but it seems that Shang-Chi has had an even better idea as he gently lifts you off of him and flips you both so that he’s on top, bracing himself on his elbows and looking down at you fondly. He leans down and kisses your collarbone, and you watch with bated breath as he slowly moves further down your body, trailing kisses across your breasts, down your stomach, on both your thighs. He slides his fingers under the fabric of your panties, and you lift your hips to encourage him to take them off. But he lingers, apparently content just to feel your skin.
“Don’t tease me, Shang-Chi,” you breathe.
“I would never,” he says, mock offended, and when you see the teasing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth you can’t help but play along, whining like a petulant child.
“But I want you to touch me,” you say. “Don’t you want to touch me?”
That, however, seems to ignite something in him. His dark eyes go darker. “You don’t know half of what I want to do to you,” he murmurs. Finally he drags your panties down your legs and you sigh happily. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve fucked since he’s been back, but something about tonight feels electric.
And when his mouth is finally on you, well.
“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, one hand curling into the short strands of his hair and the other grasping at the bedcovers. “Fuck yes, Shang-Chi.”
He hums against you and rubs his thumb across your clit, because he is insanely good at knowing just how to please you. Your legs tremble and with his free hand he pushes your thighs further apart, spreading you out so he can taste you better. His tongue slips inside of you and you nearly scream. It’s only for the sake of his neighbors that you try to keep your voice down, but damn is it hard when he’s tonguefucking you like this.
You have to remove your hand from his hair to slap it over your mouth when he circles your clit with his finger again, crying out desperately against your palm. His tongue is so warm inside you like the rest of him, and you know you’re going to come undone embarrassingly soon.
His hand squeezes your thigh as he hums again, sending shockwaves up your spine.
“So fucking good,” you say, muffled by your hand. “Ohh, keep doing that.”
And because he is the best boyfriend ever, he does. He licks up against your walls like he wants to devour you, and all the while his thumb does not leave your clit. Your heart and head are pounding and you grind your hips up into his face helplessly.
Orgasm hits you like a train. Your voice rises in a wail and yeah, someone definitely heard that one. Shang-Chi coaxes you through it, keeps eating you out until you’re whining from the overstimulation. When he looks up to meet your eyes, his entire mouth and chin are slick with your wetness.
“God, come up here,” you say, and he obeys. You kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue. Then, because you know he’s got to be aching by now, you press your hand to the front of your boxers and are pleased by how hard he is.
“Get those off,” you order, “and fuck me.”
“As the lady commands,” he says, and you snort at the stupid faux accent he does. Even now he makes you laugh. It’s one of the things you love about him.
He sits back to pull off his boxers and you watch him with anticipation. When he’s got them off and is completely bared to you, you reach out to pull him back down and kiss him again.
You can feel as he positions himself, ready to slide inside of you, and with how wet you still are it won’t be hard at all. Before he does, though, he breaks away from the kiss to speak close to your ear.
“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says. “I’m never going to do that to you again.”
The desperate honesty in his tone shakes you to your core. Never before have you found yourself speechless around him. You’re not sure how you feel about it; it’s a level of vulnerability you weren’t prepared for. Wordlessly, you wrap your legs around his waist.
His first thrust into you is slow, careful. It’s still enough to have you gasping into his shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, the big sap, and rolls his hips into yours. A pleasured groan leaves him, and it is so, so good to know that you can make him feel as fantastic as he does you.
But you still want more, and you know exactly how to get it.
“Shang-Chi,” you say, grinning, “you can fuck me harder than that.”
And if you know one thing about your boyfriend, it’s that he always rises to the challenge.
His next thrust punches the air out of you, and when he growls in your ear you’re nearly embarrassed to say your eyes roll back. This is possibly the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life—scratch that, it definitely is. This man unravels you.
He fucks into you steadily, holding you close to him. You do the same, arms wrapped firmly around his back in order to keep his front pressed against yours. You kiss again, even though neither of you are getting enough air right now. Honestly, the lightheadedness adds to the pleasure.
This is exactly what you needed, and both of you know it; when he’s this close, when he’s quite literally inside you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s here to stay. He’s yours as much as you are his, and you believe his promise. You love him. God, you love him so much it seems impossible.
“Can I—” he gasps, “do you want me to—”
“Come inside,” you say, punctuated by another moan. You’re on the pill, so it’s probably fine, but you make a mental note to stop by CVS tomorrow morning. Better safe than sorry.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, and hearing him swear is what does you in. Your legs shake as you come for the second time tonight, nails digging into his back. He follows you soon after, and the feeling of him releasing inside is enough to send another wave of pleasure through you.
When you finally come down from the high, you stare up into Shang-Chi’s face and suddenly feel like crying. To avoid it you just bury your face in his neck and tug at his arms until he gets the hint and collapses onto the bed beside you.
“We need a shower,” he says once he’s caught his breath.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Later though. Sleep now.”
“Sleep sounds good.” He pulls the covers over you both, then moves so that you are pressed tightly against his chest. And this, too, is part of what makes you adore him so. He makes you feel safe.
“I love you,” you say again, because you will never be able to say it enough.
“Love you, too,” he replies, and holds you tighter.
There is still much more to talk about, but right now as you lay in his arms, sated and happier than you’ve been in weeks, you think you can wait just a little while longer.