Virus

You can’t help but laugh. “What made you change your mind? Too romantic for the Grand Master?”

Ever since he returned to Mondstadt, there’s been something between you. Growing stronger every day. Conversations that linger, looks that last too long, touches that mean more than they should. Tension that hums just beneath the surface, waiting.

He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer. Then another. “Not enough,” he says simply.

Your breath catches as he stops right in front of you. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.

“Stand up.”

It’s not a command, but the warmth in his tone makes it impossible to refuse. You rise from where you’d been sitting, and before you can fully process it, his hands are at your waist and you’re being lifted.

Effortlessly.

“Varka!” you yelp, suddenly suspended in his arms, one arm hooked beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. You grab his shoulders for balance, feeling your face heat. “I’m not some random delivery.”

“No,” he agrees, utterly calm despite holding your full weight like it’s nothing. “Clearly too extraordinary for that.”

His eyes meet yours, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. Intent. Focus. Like you’re the only thing in the world that matters right now.

For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you right here, suspended in his arms. Part of you desperately wants him to.

You’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now, and it’s starting to affect you.

The way he looks at you sometimes. The way conversations trail off into loaded silence. The way his hand lingers when he helps you with something.

Him too, you think. He’s different lately. Less patient with small talk, more direct. Like he’s done wasting time.

“Is this a service the Knights of Favonius are providing now?” you ask, grinning up at him even as your heart pounds. “Carrying people around Mondstadt?”

You see the exact moment his composure threatens to crack. A slight tightening around his eyes, the ghost of a smile.

“I’d have to make sure that’s my privilege alone,” Varka says, voice dropping lower. “Otherwise the effect wouldn’t be there.”

He starts walking, carrying you like you weigh nothing, and you’re acutely aware of everything.

The warmth of him. The steady strength in his arms. The way his chest rises and falls with each breath. The faint scent of wind and leather that clings to him.

When he reaches a meadow, he lowers you carefully, setting you down on the soft grass.

He follows you down, bracing himself on one arm as he leans over you.

And suddenly the sky is just him.

Broad shoulders blocking out the sun. Blue eyes fixed on yours.

Your heart is racing now.

He produces a flower from somewhere and holds it up between you.

“This okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, not entirely sure what you’re agreeing to but trusting him completely.

The flower touches your shoulder first. Barely there.

Then it traces down your arm in a slow, deliberate path.

Your breath catches as he draws it across your collarbone, down over your sternum, the touch feather-light and so gentle.

You feel it ghost over your stomach.

Your hip.

The outside of your thigh.

You’re not even sure you’re breathing anymore.

“You’re beautiful,” Varka murmurs, voice so low it’s almost lost in the breeze.

You flush, laughing despite the way your pulse is thundering. “You’re not so bad yourself. Handsome. Strong.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Apparently skilled with a flower.” You smile at him. “Doesn’t have to be just a flower, you know.”

Varka’s breath leaves him in something close to a laugh. Low and slightly strained, like you’ve just undone him a little.

The flower disappears somewhere into the grass. Then his hand is there instead.

It settles on your thigh and your breath stops entirely. He doesn’t move it, doesn’t do anything except let it rest there. Warm and steady.

You feel it like a brand.

“This okay?” he asks again, and there’s something rougher in his voice now.

You nod.

“Need you to say it.”

“Yes,” you manage, and your voice comes out breathier than intended. “Yes, it’s okay.”

His hand stays where it is, thumb brushing against your leg in an absent gesture.

His other hand comes up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone once before his palm settles against the side of your neck. Like he’s grounding both of you.

You can feel your pulse jumping beneath his touch.

“I was thinking about waiting a little longer,” Varka says quietly, eyes searching yours. “But my birthday’s coming up soon, and it made me think.”

“Yeah?” You can barely get the word out.

“Mm.” The corner of his mouth lifts—not quite a smile, something more vulnerable than that. “Made me realize I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He shifts, and suddenly his weight is pressing you gently into the grass, his legs bracketing yours, caging you in without trapping you. You feel surrounded by him. His warmth, his size, his presence.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is gentle at first. Warm and sure and tender.

You gasp softly against his lips and kiss him back eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

He makes a low and pleased sound, and the kiss deepens.

His hand tightens on your thigh, and suddenly the gentleness shifts into something hungrier.

You pull him closer, fingers tightening in his hair, and feel him smile against your mouth before he tilts his head and kisses you harder. His hand slides from your neck to cradle the back of your head, the other hand still gripping your thigh.

The world narrows to just this. His mouth on yours, his hands holding you, the grass soft beneath your back and the sky vast overhead.

When you part for breath, it’s only for a moment.

Varka kisses along your jaw, down the line of your throat, and you feel the scrape of his teeth against your skin. A shiver runs through you, and his answering exhale is warm and rough against your neck.

“Varka—” His name comes out breathless, and he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide, and there’s something fierce in his expression that makes your stomach flip.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice low and rough.

“Yes,” you manage. “More than okay.”

He makes a sound low in his throat—satisfaction mixed with something that sounds like relief—and then he’s kissing you again. Deeper this time. More demanding.

His weight settles more fully against you, warm and solid and overwhelming in the best way.

You arch into him, hands sliding from his hair to his shoulders, his back, trying to pull him even closer. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound goes straight through you.

His hand slides from your thigh to your waist, fingers spreading wide like he wants to touch as much of you as possible. The other hand is still cradling your head, holding you to him like you’re something precious he refuses to let go of.

The kiss breaks again and you’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“I’ve wanted this,” Varka says quietly, roughly. “Wanted you. For so long.”

Your heart clenches. “Me too.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and then he’s kissing you again. Slower this time but no less intense. Like he’s savoring it. Like he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second.

You lose track of time in the warmth of him, the steady pressure of his mouth on yours, the way his hands move over you. Always checking, always careful, but growing bolder with each kiss.

When you finally break apart again, the sun has shifted lower in the sky, painting everything gold.

Varka’s looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Worth the wait?” you ask breathlessly.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Absolutely,” he murmurs. “Though I’m starting to think I should’ve done this weeks ago.”

You smile, hands still tangled in his hair, and pull him down for another kiss.

“Better late than never.”

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: So this got… more heated than I initially planned. It almost escalated completely, but I’m saving that energy for future fics. (Yes, there are more drafts. Yes, the Varka brainrot continues. No, I’m not sorry.) 💙

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles someone about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami, and geto laughing haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe away a thin trail of blood. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker, and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to pan to the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out insticntively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles someone about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami, and geto laughing haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe away a thin trail of blood. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker, and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to pan to the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out insticntively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.