Ham🐷

“I know, lovely. It’s Remus.” He calls through the door. “Can I come in?”

If you truly don’t want him to, he’ll go find someone else to try until you do let someone in. Luckily though you let out some sort of affirmative sounding nose and he takes it as his cue to step in.

His heart pinches. You really do look a sorry sight, all bleary eyed with rumpled clothes that have twisted where you're slumped down next to the toilet. Remus’ knees give a few great cracks and creaks as he lowers himself to sit beside on the floor. 

“Oh, honey.” he coos, raising a hand to sweep across your back. There was a time not that long ago that he might’ve hesitated to touch you. Every accidental brush of your hands, every shoulder bump, every hug goodbye had required careful deliberation. He’d worried that wanting to touch you so badly would somehow make every touch selfish. But somewhere along the way it all became easy.

The feeling of his hand on your back seems to be all you need to abandon your slouched position against the toilet and fall back into him. His chest to your back, solid and warm, and after a brief, clumsy fumble, your hands find his. You're looking at his hands intently as you start to play with his fingers. Remus can hardly breathe, this isn’t quite the caliber of easy touches you’ve both been handing out recently, it’s quite a lot more. It might as well be a cuddle if it hadn't been preceded by your sickness. Remus’ ears start to pinken. 

“Hi Rem,” you drawl lazily. “You ‘kay?”

“M’okay,” he assures you with a little laugh. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, jus’ tired. Think I got the bad bit out.”

“That’s good.” He says, freeing one of his hands to run it up and down your bicep soothingly. 

You go lax in his arms easily and without thinking. Happy to be engulfed in the warmth that radiates from Remus and ignore the faint bass from the music that flows through the door. With your head tipped against his shoulder, the party comes back to you and guilt builds in your gut.

Remus shouldn't be in here looking after you just because you're a lightweight. He should be out there having a nice time with everyone, or more likely, having a nice time with a drink in hand while he observes everyone else’s madness.

“You should…” You hiccup. “...go back out there, I'll be fine.”

You try to sit up, away from his arms but you don’t get very far before he’s pulling you back. He’s gentle but firm enough to stop you wobbling sideways.

“I’m happy here, lovely.” He says. “I’d only be looking for you out there anyway.”

Remus really hopes you take his words for what they are, the truth, without needing further explanation. That further explanation involves admitting to things he thinks you should only hear sober.

“Okay.” A huge yawn is pulled from your lips as your head tips back to rest on his shoulder with eyes closed.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Remus asks. His question makes you turn in his arms to face him. Your eyes are glassy and half lidded as you take in his face, figuring out your answer with an inebriated brain.

“With you?”

“No, not tonight.” He laughs breathlessly. “In your own bed.”

Your brows pinch together.

“But some other night?” 

The question makes Remus shy. He wonders if you think about sharing a bed with him normally. Whether, when you aren’t several drinks deep, the idea has ever crossed your mind too. He’s leaning towards thinking you have.

If you asked him while completely sober, he suspects his answer would arrive far too quickly.

“C’mon.” He murmurs, carefully sidestepping the question. 

He slowly disentangles you both and stands before bending to settle his hands on your waist to help you as you wobble upright. 

“Let’s get some water and maybe a bit of bread.” he smiles. “and we’ll get you to bed.”

Remus Lupin was an idiot. A colossal, eavesdropping, heartbroken, fool of an idiot. 

Because only an idiot could stand there and listen to – eavesdrop on – the girl he was madly in love with talking with such passion about her feelings for someone else. Someone that wasn’t him. 

His heart bled a little at the thought. 

It was a complete accident, really, how this had happened. You were with Marlene and Lily, sat in the courtyard on the bench beside the large oak tree, with absolutely no idea that he was on the other side of it, back pressed against the bark, book completely forgotten in his lap, his desperate attempt at solitude turned into an exercise of torture. 

He could get up and leave – he ought to get up and leave – but then you would see him and you would call him over and ask him how his day was and lay your head on his shoulder with no idea that every breath you took and every loving word out of your mouth were like daggers slowly peeling his skin from his bones. 

He took a shuddering breath, pressing his head back against the tree trunk, eyes screwed firmly shut. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could block it out. He knew immediately that it was futile – it was you, there was no blocking you out. His body was attuned to every move you made, every sweet word from your lips. He couldn’t ignore you even if he tried. 

And so he sat, and waited, and prayed for it to end so that he could crawl back to his dorm and do something entirely unmanly like cry.

“And his eyes. Have you seen them?” You continued, entirely oblivious to the metaphorical daggers you were throwing his way. “I’ve never seen eyes like them.”

“I will admit, he does have nice eyes,” Lily agreed. Traitor. “I’ve never seen that shade of brown before.”

“Like getting lost in a forest.” Your voice was wistful in a way that had Remus’s heart clenching, and he pressed his hand against his chest to try to soothe the ache of it all. 

“I will say,” Lily continued. “He is rather handsome. He’s tall…”

“So tall,” you said. “I’d have to tug him down by his hair to kiss him.”

“You’ll give him a hunchback by the age of thirty,” Marlene scoffed.

“If the person I’m in love with develops a hunchback for the sole reason that they’ve spent so long kissing me, then I have done my job well.”

In love with. The words echoed sharply in his mind, pulsing against every crevice of his thoughts until he couldn’t escape them, until they were all he could hear. You were in love with someone. You, perfect and kind, generous and loving, so beautiful it hurt, were in love. 

Oh god, he would take a thousand full moons over the way he was feeling right now.

“Or you could just, ya know, climb him. Like a tree,” Lily suggested, snickering. 

“That too.”

“Yeah,” Marlene said thoughtfully. “Honestly, I get it. He’s hot. Nice hair, nice arms, and he’s got that whole rugged and mysterious vibe about him.”

Rugged and mysterious. If there were two things that Remus Lupin wasn’t.

“He does have nice hair,” Lily agreed. “I have no idea how he makes it so fluffy. Do you think it would be weird if I asked for his haircare routine?”

“I think it would make Sirius jealous that you were going to anyone but him for haircare advice,” Marlene snickered.

“And he’s so gentle, too,” you continued. “Have you seen how kind he is with everyone? Always putting other people first, helping others with their homework, sitting with people when they need someone to talk to.”

“Not to mention how he is with you.” Marlene hummed idly, her voice teasing. “We’ve all seen the heart eyes aimed your way.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, but there was a note of hope to your voice that had Remus wanting to curl up and sink into the earth. “He doesn’t have heart eyes.”

“He most certainly does with you. You’d have to be blind to miss it. And he’s always going out of his way to help you with stuff. Carrying your bag, bringing your favourite snacks to your study sessions in case you get hungry, always giving you hugs and forehead kisses and ugh, you two are sickening and you’re not even together.”

Hugs? Forehead kisses? Oh, he was going to be sick. The thought of someone else touching you like that, of holding you the way he did, of knowing the soft feel of you under their arm and the press of you against their skin, had him wanting to break things. 

But he and you were purely platonic. Close friends who happened to both be tactile people. He, touch starved and desperate for affection, you, the epitome of a human ball of sunshine sharing love with the mindless press of your lips against cheeks and the gentle squeeze of palms in a way that was purely platonic and yet had his insides melting every damn time. 

If you and this person were together, those touches would have to stop. He’d have to let go of the feeling of you beside him, put a stop to the way he would foolishly take your hand between classes or the way you would lean against him in the common room when the fire was low and sleep hung in the air like a weighted blanket.

“I just…” you said wistfully. “God, I just want to kiss him so badly.”

His stomach soured. Bile rose up his throat, and he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. 

His gaze caught on the scars on the back of them, and the sight of them made him irrationally angry. Of course you didn’t want him. His skin was a web of pain and trauma, a map of angry slashes and wounds that had left both physical and mental marks, etching themselves so deep into body and soul that they would never go away. 

As if you could hear his thoughts, your voice drifted over to him again. “He just deserves so much. He goes through so much pain, and I just wish I could be there for him, do things to make it better for him.”

He had never quite felt anything like the way his soul was drowning now. Whoever this was, this mysterious handsome stranger with a troubled past, was someone you wanted to help. Did you want to press your lips to their scars like you sometimes did with Remus’s? Did you want to brush away their tears and tell them they were loved, just as you did with him? 

He hated the thought of it. Hated it so desperately he couldn’t breathe. 

“The scars are hot too,” Marlene continued. 

“Marlene!”

“What?” She asked defensively. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not,” you conceded. “You’re really not. But… they must have hurt so badly. I don’t want to make light of that just because they only add to his attractiveness.”

Lily scoffed. “God, you’re so sweet. No wonder he’s into you.”

Remus, as much as it pained him, wholeheartedly agreed. You were so sweet, so pure – he wondered what you thought of him, of the web of pain marring his body. Whoever this person was, their few scars must have been nothing to his. He had never come across anyone at Hogwarts who looked like him, and the thought had his stomach sinking.

“He’s not into me,” you said, and yes, there it was, the sadness Remus would have done anything to erase from your voice. 

Whoever this person was, they were a fool. How could they not be into you, love every facet of you, every smile, every laugh, every frown, every tear. How could anyone be anything but desperately in love with you?

He needed to leave. He couldn’t be there a second longer, listening to you gush about this person as if they were the greatest thing to ever walk the earth. His hands were shaking as he pressed down against the grass, ready to lift himself up, when Lily spoke up again. 

“So, are you going to tell him?”

Remus froze.

“... I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, meek, and Remus strained to hear you, his heart pounding in his chest. “I want to. But I don’t know if he likes me like… that. And we’re such good friends, what if I ruin it by asking and he doesn’t actually want anything to do with me?”

It was horrible, absolutely horrible, that Remus was praying for that to happen. That whoever this person was would absolutely lose their mind (because what sane person would reject you?) and say no, and he could be the one to console you, to hold you close.

He hated himself for it. You deserved to be happy, damnit, regardless of who it was with, even the very thought of it had him wanting to throw up.

“Trust me,” Lily said gently. “He’s into you. He’d be out of his mind to say no. I have never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you.”

That was a lie. Remus was fairly certain his own eyes formed literal love hearts whenever they settled on you. 

“You have to tell him,” Marlene agreed. “Listen, if he says no then he says no. You two are too good friends to let that ruin anything. Him saying no is better than you saying nothing and regretting it for the rest of your days.”

“That’s true.” Your words had his heart sinking like a stone in his chest. “Okay,” you agreed. “Tonight. I’ll tell him tonight.”

Tears rose unbidden to his eyes, wetting his cheeks before he could stop them. That was it, then. It was over. He had lost you before he had the chance to really have you, because no one in their right mind would ever say no to a chance with you, and that meant that he would never get the chance to feel your lips on his, to run his hands through your hair as your head lay on his chest, to love you so wholly and completely that it would ruin him and he would love every second of it. 

He wouldn’t be able to stomach it, seeing you with someone else. Watching you kiss them, hold them, love them. He couldn’t bear it.

Mind made up, he wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper and took a deep breath. He would just have to find a way to move on from you, to create a separation big enough that seeing you with another man maybe wouldn’t hurt so much. Even if that meant he had to distance himself from you to do it.

—

The common room was loud, a riot of laughter and bangs, of quills scratching across parchment, of chatter incessantly buzzing against the walls and settling into the very bones of the tower. 

Remus could hardly hear it, his eyes fixed bleakly on the fire, his entire body heavy as he sank further into the armchair he had tried to find solace in. He could feel the heat of the flames against his skin, and yet their warmth did little to soothe the cold that had settled into his core and refused to move. 

James and Sirius were playing a game of exploding snap on the rug in front of him, Peter lay stretched out on the sofa eagerly watching, making appropriate sounds of awe that James and Sirius seemed to thoroughly enjoy. It should have made him happy, being surrounded by the smiling faces of his closest friends, settled into an atmosphere that reeked of joy and peace.

He felt anything but, and Sirius was beginning to notice.

“Oi, Moony,” he said after a moment of studying him, his dark brows furrowed. “What’s got you being such a sour wolf?”

“Very funny, Pads,” he said, unable to get rid of the heaviness to his voice, lulling the words into a dejected rasp. 

“Seriously, mate,” James said as he turned on the rug, leaning against the side of the armchair. His glasses reflected the light from the flames, giving his dark eyes a shine that reeked of concern. “You’ve been down all afternoon. You feeling alright? Something happen?”

Remus was blessedly spared from answering by the opening of the portrait hole, and his heart sank deep into his stomach as you and the girls walked in. 

James, spotting Lily, immediately straightened and reached for his hair, embarking in the hopeless quest of getting it to lie flat. “Y’alright, Evans?” He asked eagerly.

Lily, grinning from ear to ear, nudged you. His heart fluttered in a desperate panic as you made your way over to their group. Your cheeks were red, your teeth worrying your lower lip. Your eyes, wide and panicked, were darting around the space, refusing to land on him.

Remus’s throat went tight. His hands were shaking, so he hid them in the folds of his jumper, trying to resist the urge to flee. The room felt too hot, suddenly, stuffy in a way that had him unable to breathe properly. 

He couldn’t seem to look away from you – you looked nervous, your shoulders hunched slightly, as if you were sinking into yourself. Had you done it yet? Surely if you had, you wouldn’t be back here, sitting with your friends. If they had said yes, like he just knew they would, then surely you would still be with them – god knew if you were ever foolish enough to give him a chance, Remus wouldn’t let go of you for all the world.

That you were here had to be a bad sign, didn’t it? Had they said no? What kind of idiot would say no? Then again, it was late, maybe you had been with them and left to avoid getting caught out after dark, maybe that nervousness was leftover anxiety or god what if he was reading it wrong and you were blushing because you had just spent however long with the object of your affection, doing things that the very thought of had his stomach turning in disgust.

Please, he thought desperately, ripping his eyes away from you, please, go away. 

He couldn’t stand it.

“Go on,” he heard Lily whisper, and looked up right as she nudged you forwards. Towards him. 

Your eyes met his at last, your chest rising and falling rapidly in a way that spoke of nerves. Your blush intensified – he wanted to kiss it, press his lips to your cheeks to soothe the heat – and you were fidgeting with your fingers. 

“Remus, can I, uh…” You trailed off, looking back at Lily and Marlene quickly. They nodded, grinning. “Can I talk to you, please?” There was a moment of heavy silence. “Alone?”

Remus couldn’t breathe. 

So you had told them, and you had come to tell him that the touching had to stop, that the easy friendship he had found with you would have to change. His heart tightened at the thought that you felt it necessary to tell him, that you cared enough to pull him aside and tell him politely that things would have to change. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t stand the thought of that conversation, of your pitying eyes and furrowed brow. Maybe you’d even hug him, say sorry, say–

“I’m going to bed.” The words ripped out of him before he could stop them.

Six pairs of eyes landed on him, all filled with varying levels of shock and disappointment. 

Your shoulders fell, your teeth sinking into your lower lip again. “Oh. Um… is there any chance we could–”

“I’m tired.” He stood abruptly, the movement too harsh, too jerky, and you flinched as he stepped around the armchair, away from you. He couldn’t bear to watch your face crumble like that, and tore his eyes away from you, settling them instead on the staircase that led to the dorms, to isolation, to loneliness. 

“Right.” Your voice was thready and thin. “Right. Sure. Another time, then.”

He nodded numbly, his eyes burning. 

He had never needed to get away from somewhere so badly. He moved towards the staircases, completely missing the anger on Lily and Marlene’s faces, your defeated expression, and the sighs of disappointment coming from the other Marauders.

—

Sleep did not come easy to him.

He lay there for an hour, tossing and turning, unable to get your face out of his mind. The hope in your voice, the curve of your lips, the shine to your eyes. You haunted every crevice of his mind, and he had no idea how to stop it. 

When the door creaked open at last, and Sirius, James, and Peter entered the room, he didn’t say anything, remaining silent behind the drawn curtains of his bed, his futile attempt to block out the world. 

He had expected laughter. Had expected teasing remarks, or the tail end of a conversation from downstairs, or even tired yawns. He hadn’t expected the silence to meet him back, settling in the room so heavily he could feel it as a tangible weight on his chest.

Finally, when the light shuffling of them getting ready for bed stopped, and darkness descended over the room, Sirius’s whispered voice cut through the air. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Remus knew it was aimed at him. “An absolute idiot.”

Remus didn’t respond, couldn’t respond through the burning in his eyes and throat. Instead, he rolled over, letting the tears escape, and pressed his face into the pillow.

—

Hours turned into days, and days into a week, until Remus had become so used to fleeing a room when you entered it that it had become second nature to grab his bag and all but leg it the second you stepped foot into wherever he had found himself. 

But just because time had passed didn’t mean that avoiding you had become any easier. He wasn’t sleeping, his appetite all but gone, and his chest felt so tight that he had been to Madam Pomfrey twice to see if she could give him anything to ease it. She had smiled sadly and told him that her expertise was limited to physical ailments, and that was that.

He had hoped it would ease, that time would melt the agony into something softer, and yet nothing changed. Every glimpse of you cleaved him in two, every thought of you had his heart clenching, every missed study date and class spent sitting on the opposite side of the room to you felt like absolute torture that he didn’t know how to part with.

Every time his resistance crumbled, or you sent a wavering smile his way, or tried to speak to him and he almost gave in to the urge to just stay, he reminded himself of the alternative. Of seeing you with someone else, of having to watch you fall harder in love with someone that wasn’t him, of watching you go to Hogsmeade together and hold hands on the snowy paths, do all the things with you that he wanted desperately to do. 

Granted he hadn’t seen you with anyone else, but that was likely just because he wasn’t looking at you all that much nowadays. He couldn’t, not without sparking the urge to go fill his pockets with stones and walk straight into the Black Lake.

Not that you hadn’t tried to talk to him. It had started off the way it usually was – happy, wide smile aimed at him, eyes bright if not nervous, voice gentle. “Hey Rem! Can we talk for a second?” turned to “Remus, can, uh, can I talk to you? Please?” to “Remus… are you okay?”

You had stopped trying – or rather, he hadn’t given you the opportunity to try again.

He rubbed his hand tiredly over his eyes, leaning against one of the stacks in the library, letting the quiet soothe the headache that had started up behind his eyes a few hours before. The lack of sleep was starting to get to him – every time he came even close to drifting off he would remember that look on your face, the happiness in your voice when you spoke about that person, the stabbing pain in his chest every time he had to avoid you.

Maybe Madam Pomfrey could help with this – she dealt with students who couldn’t sleep all the time, and he wouldn’t mind some time spent blissfully unconscious when he didn’t have to think about anything.

“I just don’t get it!” Someone spoke from behind the stacks. He recognised the voice almost immediately as Marlene, and shrank back further into the shadows. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right then. He didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t curling up in bed to sleep for a year or two.

“Marlene, please don’t.” 

Remus damn near fell over.

It was the closest he had been to you in what felt like an eternity, and the sound of your voice was like a gutpunch. Oh god, he needed to get out, needed to get away before he did something stupid like hug you from behind and apologize and tell you he loved you until he was breathless from confessing.

“I’m serious!” Marlene continued, and he could hear the annoyance in her tone from there. “I don’t get why he’s acting this way. He’s clearly into you, and–”

“Marlene, please just drop it.”

How was this his life? Remus cursed under his breath, lowering his head into his hands. This was twice now he had accidentally ended up eavesdropping on you, and twice now that said eavesdropping had him hearing more than he wanted to about this mysterious person that you were so in love with.

He had clearly angered someone in a past life if this was the karma he was subject to. 

“No, Marlene’s right.” And there was Lily, just to complete his torment. “He’s being a right twat. He has no right to treat you the way he has been, he’s supposed to be your friend before anything else.”

Remus stiffened, fingers tight against the bookshelf to this right. Was this person not treating you right? Was that why you had been so hellbent on talking to him recently; you’d been trying to tell him that you were upset?

He swore right then and there that whoever this bastard was, if he was hurting you, then Remus would put him in the goddamn ground.

“I don’t want to talk about him. Clearly you were wrong and he doesn’t feel that way about me. Why else he would be acting like this?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Marlene grumbled. 

“I just… I miss him.” The tears clogging your voice had Remus’s jaw clenching alongside his heart. 

God, he wanted nothing more than to drag you into his arms and hold you, to tell you that everything would be okay and that he loved you and that no matter what other twats didn’t want you, he did. 

“I miss him so much.”

“Come on, honey,” Lily said gently. “Let’s go back to the common room, settle down. Or we could sneak down to the kitchens, get some food.”

“Not hungry,” you said quietly.

“Baby,” Marlene tutted, “you can’t just wait here forever.”

“It’s just… this is where we sit, sometimes. Where he meets me. I don’t wanna leave in case he comes to find me.”

There was a ringing silence, and he didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know what they were thinking: whoever this was, they weren’t coming. Remus felt sick to his stomach at the thought of you sat there waiting, alone.

Marlene and Lily left, and he could hear you shuffling in your seat. He wanted so desperately to go sit with you, to just be with you. God, he missed you so much he couldn’t breathe with it. 

Was this to be his life, going forward? What did it even matter if whoever this was wasn’t showing the same interest in you that you were in them? At what point did he crawl back to you on his hands and knees, beg for forgiveness, and try to kiss away the wounds this person had left on you through their absence?

Stomach soured, he slumped back against the bookshelf, content to just listen to you breathe, knowing in his gut that moving on wasn't working at all.

—

It all came to a head one rainy Monday morning, in the quiet gap between waking and breakfast.

The other Marauders had already left the dorm, shooting him grim smiles as they left, promising to meet him down at the Great Hall. Perhaps they had sensed that he needed some time alone, or perhaps he was simply taking too long, tugging on his robes with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking after another night of tossing and turning. 

He was just shoving his shoes onto his feet when the knock came at the door, completely unexpected. 

He froze, staring at it, baffled. No one knocked on the door. James, Sirius, and Peter just walked right in, and anyone else who wanted to talk to him would just wait down in the common room.

Slowly, his insides twisting, Remus cleared his throat and reached for the handle. The door swung open with a creak, and everything inside him unravelled at the sight of you on the other side. Hands shaking, hair a mess, uniform crooked, you had never looked more beautiful than you did then, staring at him with your brow furrowed and your hands tucked behind your back.

“Remus.” Your tone was curt, quiet, holding a thousand emotions he was terrified to decipher. 

He couldn’t speak, this throat tight. It was for the best – he didn’t trust himself to talk to you right now. If he opened his mouth, the only thing that would come out of it was a harried ‘I love you’, and he couldn’t do that to you, not when you were likely here to confront him on his behaviour, not when you were in love with and still hurt over someone else.

“Can we talk?” You asked quietly, and judging by the look on your face you weren’t about to take no for an answer. 

Every emotion, every ounce of pain and exhaustion, seemed to slam into him at once, and suddenly Remus didn’t care that being around you was only going to make those feelings worse. He just needed you, just needed to be around you even for a second, and he nodded gruffly as he opened the door further, allowing you to step inside. 

He had never been more aware of his unmade bed, or the pyjamas strung over the headboard, or the opened trunk beside the bedside table that was littered with spare parchment and candle snubs. 

You took it all in, something achingly soft on your face that messed with his heart, before your eyes landed on him, soaking in every detail. He shuddered to think of what you must be seeing. He hadn’t looked at a mirror in days, unable to stand the sight of his own reflection. 

“You look tired,” you said eventually, and his eyes slipped shut without him meaning to. 

“Yeah.” His voice was gruff, raspy with disuse, and he cleared it hastily. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

He had never hated silence so much in his life. It had never been this awkward around you two, and for the life of him he didn’t know what to do with it. 

“I wasn’t going to come up here,” you said quietly. “But Marlene and Lily stole my shoes and said they wouldn’t give them back until I did.”

Remus glanced down and noticed that you were, indeed, shoeless, your grey socks stark against the wooden floor. He would be having words with Marlene and Lily.

“Right,” was all he could say.

He felt restless, just standing in front of you like that, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move either, drinking in the sight of you like a drowning man would stare longingly at land – too far to get to, yet close enough to hope.

You swallowed, your eyes glassy, and for one horrifying moment Remus thought you were going to cry. “You’ve been avoiding me.” You didn’t give him the chance to respond. “I would like to know why. Please.” 

He almost smiled at the forced politeness, how you couldn’t bring yourself to be rude even though he deserved every bit of your ire. And then the demand sank in, and he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump there. It didn’t work.

He didn’t want to lie to you. The last thing he wanted was to lie to you. And yet he didn’t know how to tell you the truth either. 

“I don’t know how to tell you,” he said roughly, shoving his hands into his pockets. God, Sirius and James would throttle him if they could see him now.

You winced, as if his words had confirmed something for you. “That’s okay.” Your voice was shaky. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”

The floor could have fallen out from under him and it would have had the same effect as your words. 

“What?”

“I already know. You don’t need to tell me, I already know you don’t feel the same way I do.”

Oh God, and there it was. Was it possible to physically feel your heart shatter? Remus swore it was, and his entire body reacted to the blow of your words, shoulders curving inwards, jaw tightening to stave off tears. 

You knew that he was in love with you. And you didn’t feel the same.

“Dove, I–”

“But just because you’re not in love with me doesn’t give you the right to just–”

“What?” His head snapped up. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” you said stubbornly, and there was anger in your eyes now amongst the hurt, anger that had his head swimming and his palms sweating because there was no possible way you had said what you just said. “And just because you were too much of a coward to turn me down nicely doesn’t mean you can just ice me out like–”

“You’re in love with me?” His voice cracked around the words. For a moment he regretted saying them, because saying them out loud would give you the opportunity to take them back, and he wanted to cradle them to his heart so desperately for as long as he could.

But then your eyes went wide, and something like horror crossed your face. “You… didn’t know?” Once again, you didn’t let him respond. “Oh god. Oh god, so you weren’t ignoring me because you– you didn’t– please excuse me whilst I go throw myself from the Astronomy tower–”

“But… I don’t understand.” 

His entire world had just come crumbling down, the foundations of everything he knew, everything he feared, rattling and falling until he no longer knew which way was up or what to do with himself. His hands were sweating, and he wiped them on his trousers.

“I heard you,” he said, his voice urgent and desperate as he took a step forward. “In the courtyard, with Lily and Marlene. I was there, I heard you. You were talking about this guy, this person you were in love with, and–”

“I was talking about you!” 

His entire world narrowed down to you, to the fire in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks. He stepped forward, to do what he wasn’t sure – shake you? Question your sanity? Kiss the living daylights out of you? 

“But in the library, you were–”

“I was waiting for you! That’s where we always meet, where we study, where we sit together. And I thought you would… I don’t know, I thought you would come find me and explain or something.”

You were waiting for him. You were talking about him.

“You were talking about… me?”

“Of course I was! Seriously, Remus, I described you to a T and just because you don’t feel the same doesn’t mean that you had any right to–”

“I love you.” The words ripped themselves out of him. 

You froze. Your chest rose and fell sharply, your eyes glistening. “... What?”

“I love you,” he repeated, and it was as if a great weight had lifted off his shoulders, something inside him loosening and allowing air into his lungs for the first time since he sat against that tree. “I love you so much, I don’t know how to breathe with it.”

Your hands were shaking. “Then… why? Why would you act like this? You haven’t spoken to me in a week, you’ve avoided me every chance you could get, you acted like I didn’t exist, Remus, that’s not… that’s not how you treat someone you love.”

The air ripped out of him, and he reached out to you blindly, hands settling on your cheeks. The smoothness of your skin beneath his rough palms had him dizzy with need, with longing, with everything he had missed so fiercely.

“I thought you were in love with someone else,” he implored. “The way you were talking about him, you sounded so enamoured, and it killed me because you were going to tell him that night and–”

But you had tried to tell him, hadn’t you? And he had been so caught up in his misery that he didn’t notice the signs. You weren’t blushing and nervous because you had spent the evening with another man, you were blushing and nervous because you were about to tell him – him, Remus Lupin – that you were in love with him.

His heart tripped over itself in attempt to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain. 

“And it didn’t cross your mind for one second that I was talking about you?”

It hadn’t. It honest to god, truly hadn’t, because surely there was no way that someone as perfect as you could want someone as broken and damaged, as scarred, as he? Surely you, beautiful and kind and loving, deserved someone better than him, who had to crawl into a tunnel once a month to scream and tear the skin from his bones.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think it was possible that you could– that you could feel that way about me. The things you said, I’m not– I’m not–”

Hearing the incredulity in his voice, you reached for his hand, and his fingers spasmed in your grip as you led him towards the mirror. When he realised what you were doing he froze, shaking his head, but you tugged him forward anyway, until the two of you stood side by side, hands interlinked between you.

Remus couldn’t look away from your hands in the mirror, his so much larger and rougher than yours, so scarred in comparison to your smooth skin. You leant up on your tiptoes, lips brushing his ear, and a shudder rolled down his spine.

“What did I say?” You asked. “About this person I’m in love with?”

He swallowed heavily, the words etched into his memory – they had haunted him every minute of the last week. “Dove, why–”

“What did I say?”

“You…” His throat was tight again. “You complimented their eyes. Said they were a shade of brown you’ve never seen before. Like… like getting lost in a forest.”

You dragged your fingers up his cheeks, thumbs smoothing over his eyelids when they fluttered shut. The touch was a soothing balm against every ache that he harboured in his heart. 

“What else?” Your voice was little more than a whisper. 

“You called them – me – handsome.”

Your fingers ghosted over his cheeks, brushing the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw. His lips parted on a ragged exhale.

“Open your eyes.”

He did, tentatively, and the sight of your hands on his face in the reflection had his knees weakening. “You said they were tall. So tall you’d give them a hunchback just from pulling them down to kiss you…”

Your fingers moved upwards, thumbs brushing his ears as you buried your hands in his hair, guiding him gently down until his nose brushed yours. He slouched, letting you guide him, his entire world narrowing down to the shape of your lips where they hovered just inches away from yours. 

You grinned, as if you had just proved something monumental to yourself, the pad of your thumb brushing along his scalp in a way that had him melting in your grip. 

“What else?” 

“You called them rugged and mysterious,” his voice was embarrassingly breathy. “Said that they had nice hair, fuck–” You tightened your grip on his hair, and it took everything in him to keep his eyes on yours, watching every flash of joy and mischief and love clash in them.

“Lily still wants your haircare routine.”

“State secret,” he said with a crooked smile, although he doubted there was anything he would keep from you if you just kept looking at him like that. 

“What else?” You asked, and although he had absolutely no idea where you were going with this, he found himself replying anyway. 

His hands felt heavy at his sides, and he reached up to ghost them over your waist, not quite making contact, terrified to touch you in case it would make this moment – this beautiful, perfect moment that he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t a dream – end.

“You said they were gentle. Kind. Would carry your books, pack your favourite snacks, and would kiss your forehead–” and fuck, he did do all that. It had been so mindless, taking care of you, so natural to him that for you to praise it like you had felt so monumental that you must have been talking about someone else, but no. “You said their…”

And that’s when he trailed off. His tongue felt heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to speak the words.

“Say it, Remus,” you said gently.

He shook his head, hating himself for the tears in his eyes, and you brushed your nose against his so carefully it was as if you were worried he would fall to pieces in your palms. “Say it.”

“You said that– you said that their– my–”

“Say it.”

“That my scars were… attractive…” The last word was spoken as a curse. 

You pulled away, and a pathetic noise of displeasure ripped itself from his throat as his hands spasmed. This was it, he thought miserably. This was where the other shoe dropped. 

His eyes slid shut, unable to stand the sight of you walking away from him, but your fingers curled under his chin, guiding his face upwards instead. 

“Look at the mirror.”

“Dove…”

“Look at the mirror, Remus.” 

He forced himself to open his eyes and looked at his reflection, seeing everything he hated about himself on full display. The gangly limbs, the pale freckled skin, the scars. There were so many of them, slashed across the bridge of his nose, down his hairline, up his jaw. 

The tears in his eyes spilled over, and he had never felt more vulnerable in his life than he did when you reached up to brush them away with your thumbs, your own eyes glassy as you stared up at him with so much love. He didn’t take his eyes off his reflection, trying to see what you saw when you looked at him, trying to understand how anyone could think that such an ugly part of him could be attractive.

You slowly ran your finger across the scar on the bridge of his nose, and his breath was shuddery as he resisted the urge to back away. He didn’t want you touching them. Touching them would make them real, and you would see them for what they were: a reflection of the darkest parts of himself.

“You are so, so brave…” Your words were little more than an adoring whisper. “Your scars are your story, Remus. Each slash and mark on your skin is a reminder of all the times I could have lost you and didn’t. A reminder of everything you’ve had to face and came out stronger for it, a reminder of everything you continue to endure and still be the man that you are today.”

He shook his head, shoulders heaving, chest cracked open, raw and vulnerable, but you didn’t let him talk.

“They’re your strength. Your resilience. I could never hate them.”

You slowly guided his face away from the mirror, reaching up on your tiptoes to press your forehead against his. He gasped, breath ghosting over your skin, the sensation of you against him a heady drug he couldn’t live without. 

“I could never feel anything but love for any part of you.”

Remus sank against you, his entire body heavy, every inch of him feeling so loved he didn’t know how to cope with it. No one had ever looked at him, seen every inch of him in all its terrible glory, and loved him anyway. 

“What else?”

“What?” Remus asked, his mind cloudy, unable to think of anything but you and the smell of your perfume and the feel of your lips so close to his. 

“I said one more thing about them. What did I say?”

“I don’t…” It hit him then, suddenly, and his heart began to race again. “You said… you said you wanted to kiss them.”

“Am I allowed to?” You asked, and there were nerves in your voice, though he couldn’t fathom why. He had been dreaming about this for years, and if you wanted to kiss him the last thing he was going to do was say no.

In fact, the second the words left your lips he knew there was nothing he needed more in life than to feel the press of his lips against yours, and that if it didn’t happen soon he might just die. He nodded mindlessly, eyes slipping shut once more, breath ragged. 

“Please…”

He leant down just as you reached up onto your tiptoes, your lips meeting in the middle in a gentle press that had him exhaling harshly against your mouth. It was everything, everything, he had ever dreamed it would be, slow and soft and so full of love that he could do nothing but sink into you, one hand coming up to cradle your face, the other tangling in your hair, arching your head back to meet him.

You pulled away first, and he chased your lips like they were a lifeline, until you were grinning against him and he couldn’t help but smile back. 

“You love me?” You asked quietly, and Remus laughed breathlessly as he bumped his nose against yours, pressing his lips to yours once more, desperate and heady, trying to convey without words every emotion tucked away in his battered heart.

“So, so much.” He pulled you to him, tucking your head beneath his chin, pressing his lips to the crown of your head over and over again, hardly able to believe that you were there with him like this. 

You sighed happily, pressing your face into robes, and then giggled. “We are definitely late for breakfast.”

“Worth it,” he said immediately. He slouched down once again to press his lips to yours, and then pulled back with a hum. “We’ll have to come up with a solution for this, by the way.”

“Solution for what?”

“How goddamn short you are. As much as I love you, I actually don’t want a hunchback by the time I’m thirty.”

You laughed, slapping at his chest. “Well, I could always, what did Lily say? Climb you like a tree?”

You were going to put him in an early grave, Remus was sure of it. 

He would have responded, when his brain started functioning again, but your stomach interrupted loudly instead. 

You flushed bright red as he laughed, smoothing a hand up and down your spine. “Come on, dove. Let’s get some food in you.”

You nodded, moving towards the door, when you suddenly froze. “Remus?”

“What is it?”

“... I still don’t have any shoes.”

"It was an impulse buy," you say. "You should keep it, actually. I never wear it, and it looks nice on you."

Lily's smile takes on a different quality. One you've seen before, and are too afraid to investigate. "Thanks. Do you want any help there?"

You lower your hand, frowning at the overlarge bump of eyeliner in the middle of your lash line. "I'm useless without Marlene."

"Aren't we all," Lily agrees. She comes to join you in the bathroom. "But I think sometimes it's easier when you're not working on yourself. Can I?"

You turn, passing her the pencil. Lily wets a cloth and takes her face in her hand to hold you still while she cleans off the mess you've made.

"It always looks like I've hardly done anything," you say with your eyes closed, "so I add a bit more, and then I look insane."

"You don't," she chides softly, though there's a smile in her voice. "You look gorgeous, it's just that you can only see the problems. And like I said, it's easier when someone else does this for you."

"Because you have a steadier hand?"

"No." She hardly has to murmur for you to hear, and you're struck, rather abruptly, with the epiphany of how close Lily is to you. Marlene does your eyeliner for you nearly every time you go out, but it's never felt like this. "Perspective."

Lily sweeps the dry side of the cloth across your lid, creating a fresh palate, before setting it down. You open your eyes, catching only a glimpse of her before she cups your face again, liner in hand, and gestures for you to close them.

Your body has caught onto what's happening now, though. Your every nerve thrums with awareness. You feel the brush of faux fur against your leg as she steps closer. The graze of her knuckle as she draws the pencil gently across your lash line. The (perhaps imagined) warmth of her closeness. Your heart flutters in your throat.

"If you wanted," you say, using the opportunity of your closed eyes to muster a bit of courage, "we could just stay here. Then you could go home after two, and Mary would be happy with you."

A pause. "Actually, I wouldn't mind dancing for a while," says Lily. Her hold shifts as she moves to your other eye. "I liked your first idea, though. Maybe we stay for a little while, and then when we're sick of it, come back here for the night."

Her thumb brushes beside your eye, correcting something, and your breath catches. Lily's touch lifts.

"Would that be okay?" she asks.

You blink your eyes open. This close, you can see the flush risen beneath her freckles that you couldn't when she was in your bedroom. You think Lily has to know she's beautiful, but sometimes you wonder if she knows the extent of it. You feel confident that even if she did—if she understood her power to stop hearts, to derail trains of thought and upset swarms of stomach butterflies—she'd only use it for good. That's just who Lily is.

"Yeah," you reply. "That sounds perfect."

"Great." She smiles and brushes a thumb under the corner of your eye again. "Well, done. You look really pretty."

"Thanks to you."

You laugh at his misery. "I love that you're so compassionate, but maybe this could be good for you. You should see what life is like for those of us who make fools of ourselves more regularly."

Remus scoffs. Only when the scene ends does he he uncover his eyes, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. "You're a masochist," he says, munching anxiously.

You lean your head on his shoulder. "You love me anyway."

You get a hum in return, and then Remus' body tenses as more on-screen embarrassment ensues. With little warning, your eyes begin to burn fiercely. You stand and mumble that you're going to the restroom. Remus reaches for the remote.

"No, don't pause it," you say. "I've already seen this part."

You lock the bathroom door behind you. Stare at your reflection in the mirror, like you can stop this before it starts if you're stern enough with yourself. It doesn't work.

An uncomfortable heat builds in your throat as tears form indistinct deltas on your cheeks. You take a piece of toilet paper from the roll to wipe beneath your nose when it starts to run. It was petty and cruel to test Remus, but you keep doing it anyway, and it never goes how you wish it will. You only wanted him to say that he loved you. Even if it was only in agreement.

You make yourself breathe slowly. No sounds escape the bathroom.

When your eyes look normal and you feel like you have a leash on your emotions, you unlock the door. Remus has paused the film. You're self-conscious of the squeak of the sofa as you sit down beside him.

"I told you you didn't have to pause it," you murmur.

"I know," he says, nudging the bowl of popcorn back into your lap, "but you like this film, and I didn't want to watch without you. Is everything okay?"

You're grateful to have the popcorn to avoid giving a full answer. You hum around a mouthful.

Remus pokes your leg, where you've curled up with your cold toes underneath you. Ordinarily you'd stuff them under Remus' thigh while sitting here like this, but you've kept away from him unconsciously. "Cold?"

"Guess so."

Remus hums knowingly, standing. He sets his hand briefly on the top of your head as he passes by, a small gesture of affection. Your heart wrings itself out like a wet rag.

He returns shortly with a pair of your winter socks. You can hardly look at him as he tugs them on for you, breathing out a soft, "Thanks."

"You alright?" he asks, with all the lightness of unsuspicion; he probably assumes you're only tired, or possibly suffering an upset stomach.

You reply that you are, thinking that it's you who should be asking him. Remus doesn't usually beat around the bush, but he has been for weeks with this. If he's going to end things with you, you don't understand why he hasn't done it yet. Why you're sitting here watching films and bantering when he can't bring himself to say that he loves you.

Remus reaches for you. "Come here, then."

It's the simplicity of it that does you in. To be asked for your closeness so casually, and to know that each night you have with him could be the last, and you won't know which it is. Heat floods your sinuses.

You press your lips together hard to keep them from trembling. Remus looks stricken.

"What?" he breathes.

You shake your head, cheeks wet again. "Sorry."

"Did something happen?" His tone is all soft concern. "Lovely, what's wrong?"

"I—"

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Remus drags you into his lap.

"That's alright," he shushes you. "I'm sorry, take your time. You're alright."

It is easier to voice it into the curve of Remus' neck. Even now, his scent is lulling, like home. He holds you steady until you work up the guts.

"I don't think you love me anymore," you whisper.

Remus goes still.

His lack of a denial hollows you out. A rushing fills your ears, and you almost don't hear him when he asks, "Don't I get a say in that?"

You back off from him, confused. Uncaring of your swollen eyes and wet nose.

Remus doesn't look very different. Less of a mess, more hurt than heartbroken, but doubly as confused. His hands settle on your hips. "I think if I'd fallen out of love with you, I'd have noticed," he says.

"You never say it." You don't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does; the wounded bent to Remus' brows deepens.

"I don't?"

"No," you murmur.

"Well, I…" His eyes flit over you, like he's looking for something. You'd give it to him if you knew what it was. "I suppose I didn't think I had to. I thought you knew."

Your voice thins, but you force it out. "Do you still love me?"

"Yes," he breathes. "I thought that was obvious. Do you, still?"

"Of course." It feels awful of him to ask you, as if you haven't spent the past month loving him so loudly, hoping it would echo back at you. "I tell you all the time."

"People can say things they don't mean, sweetheart," he murmurs gently. "Did you mean it?"

Whatever pain breaks across your expression is enough to make Remus flinch, his fingers tightening around your hips. "Of course," you say.

"Okay." Remus' forehead drops to yours. Tears drip from your chin into the space between your bodies. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding hoarse, "that I haven't made you feel loved."

"It's not about how I feel. It's that you never say it."

"I didn't think I had to," he says again, quietly. "I do love you, though. Very much." He finds your hand, rubbing his pinkie against yours. "I don't put on masochistic comedy films for just anyone."

A wet laugh bubbles out of you. It's a joke, but it's true. Remus bears a number of things he ordinarily wouldn't, even for James or Sirius, because you ask him to. He does things you don't ask him for, too. Putting on the kettle just before you get home on chilly evenings, and keeping track of your car's maintenance so he can take it to the mechanic for you. Bringing you a pair of warm socks when he notices your feet are cold.

Remus threads his fingers through yours. "I'm sorry. I can say it more often."

"I think," you hesitate, "I could probably listen better. To when you tell me in your way."

His eyes warm. "I could tell you more, too."

"Maybe just sometimes? So I don't forget."

“Peter!” You scold, smacking his chest as the heat of memory creeps up your neck.

“It’s true!” He muses, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Plus, you call me baby. I think calling you my girl is fair game.”​

A rebuttal rests on the tip of your tongue. If this were any other date with any other guy, you would’ve shot down the playful possessiveness. But this wasn’t any other date with any other guy; this was a date with Peter: your friend and the guy you’ve had a crush on since Betty introduced you to him at the Daily Bugle’s holiday party two years ago. Being his girl was a title you wanted, and if he was willingly bestowing it upon you, you saw no reason to argue against it. “I suppose it is.”

He hums in response, clearly satisfied with your answer. “I forgot to ask, have you been to the restaurant before?”​

You shake your head as the two turn the corner onto your street, “I have not. I’ve been wanting to since I moved into the neighborhood, but hadn't had the chance until you suggested I choose the spot when you called.”​

Peter nods and gives your waist a soft squeeze. “I’m glad we got to try it together. I also had a really great time.”

“Did you, now?”  ​

“I’m with you, how could I not have a good time?”​

“Sweet talker,” you playfully accuse, stepping forward once the red hand of the walking sign changes to the person walking.

“Sweet enough to come upstairs and see your new apartment?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, pleasantly surprised by his ask. “You helped me move in, Pete. You’ve seen my place.”

“But I haven’t seen the place since you furnished it,” he counters.

“I see…so you want the house tour?” You tease as you reach the entrance to your apartment building.​

“I want whatever you’ll let me have, sweetheart.”​

You brace against the brick wall, turning to face him, taking the time to admire the way he looks under the golden glow of the street lights. There was something so romantic about the way he looked standing in front of you in a half-zipped puffer jacket that exposed the white button up and tie he had on underneath, cheeks and nose a little red from the cold air nipping at his face, with his fluffy hair left unstyled in the perfectly messy way it always was. “And if all I want is for you to come inside?”​

Peter grins at your question, stepping closer and resting his hands on your hips. “What are we waiting for then? Lead the way.”​

—

“Take your shoes off, baby. House rules.” You tell him as you unlock the door to your apartment, step inside, and turn on the lights

Peter shuts the door behind him, kicking his shoes and neatly placing them in front of your shoe rack. He glances around the apartment, taking in the open layout of the space and shrugging off his coat. Your cozy little kitchen was the first thing you saw when you walked in. The dark brown cabinets and wooden countertops complemented the many magnets and photographs on your fridge nicely.​

He hangs his coat next to yours and steps further into the apartment, eyes roaming over the pictures before landing on a photo strip of the two of you from when he was your plus one to a friend’s wedding a few months back. He glances over his shoulder at you, watching you unzip your boots, “You know, May took this from my apartment when I told her I finally asked you out to show her book club?”

“I know and I’m honored,” you half joke, putting your boots aside and joining him in the kitchen.

“You know?”​

“May and I gossip, baby. She told me all about nabbing the picture and you refusing to tell her about our dates. And I gotta say she made a shaky but damning case about how she and her friends had been waiting too long for us to get together for you to hold out on them now.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Since when do you gossip with my aunt?”

“Since I called her a few months ago to ask if she wanted to come to the dinner party I threw to celebrate my promotion. It was supposed to be a quick call, but then we started talking about our days, and you and it just spiraled from there. Now we chit chat every other week.”

“So that’s why she stopped asking me about our dates,” he thinks aloud.

You shake your head and reach for his hand, tugging him out of the kitchen, past the small dining table, and into the living room. “Partly. She knows she won’t get anything out of me aside from telling her that the date went well and that you were the gentleman she and your uncle raised you to be.”

“And that’s all you say?” He asks, glancing around at the way you decorated your living room. Everything was so…you. From the sofa to the throw blanket hanging over the arm, to the pillows, to the books scattered across the coffee table, to the framed pieces of artwork mixed in with pictures. Your apartment felt so lived in, considering you moved in only a few weeks prior.  

“I don’t kiss and tell, Parker."​

“I know. I know you don’t,” he responds, taking a seat on the sofa. “I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”

“Do you?” The question rolls off your tongue with ease and affection.​

He looks up at you, the smile on his face widening into a grin as you stand between his legs. “I do,” he affirms, stretching his palms out until they were firmly planted on your hips. “I really really do…definitely a view I can get used to seeing,” he continues, eyeing you up before tugging you into his lap.

Your hands press flat on his chest, pushing him back against the couch just enough for you to readjust your position and comfortably straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips. You lean back on his thighs and admire the dopey smile he was sporting. “If you’re lucky, I might even let you admire the view in the morning too.”

“Yeah?” He questions, tugging you closer and stifling a groan when your hip rolls over his. “And how lucky do I have to be to admire you in the afternoon?”

“My nights, my mornings, and now my afternoons? I’m beginning to think you have a thing for me, Parker.”

A familiar smirk graces his face at your teasing comment. “Am I that transparent?” He asks, sliding his hands down to the curve of your ass and kneading your flesh over the skirt of your dress that was riding up.

“Mhm,” you hum, craning your head down to kiss him.

The kiss, like all your kisses had been, started off slow with his lips moving gently against, letting you set the pace but allowing himself to be a little selfish in the way his hands roamed your body. He caresses your thighs, squeezing them as you start to rock against him.

Peter groans against your mouth, his hands jumping back to your hips to guide your movement, and taking the chance to try and deepen the kiss by running his tongue over your bottom lip.

“So eager,” you mumble, rocking harder against his growing bulge, grinning when he lets out a moan.​

“Can you blame me?” He breathes out, hiking up the fabric of your dress a little further until it bunches at your hips. “Look extra pretty tonight.”

“So beautiful,” he whispers, kissing along the length of your neck and reveling in the low whimpers you were letting out as you grind against him. “Can’t believe I get you all to myself.”

His quiet praises never failed to make you flustered, and tonight was no exception. “Such a sweet mouth.”

“I can get a lot sweeter,” he jokes, nipping at your pulse point.

Your hands move off his chest and towards his neck, loosening his tie and then traveling back down to toy with the buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Who’s eager now?”

“Still you,” you quip, rolling your hips over the tent in his pants to prove your point as you start to unbutton his dress shirt.

His head rolls back with a shaky moan, “Sweetheart, cmon—“​

“What the fuck!”

Peter’s head snaps up to look at you, a panicked look on his face as he tries to figure out what prompted the wide-eyed expression on your face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You stammer over your words as you hesitantly touch his chest, “Y-your…are you…Is this real?”

He glances down at your hand tracing over the webbing of his spider suit and freezes. “Is this real? Are you Spider-Man?"​

He opens his mouth to answer, but the words get caught in his throat. He knew he'd have to tell you at some point, especially if the budding romance between the two continued to bloom, and he was ready to do so at a later point when things were more official.

​“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who dress as him and hustle tourists for money. Wait, is this a sex thing?”

​“What?” He laughs, the question immediately making the anxiety weighing in his chest disperse.

​You smack his chest, “Don’t laugh! I’m serious! I don’t mind a bit of roleplay, but a heads up would have been nice.”

​“Not a sex thing,” he tries to assure, through stifled laughter. “It’s not, I promise. And I’m not one of those guys that walk around taking pictures with tourists in Times Square either.”

​“So you’re the real deal? You’re actually Spider-Man?”

​“I am.”

​“Prove it.”

​“Is the suit not enough?”

​“You know how many guys probably have a spidey suit tucked away in their closet?”

​He raises his eyebrow, “Do you know guys with a Spider-Man costume on hand?”

​“Three excluding you.”

​“Three?”

​“Is it that surprising? Spider-Man has a ton of fans.”

​“Yeah, but it’s mainly little kids that dress up as me. I’ve seen a few adults on Halloween and the ones in Times Square, but that’s it.”

​“You still haven’t proved that you’re him. You could just be some guy in spandex.”

​“I’m your guy in spandex,” he counters.

​“But is my guy the real Spider-Man or just another fanboy?” You question, your fingertips gliding over the spider logo on the suit.

​“So skeptical,” he teases as he unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve and reveals a wristband with a red device attached to it. “These are my webshooters. They have an optical sensor and when I move my fingers, it recognizes the gesture and shoots out the web.”

​He aims his hand at your dining table, curling his middle and ring finger towards his palm until a loud thwip! echoes through your apartment, and a web shoots out and covers the wood.

​“Woah!”

​“They dissolve in about two hours.”

​“Wow. I want to touch it,” you blurt out, starting to move off his lap, only for him to catch your waist and hold you in place.

​“Don’t. It’s really sticky, and I don’t think either of us are interested in waiting two hours for you to get unstuck.”

​You nod and sit back against his thighs. “I’m guessing this isn’t how you were planning on telling me.”

​“Not at all. I completely forgot I had the suit under my clothes. Admittedly, I didn’t think the night would end like this. I thought I’d walk you home, maybe get a couple kisses before you send me on my way, but then we started flirting, and I made the comment about coming up, and then you said I could, having the suit on didn’t really cross my mind.”

​He squeezes your waist and pinches the fabric of your dress between his fingers. “It’s really really hard to think about all of that when you’re on my lap and kissing me and grinding on me.”

​“Too horny to think,” you conclude with a light laugh.

​“Yeah,” he huffs out. “Is this a deal breaker for you?”

​“Definitely not. I’m a little worried about your health and well being, but this doesn’t change how I feel about you. Or well it does, but not in a negative way.”

​“What does that mean?”

​“Your big brain and even bigger heart are two of the many reasons why I’m crazy about you, Pete. You being Spider-Man is just an enhancement of what I already knew; you’re a good man.”

​He breathes out and drops his head to your shoulder, “Good. That’s good. This is good. I know you probably have a lot of other questions, and I’ll answer them.”

​You hum in agreement and thread your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “I do have a lot of questions, but I’d much rather finish the house tour before we get to that.”

​“Finish?”

​“Haven’t even seen the bedroom yet, baby. What kind of tour guide do you take me for?”

​You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your shoulder before he picks his head up to look at you. “I see. Wouldn’t want to leave things incomplete now, would we?”

​“No, we would not.” You whisper, leaning in to give him a fleeting kiss and sliding off his lap. “If you’d follow me this way, I’d love to take you there. It’s my favorite room.”

​He stands up and reaches for your hand, letting you lead him down the hallway. “Any reason why?”

​“There’s a theory that it's a place where your dreams come true. You’re a man of science, do you want to test that theory?”

Bellamy knew something was wrong before anyone said it.

The camp was too quiet.

Not the normal, tired quiet that followed a long day. This was the kind that pressed in on your ears. The kind that made people avoid eye contact.

He saw Clarke first.

That was enough.

“Where is she?” he asked.

No greeting. No explanation. Just that.

Clarke’s jaw tightened. “Bellamy—”

“Where is she.”

Kane stepped forward. “She made a decision.”

His blood went cold.

“What decision.”

Silence.

Raven finally snapped, “She traded herself.”

The world tilted.

“She what.”

“They approached the perimeter,” Clarke said carefully. “They wanted a meeting. They wanted leverage. She went to buy us time.”

Bellamy laughed once.

It wasn’t humor.

“You let her go?”

“She didn’t ask permission,” Raven shot back. “She knew you’d say no.”

Of course she did.

His chest felt hollow.

“She left instructions,” Clarke continued. “Supply redistribution. Watch rotations. Contingency plans.”

He couldn’t breathe.

“She trusted us to hold camp,” Kane said gently.

Bellamy’s eyes darkened.

“She trusted me to bring her back.”

And then he was moving.

“Bellamy—” Clarke grabbed his arm.

He pulled free.

“You go out there alone, you die,” Kane warned.

Bellamy didn’t slow down.

“Then I die.”

And the way he said it — calm, certain — made everyone freeze.

⸻

The Grounder camp wasn’t hidden.

It didn’t need to be.

It stood like a challenge in the clearing, fires burning low, guards posted like statues.

They were waiting for him.

Of course they were.

He didn’t raise his weapon.

Didn’t shout.

He walked forward like a king entering hostile territory.

They surrounded him immediately.

Spears. Blades. Silent judgment.

“Take me to her,” he said.

No tremor in his voice.

No hesitation.

They led him through rows of tents until he saw you.

Bound.

Not bruised. Not broken.

Just furious.

The second your eyes met his, something inside him cracked.

You were sitting upright despite the restraints, chin lifted like they hadn’t taken anything from you.

But he saw it.

The tightness in your shoulders.

The way your hands flexed against the rope.

You had done this on purpose.

For him.

For camp.

Idiot.

Brave, selfless idiot.

A tall Grounder stepped forward — clearly the leader.

“She gave herself willingly,” he said in accented English. “For her people.”

Bellamy didn’t look away from you.

“She doesn’t belong to you.”

A spear pressed lightly against his back.

“Careful,” the leader warned.

Bellamy finally turned his gaze to him.

“I didn’t come here to be careful.”

Murmurs rippled through the circle.

The leader studied him. “You are their war chief.”

“I’m their shield.”

“And she?” He gestured toward you.

Bellamy’s jaw clenched. “She’s not leverage.”

The leader circled him slowly. “She believes in sacrifice.”

“She believes in survival.”

“And you?”

Bellamy’s voice dropped lower.

“I believe you made a mistake.”

The leader stopped in front of him.

“You will kneel.”

The word hung in the air.

Around them, the Grounders tightened their circle.

You shook your head almost imperceptibly.

Don’t.

Bellamy met your eyes.

And then he dropped to his knees.

Gasps murmured around the clearing.

Your heart stopped.

Bellamy Blake did not kneel.

Not to anyone.

The leader stepped closer. “You kneel for her?”

Bellamy’s hands rested loosely on his thighs. Calm.

Too calm.

“I kneel,” he said evenly, “because you think it means something.”

Your breath caught.

The leader crouched in front of him.

“Would you trade your camp for her?”

Bellamy didn’t blink.

“Yes.”

Your head snapped toward him.

“Bellamy—”

“Silence,” a guard barked.

You ignored him. “Don’t you dare.”

The leader’s eyes gleamed. “You would abandon your people.”

“They can survive without me.”

“And without her?”

His gaze flickered to you briefly.

Then back.

“No.”

The leader leaned closer. “Love is weakness.”

Bellamy’s lips twitched.

“If you want to see how far I’ll go for her,” he said softly, dangerously, “try me.”

The words sent a chill through the circle.

You felt it.

The shift.

The leader stood slowly.

“You would burn for her.”

Bellamy tilted his head.

“I would burn the world.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You locked eyes with him.

And in that look was everything.

Don’t.

Trust me.

The leader signaled.

A blade was pressed to your throat.

Bellamy didn’t flinch.

Didn’t lunge.

Didn’t react.

But you saw it.

His hands.

They trembled once.

Just once.

“Final test,” the leader said. “Swear loyalty. Swear your army bows to us. Or she dies.”

You shook your head violently. “No. Bellamy, don’t you—”

“Enough,” he snapped — not at them.

At you.

And the sharpness in his voice was deliberate.

Your anger faltered.

You saw it then.

The calculation.

He wasn’t surrendering.

He was positioning.

Bellamy lowered his head.

“I swear,” he said quietly.

Your heart shattered.

Then his hand moved.

Too fast.

From his boot — the gun they hadn’t found.

One shot.

The guard holding you dropped.

Chaos exploded.

Bellamy surged to his feet, firing twice more, grabbing you as the circle broke into shouts.

“Run!” he barked.

You didn’t hesitate.

He cut your bindings mid-sprint, dragging you through smoke and confusion.

An arrow whizzed past his shoulder.

He turned, fired again.

Then you were in the trees.

Branches whipping against your skin. Boots pounding against dirt.

He didn’t let go of you.

Not once.

Not until the Grounder shouts faded behind you.

⸻

He didn’t slow down until you were far beyond their border.

Only then did he turn to you.

“You’re okay?”

You stared at him.

“You KNEELED.”

“You turned yourself in!”

“I had a plan!”

“So did I!”

“You said you’d trade the camp!”

“I lied!”

“You don’t get to lie about that!”

“You don’t get to disappear!”

The shouting echoed between you.

Then stopped.

Because suddenly he was shaking.

Not from anger.

From adrenaline.

From fear.

“You could’ve died,” he said hoarsely.

“So could you.”

His hands grabbed your shoulders like he needed proof you were solid.

“You don’t get to make that call alone.”

“I did it to protect them!”

“And I would’ve destroyed them to protect you!”

The words slipped out.

Raw.

Ugly.

True.

You stared at him.

His breath hitched.

“I meant it,” he whispered. “Every word. I would’ve burned everything down.”

Your anger dissolved.

He looked wrecked.

Not powerful. Not commanding.

Terrified.

You stepped forward slowly.

He didn’t resist when you pulled him into you.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder.

And then–

He broke.

No sobs.

No loud gasps.

Just silent tears sliding down his face as his hands clutched at the back of your jacket like he was afraid you’d disappear again.

You wrapped your arms around him, one hand cradling the back of his head.

“I’m here,” you whispered.

His shoulders shook once.

“You scared me,” he breathed.

“I know.”

“I thought—” His voice cracked. “When I saw you tied up—”

“I’m here.”

His grip tightened.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered into your chest.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

You pressed a kiss into his hair.

“You’re not alone in this. Not in leadership. Not in sacrifice. Not in fear.”

His tears dampened your shirt.

“I would’ve let them think I surrendered,” he murmured. “I would’ve knelt a thousand times if it meant getting close enough to get you out.”

You smiled softly through your own tears.

"For the record, I liked seeing you on your knees for me.”

He let out a broken laugh against you.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Only if you promise not to burn the world without me.”

He lifted his head then.

Eyes red.

Guard completely down.

“You’re worth it.”

Your hands framed his face.

“And so are they.

He swallowed hard.

The weight of that settling back onto his shoulders.

But this time, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

He leaned into your touch, breathing slowly until the shaking stopped.

The world hadn’t burned.

The camp still stood.

But if anyone ever doubted how far Bellamy Blake would go for you—

They would’ve seen it in the dirt on his knees.

And the tears he didn’t let anyone else witness.

Except you.

you were one of the 100, being the unofficial official second in command behind clarke

you were a fighter, taught by trikru

at first you thought bellamy was a total ass, screwing things up for everybody because he was scared of jaha coming down to earth

you two argued all the time, challenging each others authorities

you never saw eye to eye but that all changed when he finally starting acting like a good person

you two got closer due to you both helping clarke make decisions for the group

going on hunting parties or scavenge missions together and talking about everything

him opening up to you about his mother, how she taught him about greek mythology and how much he cares about octavia

spending time together in arkadia even when your not doing anything

it took awhile for you to confess to each other since your both so stubborn

you had taken a horse without telling anyone, trying to blow off some steam when warriors from azgeda attacked you

when bellamy saw you walking back into arkadia bleeding and wounded he almost lost his mind

"you could've been killed! how could you be so stupid"

"your not the boss of me, i can handle myself, why do you even care."

"because i love you!"

or something like that, really out of the blue and in the heat of the moment

you two had your first kiss that night

cleaning each others wounds after battles

him always having his eye on you because hes scared to lose you

would literally die to protect you

protective and sometimes overbearing to the point you have to remind him you're a warrior

practicing combat together, always joking around while doing so

100% the jealous type always giving dudes side eyes when they look at you for too long

checking up on each other too see how the others doing mentally since something stressful is always going on

you admiring how adamant he is on making things right and being a good person

making out every time you two are alone

not the biggest on pda but will show affection before he goes on a scavenge

puts you first no matter what, always making sure your safe

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Gun oil and cold metal – that’s what the armory always smells like. You're used to it by now, that smell, the weight of a rifle in your hands, the pre-mission checks. You got the sleeves of your olive-drab coveralls rolled to the elbow. 

A squad ships out to Raccoon City for a mission in less than an hour. Your job is to check everything before these weapons head into whatever hell is waiting for them. 

You're halfway through the function check on the assault rifle when you hear it. Boots on the ground, stepping closer. You already know who it is before you even look up, just from the sound of it.

“How's my kit, partner?”

Carlos Oliveira – U.B.C.S. corporal, stupidly handsome, a flirt, and constitutionally incapable of walking past the armory without stopping every time he sees you in there.

Others stop by out of obligation – they hand off their weapons, do a quick check, and get out.

But Carlos… Carlos pulls up a crate and stays. Talks to you about quite literally everything. Asks if you've eaten. Shows you new knife tricks. Cracks dumb jokes. Flirts without ever really committing to it.

He just talks to you like he’s got all the time in the world even when he doesn’t. Like right now.

It should be irritating – having someone in your space, talking your ears off and distracting you from work.

But somehow, it’s really, really not. That's the problem.

You've spent a considerable amount of time thinking about what it would be like if you and Carlos were… something more.

There's something between you two, maybe. It’s been there for a while. But work is demanding and missions don't stop, and wanting things in this line of work feels like a liability. So you decide to leave it where it is.

“Not your partner,” you reply jokingly.

Carlos gives you a playful pout, then puts up a hand on his chest. “Ouch. Bullet right through my heart.”

You chuckle at his antics. “Your kit’s ready. Though I can’t guarantee the gear is smarter than the guy using it,” you mutter, setting his rifle down. 

You’ve finished the check. You move to the workbench where his tactical vest and belt are laid out, but instead of grabbing them, Carlos just sits there on his crate, smiling at you.

“What are you smiling about, creepazoid?” you say, “Aren’t you nervous?”

“A little. Watching you work helps, a bit.”

You flush, hoping it’s not evident. “You’re leaving in thirty minutes, Oliveira. Gear up.”

He doesn't move. Instead, he looks at the heavy tactical vest on the workbench and then back at you with a look of feigned helplessness. “You know, these straps are a real pain. Hard to get the alignment right by myself. I wouldn't wanna go into a hot zone with a lopsided vest.”

“Are you serious?” You blink at him, deadpan. “You're a grown-ass man. You’ve been wearing that gear for years.”

“But it’s Raccoon City, big one tonight,” he says, stating the facts. He nudges your side with his elbow, leaning closer to you. “Come on. Be a pal? Last time I checked, making sure our gears are sitting in place properly is literally your job.”

“Fine. Only because you’re in a hurry,” you huff, not arguing more, knowing he’s leaving soon.

As you lift the heavy vest, you step closer to him. “Get up, you big baby.”

He grins and obliges. You lift the vest over his head, letting it settle onto his shoulders, the weight of it dropping into place across his chest.

“Hmm,” he looks down. “I can feel the quality control already.”

“Shut up and hold still,” you say, and you almost manage to sound annoyed about it. You reach for the side buckles at his ribs, fingers working the clips, close enough now to catch the scent of his cologne. You linger a second longer than necessary, wishing you could just wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, breathing him in.

Your hands run along the front pouches to make sure everything is seated. He’s still looking down at you, now with a goofy smirk. 

“Could get used to this view,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes a bit, mustering the strength not to flush at what he just said. He just always knows the right things to say. “Don't want you coming back with injuries because I missed a buckle,” you reply.

Your hands move to his belt next – holster on the right hip, mag pouches on the left. Then the combat knife, tucked into place on his vest. Finally, you pick up the rifle and hold it out. He takes it and slings it across his chest.

“All set, Corporal.”

“Thanks,” Carlos looks down at himself, then back at you. “Can I… ask you something?”

You look at him, raising your eyebrows in permission. He props his elbow on the workbench, turning to face you, his body angled toward yours. His other hand moves to the back of his neck, scratching the area… Like he’s nervous. 

“When I get back,” he says quietly, “can I take you out? You and me, somewhere nice — would you say yes?”

Underneath all the charm, he’s just the smallest bit nervous. You can tell by the way he’s watching you, slightly more still than usual, like he’s actually holding his breath a little.

You stare at him.

“There’s literally a city-wide outbreak in Raccoon City, Carlos,” you let out a short, disbelieving breath, “…and you’re asking me out?” 

“Terrible timing,” he agrees, scrunching one eye like he knows exactly how that question landed. “Yes or no?”

Your face is warm. You look back down at his kit, making a show of checking something that doesn’t need checking, buying yourself some time to compose yourself.

Yes, you think. Absolutely yes, obviously yes, fuck yes; I thought you’d never ask.

“Come back alive in one piece,” you say instead. You glance up at him. “Maybe I’d like a proper date.”

The smile that breaks across his face is different from his usual ones, like you just gave him something he wasn’t sure he was gonna get.

“Yeah?” he says excitedly.

“Don’t make it a big deal,” you try to say it nonchalantly.

Suddenly, you hear Tyrell calling out. “Oliveira! Time to go!”

He stands up straight, getting ready and putting on his comms. You both exchange one last look. 

“Good luck out there,” you nudge his arm with your elbow. “Stay alive.”

Carlos gives you a two-finger salute before he jogs out to his squad. “Don't miss me too much!”

With him gone, the armory goes unpleasantly silent. You realize you've never wanted a mission to end so quickly in your life.

He better come back. You’d hate to cancel that date.

—

Six days.

That’s how long it’s been since Carlos walked out of the armory with that two-finger salute. Six days of you going through the routine. Six days of feeling like something’s missing.

You know better than to expect updates. Soldiers come in, soldiers come out, and in between there is nothing but the work, the waiting, and the art of not thinking too hard about what’s happening on the other side. You’re usually good at that. Not when it’s Carlos, though.

On the sixth night you're still at it – tired enough to feel it behind your eyes, not tired enough to stop. You're so deep in the work that you almost miss the sound of footsteps coming from outside. His footsteps.

Carlos is walking toward you. 

He’s still pretty much armed – like he came straight here. The state of him makes your chest tighten. There’s dried blood matted at his temple, a cut on his lip and cheekbone. A deep bruise is already darkening along the line of his jaw, and a nasty, bloody scratch runs across the bridge of his nose. On his upper arm, a scratch has torn right through the fabric of his shirt, leaving the skin underneath raw and bloody. Even his knuckles are split and bruised.

It’s not just the injuries, though. His face and arms are covered in some spatter of blood and grit. He’s a mess of soot, sweat, and crimson, standing in the armory’s entryway like he’s not quite sure he’s actually made it back. 

But he's alive. In one piece.

“Hey,” you set down what’s in your hands. “You’re back.”

He stops his tracks in front of you, close. His expression is tired, in a way you've never seen him before.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

He pulls the rifle off his shoulder and sets it down on the workbench. Then he just stands there, and you reach without thinking and start working the buckles on his vest.

You look at him carefully while your hands move. You lift the vest off and set it aside, then pull up a chair – because it's more comfortable than his usual crate —and sit him down. He leans back, elbows on his knees, eyes down. Quiet in a way that doesn't suit him at all.

Standing in front of him, you ask, “Are you o–“

He looks up at you. “I almost didn't come back.”

The words land flat. He's not looking for a reaction. Just saying it – the way you'd say something you've been turning over for days and finally got tired of carrying alone.

Your body stays still, processing what he just said. You don't say anything and wait.

He reaches up and drags a hand through his hair – that thick hair, damp at the edges, more wrecked than you’ve ever seen it – and exhales slowly through his nose.

“The hospital,” he starts. “Spencer Memorial. We were in there looking for a vaccine – whatever, doesn’t matter right now. But while we were in there, a horde came through. Zombies, going in through the lobby windows, just– wave after wave. Me and T were holding the line.” His jaw tightens. “One got through and I didn’t see it in time. Bit me on my shoulder.”

Your stomach drops. 

“I knew immediately,” he says, quieter now. “There’s this burning… like something’s already moving under your skin before you’ve even processed what just happened. I’ve seen what the virus does to people up close. I knew exactly what was coming and how long I probably had.” He pauses. “I kept fighting, because what else was I supposed to fucking do? But the whole time, in the back of my head, I kept thinking – this is it.”

He's holding it together. You can tell it's taking effort. 

“I thought about the guys I watched turn,” he continues. “How fast it happens. How there’s a moment where they’re still there, and then something shifts and they’re just… gone. I kept wondering if I’d feel it when it started. If I’d know.”

He looks down at his hands. “Tyrell got to me in time. He had the vaccine, found it while I was on the line. Injected me himself,” a breath leaves his mouth, “But for God knows how long in that lobby I was completely sure I was going to turn. That I’d become one of those things and T would have to be the one to–” He stops, doesn’t finish it. “Yeah.”

You press your fingers to your lips. Your eyes are stinging and you don't trust yourself to say anything.

“He saved my life,” Carlos says, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “T saved my life in that hospital. And then–” he stops. Swallows. “This fucker Nemesis got to him. Impaled him.” He brings his thumb and forefinger to his forehead, rubbing there like he’s trying to think straight. “There was nothing we could do.”

He exhales.

“That was it.”

You don't say anything. There's nothing well-chosen for this, it feels like clever or comforting words aren't gonna land right. So you just step forward, stand between his legs, and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in.

Carlos goes still, like the hug short-circuited his brain. He doesn't quite know what to do with it. You feel the hesitation and start to pull back. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–“

Before you step back completely, his arms find your waist and take you in.

“Don't,” his voice is quiet, muffled slightly against you. “Don't let go.”

So you don't. You settle back into him, arms around his neck, chin resting on top of his head, his face pressed against your chest. Neither of you moves. 

You let yourself feel it. The stupid, overwhelming relief of him being here.

“I’m so sorry about T,” you say it quietly, meaning it. You feel him exhale against you.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like out there,” you pause, “Every time someone walked in here these past few days, I– I hoped it was you. I'm really glad it was this time.”

There’s a slight change in how he’s holding you – tighter.

“I’m here,” he pulls back just enough to look up at you, smiling – first time since he came back. “Sorry it took me a minute.”

You chuckle at him. He rests his forehead against your middle again. You stay like that for a moment. 

Then you hear him exhale, “I– I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

You're quiet for a second. Your hand moves without thinking, resting lightly on the back of his head.

“You can– um, come back to my place, if you want,” you say carefully, still deciding if it’s okay to offer. “It's not much but, I– I could clean you up, if– if you want.”

His exhausted eyes met yours. For a second he just stares into them, making sure if you mean it. You tilt your head slightly. I mean it.

“Yeah,” he says. “I'd like that.”

—

He steps inside and his eyes land on your string of pearls by the window first.

“Cute plant,” he says.

“Thanks. Don't touch it.”

He moves further in, hands in his pockets, just looking, taking it all in quietly. He likes it, the place screams… you. It feels lived-in, warm. The dim lights, the small living room, the bookshelf, the blanket over the arm of the couch.

Then he stops at the shelf.

There's a photo there, of two young girls, shoulder to shoulder, grinning at the camera. 

“Who's this?” he asks, picking it up carefully.

“Me. And my sister,” You're in the kitchen now, running your hands under the tap. “I was about twelve and she was… nine.”

He looks at it for a moment longer, then sets it back down gently, exactly where it was.

You dry your hands and pull out a chair at the small dining table, the wood scraping softly against the floor.

“Sit,” you say. “I'll get you some water.”

He sits, and you set a glass of water in front of him. He drinks. 

Then he just watches you – filling another glass for yourself at the tap, pushing your hair back, moving between the counter and the cabinet. You’re not even paying attention to him. Just existing in your space, comfortable and easy, completely yourself. 

He’s only ever known you as someone at work. He didn’t know about this version of you – at-home, unguarded. 

He thinks he likes this one best.

You lean against the counter and look at him properly under the kitchen light. The bruise, the cuts, the dried blood. All that and he still looks handsome as ever.

“Come on,” you push off the counter before he catches you staring. “Bathroom. Let’s clean you up.”

He follows you down the short hallway without argument, then sits on the closed lid of the toilet.

“One sec,” you say, slipping out to your bedroom. You take off your dirty coveralls, leaving you in your fitted black t-shirt and leggings.

You dig through your drawer and pull out your biggest black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants – they’re massively oversized on you, so you hope they’ll fit him. You bring them back to the bathroom and set them on the counter, then reach under the sink for a clean towel and set it on top of the pile. You grab the first aid kit while you’re down there, and bring it back to where he’s sitting.

“You always this prepared?” he asks.

“I work in an armory, Carlos.”

“Fair enough.”

You fill a small bowl with warm water at the tap, drop a clean cloth in and set it down before pulling up a stool so you’re roughly at his eye level. 

Starting with his temple, you carefully wipe it with the damp cloth, working slowly so you don’t reopen anything. He goes very still under your hands, letting himself be taken care of.

You move to the cut on his lip, dabbing antiseptic gently. He winces slightly.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

“S’okay.”

You work carefully across his face – the scratches and the bruising at his cheekbone that you can’t do much about except note how dark it’s gotten. 

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” he says. “For this. For all of it.” 

“No worries,” you give him a soft smile. “Almost done.”

You finish up his face with the last of the antiseptic. Then you move to his arm, working through the cut there carefully while he watches you in silence.

You can feel his eyes on you. You keep focusing on his wounds, avoiding eye contact.

When you’re done with his arm you pause, glancing briefly at his shirt.

“Anything under there I should look at?” you ask. “Any open wounds?”

“Probably a bruise or two,” he shrugs. “Better check just to be safe, though.”

You look at him to make sure, then back down at the kit. “Okay, so,” you clear your throat, “c– could you take it off? So we can check.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up. “Yes, ma’am.”

You feel your face heating up. Cheeky bastard. Hope he can’t tell. 

He reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head in one motion and sets it aside.

You look up and – okay.

You know abstractly, how Carlos is built. You felt it when you helped him with his vest, and when you hugged him in the armory.

But there’s a huge difference between knowing it abstractly and having it right in your face at 2 AM, under bathroom lighting.

Holy shit. Broad shoulders. Arms. Abs. A chest that– you drag your eyes down to his front and sides to check the bruises. This is completely fine.

You get up to check his back. Oh god, his back.

There doesn’t seem to be any open wounds, so you sit back down on the stool. “Yeah, a few bruises. I’ll give you some salve later.”

He just nods.

“I’m glad I ended up here tonight,” he says.

“Me too,” you mean it more than it sounds. You start putting things back in the first aid kit.

He still doesn’t move. He’s deciding something – working up to it, the same way he did in the armory with the elbow on the workbench and the hand at the back of his neck.

“I’ve been thinking about saying something to you for a while,” he says. “Before all of this even. I don’t wanna… not say it.”

You look up. Anticipation rushes through you.

“And you just–” he starts, then stops. Almost laughs at himself. “I’ve been thinking about us. I don’t really know what to call it.”

He looks down for a moment.

“I don’t really know why I came straight to you tonight. I probably should’ve gone to debrief. Or slept. I haven’t slept properly in six days.” he pauses. “But I just – ended up in the armory. I thought you’d be there.”

He exhales slowly. “When I was in that hospital, waiting to find out if the vaccine was gonna work – my head just started going. When you think you’re done, it’s just– everything sorta came up at once. My family. My childhood. The guys I lost. All of it. And then there’s you.”

He lets out a chuckle. “You kept coming up… out there. Not in some big way. Just… in the middle of things. When it was bad. You’d just show up, uh, in my head,” he’s a little uncomfortable with his own honesty, it’s evident from that slight tension in his jaw. “Kinda weird, I know. But it’s– it happened enough times that I figured it meant something.”

You go still, giving him the space to keep going.

“I’ve always been in fucked up situations. I grew up in the middle of wars that were never really mine to begin with. Lost people young. Was fighting for my life before I was old enough to know better. By the time Umbrella found me, I’d watched everyone around me get killed and… I walked out the only one standing.” His eyes land somewhere on the floor, his head replaying all the things he’s been through. “That was most of my life.”

Your heart breaks hearing this come out of his mouth. You feel your eyes sting a little.

“So I– I don’t really have a reference point for… this,” he gestures slightly at the space between you. “I’m used to people leaving. Or dying. Or me being the one who has to walk away.” 

He looks more vulnerable now. “But you just – stay. You put up with me showing up and talking your ear off. You’re so…” he pauses, searching for the word, “…kind. Like genuinely. You talk to me like I’m worth talking to.” 

He huffs a small laugh, embarrassed by his own honesty. “Sounds like a low bar, I know. But for me,” he trails off. Shakes his head slightly. “Fuck, it makes– you make everything feel a little more worth it. Being here. Coming back.”

He looks down on the floor. “I’ve never felt this way about anybody. That's… that might be why I keep annoying you while you work. I don’t even fully know what this is. But I should probably just say it.”

His eyes find yours.

“I think I– I love you,” he says it a little helplessly, “at least – I think that’s what it is. That’s what it feels like when people say it, right?”

You blink at him, taken aback, not knowing what to say. He goes silent too.

He holds your gaze for a while, then his expression softens, letting you off the hook before you even respond.

“You don’t… have to say anything back,” he says quietly. “I just needed to get that out.” He exhales. “After I almost di– after Raccoon City, I just feel like, I need you to know. How much you mean to me.”

You’re completely at a loss for words — not because you don’t feel it, but because you do, and you don’t know what to do with that right now. You stay still for a bit.

You clear your throat and swallow before opening your mouth.

“Go shower,” you say softly, then tap on his knee. “W— we can… talk after.”

He lets out an exhale and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

You get up, discarding the water in the bowl, tuck the first aid kit back under the sink, and straighten up.

“Clean clothes and towel are by the sink,” you say. 

He stands, glancing over at the pile. He picks up the shirt, holds it out, looks at it. Then looks at you.

“Whose are these?” he pulls that cheeky smirk and squints his eyes. “You bring guys back here often?”

“N-no! They’re mine,” you say immediately. “I like wearing oversized. I hope they fit.”

“Suuure,” he says, drawing the word out to tease you.

“Stop, it’s the tru—”

“I believe you,” he ruffles the hair at the top of your head. 

“Wash all that Raccoon City dirt off,” you say. “Stink.”

He laughs – warm and genuine, the realest version of it you’ve heard all night. You pull the bathroom door shut behind you.

—

You lean over the kitchen sink, watching the kettle being filled with water at the tap. You need to do something. Anything. If you stay still, your brain might actually short-circuit. So you decided to make tea.

You move to the stove and turn the heat up, then grab the kettle and put it on the burner – with some of the water inside it spilling out because you’re shaking. 

I think I love you.

The words are stuck on a loop in your brain, echoing in Carlos’s voice. You huff a breath that’s half-laugh, half-sob.

This was supposed to be just another regular day.

“I love you”? While he’s shirtless? At 2 AM? The fuck?

He’s in my shower. He’s using my vanilla-scented body wash. And he thinks he loves me.

You reach into the cabinet for a mug, but your brain is so fried that you find yourself holding a cereal bowl instead. You stare at it for a good five seconds before sighing and putting it back. 

“Get it together,” you whisper to the empty kitchen. You finally snag a mug and drop a tea bag in.

While the water heats, you lean your behind against the counter, your heart hammering so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Why didn't you just say it back? It was the perfect moment. The ambience was there – dim lights, you were literally in front of him, he was shirtl– he was vulnerable. You could have just leaned in and ended the mystery right there.

But no, your dumbass called him “Stink” and told him to go shower. Now you’re left thinking about how you should bring up the conversation once he comes out.

The kettle whistles, startling a small yelp out of you. You pour the water, watching the tea steep and darken. You take your mug over to the small dining table and sink into the chair. Your right leg is bouncing a mile a minute. You take a sip, nearly scalding your tongue.

You’re happy. Your work crush just confessed that he loves you. God, “happy” is an understatement. But now you’re tangled up with a massive knot of "now what?"

Do you bring it up as soon as he walks out? Or do you wait and just make him tea first? Or coffee? What the fuck does he even drink? Is there a protocol for responding to a confession?

You take another sip, trying to steady your breathing. You want to tell him. You need to tell him. You just have to figure out how to say it without sounding like a total dork. You’re not about to let him think he’s in this alone. Maybe you should make hi–

“Hey, where shou–”

“Christ, Carlos! What the fuck.” You jump at his sudden voice, lucky you aren't holding the hot tea.

“Wow, wow – chill! What are you so tense about?” he’s already laughing, hands up.

The fact that you just told me you love me and I said go shower. And your bare chest was right in front of my face. That’s what.

“You’re so doing that on purpose,” you say instead, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I wasn’t, I swear!” he’s still laughing, leaning against the doorframe in your oversized black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair damp, looking comfortable and clean. “I was just gonna ask where I should put my dirty clothes.”

You exhale. “I’ll get you a bag.”

You find one in the kitchen drawer – you keep them for groceries – and hand it to him. He takes it, tucks it under his arm.

“Thanks.”

You just nod. He disappears into the bathroom again and you hear the rustle of him sorting his clothes. You turn back to your tea. Your heart is still going at a completely unreasonable pace. 

He comes back and pulls out the chair across from you at the small dining table and just sits. It’s quiet for a moment.

“D– do you want anything?” you ask. “Tea, coffee?”

“Coffee would be nice. Black is fine.”

You get up, grateful for something to do, and start making it. Behind you you can hear him settle further into the chair and the quiet sounds of your apartment. You don’t even dare to look back and see what he’s doing. 

When the coffee’s done, you set the mug in front of him and sit back down with your tea.

Quiet again.

He wraps both hands around the mug. You look at yours. Somewhere a clock is ticking and neither of you is saying anything and the confession is just sitting there – an elephant begging to be addressed in that room.

“I showered,” Carlos breaks the silence.

You look up, confused. “…Okay…?”

“You said we could talk after I washed off the Raccoon City dirt.”

Fuck. “Oh.” You blink. “Right. Yeah.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. 

You look back down at your mug. You turn it slightly in your hands.

“I didn’t know,” you start. “About any of that. Your past, the fighting – all of it. I mean, I still don’t know much,” you pause. “I had a feeling you’d been through tough things. Well, I guess everyone has. But I didn’t know the shape of it – of the things you’d been through.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

“And I don’t – ugh, I’m not good at this,” you continue, legs still bouncing up and down. “Saying things like this. Never really have been. So, just… bear with me.”

He nods. “I’m listening.”

“Our jobs… can get pretty lonely,” you say. “Like, for me, people come in, grab their gear, leave. Maybe a little small talk. And I’m not complaining, I know everyone is just doing their job, as I do mine,” you shrug slightly. “That’s just how it is. After a while I stopped expecting anything different.”

He’s watching you. You keep your eyes on your mug.

“And then you started coming in,” you pause. “And I thought – this is just what he does, what guys do. He’s like this with everyone. I thought I was just… convenient. Someone to talk to while he waited.” You almost laugh. “I kept thinking, what’s so interesting about me? Why does he always talk to me?”

He leans back on the chair. 

“But you kept coming back. Every single time. And you’d ask if I’d eaten, and you’d just – yap. About everything. Nothing. I barely even had to say anything, you did most of the work,” you smile a little, “Somewhere along the way, I just stopped… minding. It became something I started looking forward to.”

You play with your fingers out of nervousness.

“But it never felt like too much. It felt like you actually wanted to be there.” You look back down. “I mean, I don’t know if you actually did want to be there. And I don’t know if you know what that does to a person when they’re not used to it.”

He does, he does know. He feels the same way about you.

“Every time you shipped out I’d just – wait. And I didn’t even realize I was waiting until you walked back through that door and I could– like, finally breathe again,” you’re even shakier telling him this.

His eyes on you soften.

“With everything, though – BOWs, our jobs – everything feels taxing enough already... So I kept telling myself it was nothing,” you continue. “Routine. Proximity. Stupid crush on someone at work, everyone has it. That’s all. And I really believed that for a while.” You shake your head slightly. “I was so full of it.”

He huffs and looks down at his coffee.

“But the truth is, I don’t want whatever this is to end. I don’t want you to stop coming by,” your voice drops a little. “You make it feel less lonely. All of it. This whole stupid world feels less unbearable when you’re around.”

You feel your eyes well up a little, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just so used to you. At work. Nobody’s ever just been there like that. Like you.”

You look down at your tea for a second.

“But after what you said earlier–” you pause. “I don’t know. It feels like something I don’t want to walk away from. Like something worth – figuring out… together.” 

That gets his attention. He looks up to see your face.

“I– I love you too,” you mutter quietly. But sincere. “I think. I’m–” you have no other words to express it, “yeah. I think I do.”

You let out a heavy sigh, like it had been bubbling up in your chest and was finally breathed out. You take a sip of your tea – an attempt to calm yourself a bit. 

Carlos is looking at you with that cheeky expression, smiling like a goof in love. Literally what he is. 

“Yeah?” He crosses his arms on the table and smiles.

You meet his eyes and immediately bring your hands up to cover your cheeks, hiding the flush creeping up them. “Stop, don’t give me that look.”

“Nooo, let me see you,” he laughs, “Come here? Sit on my lap.”

You hesitate at first. He reassures you by tapping his thighs lightly. So you stand, and he reaches for you, hands finding your waist, guiding you down until you’re settled sideways across his lap – your legs draped over one side, his arm coming around to keep you there. Your forearms rest on his shoulders.

“Can I ask you something?” Carlos looks up at you.

“You’re going to regardless.” You roll your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your gaze moves to his lips.

“You have a cut on your lip.”

“Baby, I survived Raccoon City. I think I can handle your lips on the cut.”

He just called you baby.

“Okay,” you say. 

So you both lean into each other, you’re slow and careful, mostly because you’re afraid you’re gonna open that cut and hurt him. But he kisses you deeper, like he’s telling you he doesn't give a flying fuck about it.

His hand comes up to your jaw and you lean into it. You stay like that for a long moment, just kissing, until you both naturally slow and pull back just enough to take a breath.

“So,” you say quietly, against his mouth almost. “What now?”

He’s quiet for a second, looking up and down your body, thumbs tracing small circles at your waist.

“Whatever we wanna call it,” he says. “I know what I want,” he kisses you again. 

He breathes against your sweet lips, “I’m all yours. If you’ll be all mine.”

You pull back just slightly and nod. “I’ve been yours,” you smile. “You… you got me right in the palm of your hands. You just didn’t know.”

“So all my yapping worked?”

“Ugh, I can’t believe it did.”

He laughs and continues to draw circles on your thigh, “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“Say you love me again.”

He’s looking up at you with his sweetest pleady eyes now — not child-like, but like the next thing out of your mouth is the only thing that matters to him right now. 

You lean down again and smile against his lips, then you say the words, “I love you, Carlos,” you move to his cheeks, his chin, and back to his lips, “I love you.” 

His hands find your hips and he shifts you until you’re facing him properly, straddling his lap. You go without resistance, settling there, and he pulls you back into the kiss.

It deepens. His hands move up your back, pressing you closer, and you go – fingers finding the back of his neck, holding there, feeling the warmth of him underneath you, the closeness of it. 

His lips move to your cheek, your jaw – he works his way down to your collarbone, and presses his lips there.

“I love you,” he says against your skin.

His hand snakes up to the back of your neck, fingers curling there, and you lean into it without thinking — head tilting slightly, giving him room. He moves to your neck, lips warm against your skin.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs there, “how long I’ve thought about saying it,” more kisses. “About doing this.”

The words do something to you. You let out a quiet whimper – your fingers curling into his hair.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

He presses his lips to the side of your throat, just below your jaw, and you feel him nod against your skin. His hands hold you by your waist, then move to your back, up between your shoulder blades, tracing the line of your spine back down.

“Me too,” you admit quietly, into his hair.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. A chuckle escapes him in disbelief, and he shakes his head.

“All this time?” he asks.

“All this time,” you echo.

He kisses you again, and this time it’s different – deeper, slower, his tongue tracing against yours. His hands find the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping just underneath, warm against the skin of your waist. Just feeling your weight on him.

“Carlos,” you whimper against his lips. 

“Hm.” He pulls back just slightly to look at you, eyebrow raised. “So that’s what it takes.”

“What?”

“Didn’t know you made sounds like that,” his lips are back on your collarbone, amused.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply.

“Baby, you just moaned my name.” He grins. “I’m 100% flattering myself.”

“Shut uppp,” you breathe.

“No, I like it,” he says simply, and keeps going.

His mouth travels down to your chest – not far, just the upper curve of it, the space just below your collarbone – warm and slow, and your breath catches in a way that has nothing to do with laughing anymore. Your fingers find the back of his neck, holding there.

“Carlos,” you say softly, not stopping him, just saying it.

“Yeah,” he says against your skin. 

His hands are still warm under your shirt and you're very aware of how close you are and how late it is and how neither of you is making any move to stop.

You pull back slightly.

“Do you, um–” you start, feeling breathless. “Aren't you tired? Like, do you want to actually sleep? I can – my bedroom has a proper bed, you can–”

He looks at you, smiling but also knitting his brows in confusion.

“I'm saying like,” you continue, losing ground rapidly, “you've had a really long week and if you wanna just– sleep, that’s–”

“Is that what you want?” he asks while putting his lips back on your neck.

“I–” you pause, because the way he’s holding you, there’s no way you’re choosing sleep over this. “No.”

“Okay,” his eyes are on your lips, his thumb caresses your jawline. “Then why are we talking about sleeping?”

Your face is warm. “Just thought you're maybe– tired. I didn't know how to–” you gesture weakly at the two of you, “…say it.”

He looks at you for a moment, then tucks a strand of hair back from your face.

“Hey,”he says. “Do you want this?”

“Yes, Carlos,” you whisper.

“You sure? You can say no,” he caresses your cheek. “Say the word and we can just…” the corner of his mouth pulls up, “…sleep.”

“You piss me off,” a chuckle leaves your mouth, “I– I don't wanna sleep.”

“Okay,” he's smiling now, “Me neither.”

You give him a quick peck on the lips, and nod down the hallway.

“My bedroom,” you say.

Without any warning whatsoever, his hands find the backs of your thighs and he lifts you off his lap.

You grab his shoulders on instinct, legs wrapping around him. “Carlos–“

“Shhh,” he's already walking.

“Am I not– heavy? I can walk, you know–”

“Nope,” he says, completely unbothered. “Stop worrying.”

He nudges your bedroom door open with his foot and sets you down just inside it. You both stand there for a moment in the low lamplight, his hands still at your waist.

“Mmmh,” his lips find yours again, hands landing to cup your cheeks. 

He pulls back just to check in with you.

“Still okay?” he asks.

You just look up and nod.

“Use your words,” he commands softly.

You feel wetness pooling in your panties as he says that.

You breathe in and nod again, “Yes, still good, Carlos.”

“That's my girl.”

He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it hit the ground. When his hands find the hem of yours, the heat of his palms against your waist makes you shiver. You lift your arms, letting him draw the shirt up and away until the cool air hits your skin.

His fingers continue to hook into the band of your leggings, and he draws them down slowly, kneeling as he goes. He kisses your thigh on the way down – one side, then the other.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. A kiss higher up. “So fucking perfect.” Another. “You have no idea.”

Your hand finds his hair without thinking, fingers curling there.

He helps the leggings past your ankles and straightens back up. You're already sliding the straps of your bra off your shoulders, and he watches for a second before his hands come up to help – fingers finding the clasp at your back, undoing it slowly until your bra lands on the floor, leaving you bare in just your panties.

He steps back just slightly, getting a good look of your nearly naked body. His chest rises and falls.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You're so beautiful.”

His hands reach for your waist and he turns you gently, positioning you in front of him so his chest is warm against your back, both of you facing the mirror in your bedroom.

His big arms wrap around your waist, head resting on your shoulder, and he looks at your reflection.

“Look at you, baby,” he says in your ear. “All mine.”

Your eyes flicker to the mirror and immediately away. You turn in his arms instead, pulling him into a kiss – easier than looking at yourself like that. He goes willingly, smiling against your mouth.

You pull back from the kiss, fingers finding the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging slightly. He looks down at your hands, takes over – pushing them down and stepping out of them, kicking them aside.

You look down.

Oh. Fuck. You are not fully prepared for that. 

For a good few seconds you’re just staring down at his cock. Carlos, of course, notices. 

“See something you like?” he asks, clearly enjoying the look on your face.

“N– no, wait no, I– I mean, yes,” you stutter. 

“Take your time,” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “I got all night.”

He looks down at himself, then back up at you. “You wanna hold it, baby?”

Instead of answering, you press your hand on his bicep, guiding him towards the bed. He takes the hint, stepping back until the backs of his knees find the bed and sitting down, propping himself up on both hands behind him – looking up at you, waiting.

You lean in and press your lips to his, then trail your open-mouthed kisses down to his neck, shoulder, collarbone, down his chest, feeling his muscles under your mouth. 

His breathing changes, like he’s working to keep it steady. “Ahh–  baby,” he brings his head back, feeling the pressure of your mouth all over him.

You kneel down, continuing your kisses to his abs, and you feel it tighten under your lips as you work lower. 

As you come face to face with his cock, he tips your chin up with his finger and caresses the corner of your lips with his thumb.

“You don't have to,” his eyes meet yours softly.

“I want to. Just–” you pause, “Let me take care of you? Please?”

He exhales slowly, a bit shaky. How could he resist that look on your face right now, kneeling down in front of him?

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” he says under his breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

You take him in your hand first – feeling him, learning the weight of him. He's already hardening fast and you stroke slowly, getting a feel, thumb brushing over the tip, and he exhales through his nose above you.

He's looking down at you with dark but patient eyes. 

You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip – sweet, and innocent. That earns a low grunt from his mouth – that’s… none of those things.

Then you slowly take him in.

He brings his hand into your hair immediately – gripping slightly, fingers curling, like he needs something to hold onto. You start slow, working him carefully, learning the sounds he makes and what causes them. 

“Babe, fuck…” he moans. 

When you take him deeper, angling so the tip of him hits the back of your throat for a second, he gasps.

“God– yeah, right there,” he breathes, grip tightening in your hair. 

So you do it again. You feel his thighs tense up.

“Shit, baby, you– ahh,” hollowing your cheeks pulls something out of him that starts as your name and dissolves into something more like a hiss.

You pull back after a moment, a string of saliva breaking, and spit into your palm, working it all over him with your hands.

He looks back down at you, jaw tight. You take his cock all the way in again, knowing by now that his length reaching the back of your throat is what makes him fall apart the most – and his hand tightens in your hair. 

You gag on his cock – eyes watering some more.

“Just– just like that,”the words come out rough out of him. “Taking my cock so fucking well.”

You hold his gaze, head bobbing, mouth wet and slobbering, spit trailing down your chin.

“Baby, fuck… look at you,”he takes a good look at your messy face. “You feel s– so good.”

You pull back, catching your breath, blinking the tears back.

His hand loosens in your hair at once. “Hey – you okay?”

You look up at him, eyes wet at the corners, and nod.

His thumb comes up and brushes the tears welling on the corner of your eye.

“Yeah?” he tilts his head slightly, watching you. “Think you can take more, baby?”

You answer by leaning forward and pressing a slow kiss to the tip again, making him gasp. His hard cock is back in your mouth, feeling your cheeks hollowing around it, tongue dragging slow along the underside as you bob down.

“Dios, baby– fuck…”

The way he’s falling apart above you gets you going. You take him all the way in again – tip hitting the back of your throat – and hold. Your throat tightens, eyes watering, and you stay there until you physically can’t anymore before pulling back with a wet popping sound, catching your breath, chin wet, eyes streaming.

“Christ,” he breathes above you. He’s shaking. Actually shaking.

“Shit, babe– ohh, look so fucking good like, this…” he eyes drop down at you. His hips buck slightly and he reins it back immediately, cursing under his breath.

His controlled breathing and smug composure are gone. It’s just him, gripping your hair, making sounds he’s given up trying to muffle.

“You’re s– so good. Your mouth– around my cock like that…” he breathes. “Gonna make me c–” he can’t even finish that sentence. 

The praise does something to you. You keep going even though your jaw starts to ache. You don’t wanna stop — not with the sounds he’s making, not with the way his hips keep making those small desperate movements he can barely control.

You feel him getting close. So does he. But he can’t. Not yet. 

“Hey,” his voice comes out wrecked. “Hey – hey – come up here,” he exhales hard, “You’ve had your fun. Let me have mine, yeah?”

You pull back slowly, releasing him, catching your breath. You look up at him, your eyes teary, hand wiping your wet and swollen lips. He’s on the verge of cumming just looking at your face, still kneeling like this. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, looking down at you. “Where’d all that come from?”

You smile at him, licking your lips. “Was that good?”

He tilts his head, eyebrows raised. “Good?” He chuckles, “Baby, you’ve been holding out on me.”

You tilt your head too, matching his gesture. “You never asked.”

He laughs and leans down, “God, I love you,” a kiss, “so much.” Another peck.

He reaches down and takes your hands, pulling you up from your knees. You push yourself up, legs slightly unsteady, and he steadies you with both hands at your waist for a second to make sure you’re upright – before walking you back toward the bed.

“Lie down for me, baby,” he says, voice still rough.

He draws you up immediately and lays you against the mattress. You scoot back toward the middle of the bed and he follows, settling beside you on his side, propped up on one elbow, looking down at you. 

“Hi,” he says. His hand caresses the side of your breast.

“Hey,” you breathe.

His hand moves down your stomach, his eyes stay on your face the whole time – watching – as his fingers find the waistband of your panties and pull it down your legs.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Yes, please–”

His hand moves lower until it finally reaches your embarrassingly warm and slick pussy, already aching for his touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re soaked, baby.” He strokes again, “That for me? All of this for me?”

“Yes, Carlos…”

“Mmm,” His lips find your temple, your cheek, the corner of your jaw – trailing down your throat, your collarbone, until his mouth finds your breast. He takes it in his mouth, you feel his tongue circling your nipple, and you arch into him. He moves to the other, giving it the same attention, his fingers never stopping their pace below. “Good girl. So wet for me.”

He circles your entrance once, twice – and then pushes a finger in slowly, and you gasp, head pushing back your pillow.

“Fuck…” he whispers under his breath. “Feel that, baby? So nice and warm for me,” he curls the finger slightly and you cry out his name. “There she is.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Carlos, more – please–”

“Yeah?” He keeps the pace slow, watching your face. “You want more?”

“Yes – please, yes–”

He adds a second finger, slow and careful, and the stretch of it makes you grip the sheets.

“S– shit,” you whimper.

“Too much?” His eyes are on you immediately, pace stilling.

“No, don’t stop – please… Don’t stop–”

He starts moving again, deeper now, and his mouth sucking your breast at the same time, making you whimper helplessly – surrendering entirely to whatever he wants to do to you. 

“That feel good, baby?” his voice muffled against your chest. “Look at you falling apart on my fingers.”

“Carlos, I’m – I need–”

“Yeah, tell me what you need, baby,” his pace builds, fingers curling. You grip his wrist down there.

“More,” you gasp. “Please – can you – put in one more–”

He pauses and kisses your cheek, “I’m not hurting you?”

“No – please – I need–”

“Greedy,” he murmurs against your skin, and then he pushes the third finger in. He hears you gasp. “Tell me if it hurts, yeah?”

“It doesn’t– fuck, feels so goo– so good, Carlos,” the stretch of it makes your whole body seize up, thighs snapping together instinctively before his knee nudges your inner thigh.

“Stay open for me,” he says. “That's it. Take it.”

Your hand fists in the sheets, hips rolling desperately against him, completely unable to stay still.

“Look at that,” he breathes, watching you. “Such a greedy little cunt, huh?” His fingers curl and you sob. “That's it. That's my girl.”

“Right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Carlos– please don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he breathes against your skin. 

“Close, aren’t ya?” He feels your pussy clenching around him. “Come on. Give it to me, baby.”

Just a few more thrusts and you do – your pussy tightening its grip around his fingers, his name coming out of your mouth like a prayer. 

“Carlos I’m c– hnghhh, Carlos!” 

“I’ve got you, baby. Cum now.”

Your body jolts, your back arching off the mattress as your pussy clenches around his fingers. As you hit the peak, a sudden rush of fluid splashes over his fingers and onto the sheets. You let out a high-pitched cry, your head falling back as you ride the wave, stunned by the sensation.

His fingers keep working you through every second of it until you’re loose, shaking, and staring up at the ceiling – trying to steady your breathing.

Carlos doesn't move. You watch him through the fog of your own exhaustion as he stares down at the dark, wet patch blooming on the sheets between your legs. He takes in the sight of the mess you've made.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he breathes, smiling with pride.

“I– I’m sorry,” you stammer, your voice small with embarrassment and worry as you look at the wetness on the bed. “I didn’t... I’ve never done that before.”

His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of shock and hunger. “You kidding me?” He lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t you dare apologize for that.”

He brings his dripping fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean while his gaze stays locked on yours, pinning you to the mattress. “Mmm, tastes so good. Fuck, I didn’t know you could do that.”

He doesn't let you look away. His fingers quickly find your waist, his thumbs digging into your skin to keep you right where he wants you. 

“God, seeing you lose control like that… for me.” He moves on top of you, resting his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, bringing his lips to yours, just barely grazing them. “Wanna taste yourself on me, baby?”

You nod and lean your head forward to kiss him, but he pulls back just a bit to tease you. He chuckles at your eagerness, “Nasty girl.”

You let out a whimper at that, and he finally cuts you off with a deep, possessive kiss – letting you taste the salt and sweetness of your own release on his tongue.

“Can I taste you some more?” he rasps against your mouth, then trails his lips down to your neck. 

You say nothing, body still freezing from the high.

“Please?” he begs, lips moving even lower to your chest, to your stomach.

“Yes,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

One last kiss to your lower stomach, and he settles firmly between your thighs, the bulk of his shoulders forcing your legs wider. “Mine now.”

He hooks his arms under your knees. He leans down, pressing his mouth directly against your bare, swollen heat. He inhales the scent of you deeply, before letting out a heavy, hot exhale that hits your clit with warmth.

He starts with a slow, flat drag of his tongue, licking from the very bottom of your opening all the way up to your hood, lapping up all that slick he tasted on his fingers.

“Oh… Car– Carlos…”

Your fingers tangle deep into his curls to anchor yourself. He doesn't hold back, using the rough texture of his tongue to tease you, circling your clit until you’re squirming against his mouth. You feel his beard stubble grazing your inner thighs.

“Carlos— ahh,”

“Mmm,” he hums against you, and the vibration makes your hips jerk. You instinctively try to close your thighs around his head, overstimulated – but he forces them back out.

“Stay still. Keep 'em spread f’me,” he grunts, anchoring you down. He buries his face in you, his tongue working you with a deep and steady pressure. 

“Carlos, fuck— your mouth…” you moan, your head tossing back against the pillows. 

“Yeah? You like my mouth on this tight little pussy, baby?” he muffles against your skin, his voice buzzing directly against your clit. 

Carlos’s hand moves up to your lower stomach, pressing down firmly to keep you pinned against the mattress while his thumb finds your clit. He starts circling it relentlessly, pinning the sensitive bud against his thumb while his tongue devours you. 

“Tell me how it feels. Talk to me.”

“It feels... ahh... it feels so good,” you sob out, your hips bucking instinctively against his mouth. “Carlos–  yes... right there.”

He picks up the pace, his licking becoming more frantic. He’s sucking on you, mouth a hot vacuum-like pressure that has you gripping the sheets.

“Carlos! Oh god, Carlos... I'm–  ah! I'm gonna–”

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he grumbles, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly against your pussy, sending a fresh wave of electricity through your nerves. “You like that? You like when I take care of you like this?”

“Yes, yes—oh god, Carlos,” you gasp out, your head tossing back against the pillows. Your breath is coming in short hitches, and every time you try to speak, it’s broken by a moan.

“So fucking perfect,” he groans against you, muffled and low. “You taste so fucking good. You have no idea – my girl. All mine...”

“Carlos, oh god I’m about to– please…”

“I’ve got you.” His thumb keeps circling, his tongue isn’t stopping, your thighs are shaking against his hands, and you’re gripping his hair hard enough that you’ll apologize later. Right now you can’t think about anything except him and his mouth claiming every inch of you.

“I’m, I can’t– Carlos… I’m gonna–”

“Yeah you are,” he growls against your trembling pussy. “I can feel you, mmmh–- give it to me, baby.”

The orgasm crashes through you harder than the first time. More overwhelming. Your whole body arches off the mattress, his name coming out of your mouth as a desperate sound. His hands hold you down through every shudder until you’re completely spent, legs trembling, fingers loose in his hair.

He slows. Soft kisses to your inner thigh, your hip, easing you back down.

“God, you're fucking perfect,” he rasps, looking up at you. He crawls back up the length of your body, the heat from his skin radiating against yours as he settles on top of you.

He cups your face in his big hands and pulls you into a deep, messy kiss – giving you a taste of yourself on his tongue once again.

As the kiss deepens, you feel his hard cock grazing against your inner thigh, showing you how much he wants you.

He pulls back just an inch, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he searches your eyes. “You ready for me, baby?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs, your hands sliding down to grip his arms. “Yes,” you breathe, though a sudden thought makes you hesitate. “But... I don't have, uhh,” you swallow hard, “a condom.”

Carlos lets out a rough, self-deprecating huff of a laugh, his forehead dropping against yours for a second. “Yeah... I’m clearly not prepared for this either,” he breathes. He pulls back to look you in the eye, his expression more serious. “You still okay with this? We can stop. I don't want to push you.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, sliding your legs up to lock around his waist, pulling him against you. “I want you, Carlos.”

“Want you too, baby. I’ll pull out, yeah?” his voice drops, more protective. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nod.

He takes himself in hand and drags the head of his cock slow through your opening, and you inhale sharp.

“Fuck… Feel how wet you are for me,” he murmurs. Then, slowly, he sinks into you.

One long, deep slide that fills you completely, and you both go absolutely still — foreheads together.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck — you feel — god, you're so tight. So warm.” He pulls back and sinks in again, deeper, and you let out a yelp. “Feel that? Feel how good we fit?”

“Yes,” you shudder. “Yes, please – move…”

So he does. Long, slow strokes at first – all the way out and driving back in, and you feel every inch of it once again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands finding his back, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach.

“That's it,” he breathes out. “Just like that. Stay right there. Let me do the work, baby.”

“Carlos–”

His pace builds gradually. You’re still face to face, breathing each other's air. One of his arms is braced beside your head while his other hand brushes the hair from your forehead, his touch soft even as every thrust drives deep inside you. 

“You're so beautiful,” he says, rough and sincere, looking down at you. “You know that? Lying here, taking me so well… So fucking beautiful.”

“Hhhh, Car–los…” his name comes wrecked out of you.

“Yeah,” he breathes. "Feel my cock stretching your tight little pussy, baby." He thrusts in deeper and you cry out and he swallows the sound with his mouth. “Like that? You like it deep?”

“Yes, fuck– yes!”

“Yeah you do,” he says, satisfied. “My greedy girl.”

The rhythm builds, each stroke hits harder now, and you're gripping his back hard enough it’s leaving red marks. His mouth moves to your throat – sucking slightly on the skin – then your jaw, and comes back to your lips.

“I love you,”he says. Mid-thrust, against your mouth. “Fuck, I fucking love you, baby.”

His words warm you from the inside out, leaving you completely soft under him. 

“I– I love you too,” you breathe, arms now around his neck.

“I know,” he says, voice rough. “I’m here.”

The closeness of him, the weight of his body against yours, the wet sounds of his thrusts, the way he keeps looking at you like you're everything… It's all too much and not enough at the same time. You feel it coming. 

“Carlos — I'm gonna — I'm–”

“I feel you, baby,” he breathes immediately. “Let go. I've got you.”

And you do – clenching tight around him, his name tearing out of your mouth, your whole body shaking through it. He doesn’t stop moving – slower now, groaning low against your throat as he feels you pulse around him.

“Fuck,” he curses. “Squeezing me so tight – yeah, baby, squeeze my cock just like that – you feel so fucking good, ahh,” he exhales, hips still rolling. “So good. You're so good.”

You're still trembling, oversensitive and barely catching your breath, when he pulls back to look at you.

“Can you give me one more, baby?” he says under his breath.

“Carlos, I can't,” you shake your head weakly. “I'm still– I'm still sensitive…”

“I know.” His lips find your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “I know. Just one more.” His pace slows, giving you a second. “Please, baby. One more, yeah? I need you with me.”

You look up at him, and you genuinely can’t say no to him. 

You just nod, a soft, breathless "okay" leaving your lips. 

So his pace shifts again – harder, deeper, the sound of it filling the room. His thrusts feel more desperate as you’re both getting close. 

“There you go,” he murmurs. “That's it. Just feel it. Feel all of me.”

“Carlos, Carlos– I can’t… I–“

“I know, me too, baby,” Forehead dropping to yours. “Come with me. Come on, baby.”

His pace builds, both of you chasing that release now, and he groans just barely putting his lips on yours, “I can feel you – shit, baby,”

“I can’t– fuck, I’m cumming!”

“Now, baby,” he grits out. “Right now. Give it to me.”

And then it hits both of you at once, your whole body seizing, his name tearing out of your mouth as he pulls out and spills his hot, sticky cum all over your stomach.

“Fuck… ah–” his groan is low and guttural, shuddering through his whole body, hips still moving slightly through it. “Baby…”

Your bedroom goes quiet except for the two of you breathing – unsteady, slowly coming back down. He drops beside you, chest heaving, his face turning toward yours on the pillow, then rests his forehead on your shoulder. You stay like that for a moment.

His breathing slows first, then yours. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder before sitting up.

“Lemme clean you up,” he says softly, reaching over to your nightstand for tissues. He wipes the mess on your stomach up gently and thoroughly.

“There,” he tosses the tissues aside. “All good.”

He settles back next to you. “C’mere, pretty,” he pulls you into his chest, arm wrapping around you. Your head finds the space just below his collarbone.

“You okay?” he says as his hand moves slow and warm up your back.

“Mhmm,” you hum against him, then look up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Never better, baby.”

He kisses the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair.

“So,” you mutter, “We just skipped the whole date, huh.”

He lets out a low laugh, chest rumbling under your cheek. “Oh, shit,” he rubs your arm. “Yeah, we did.”

“You owe me a date, Oliveira.”

He chuckles against your hair. “I'll take you on thousands of dates,” he hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up. He leans in, pressing his lips onto yours before murmuring, “Wherever, whenever. Just say the word, baby.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"No..." You whined, feeling the tears spring to your eyes almost immediately, collapsing into his broad chest.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you tighter to him. "I got you, baby. I got you."

He held you like that for a little while, just gently swaying you in the entrance of your home before you spoke up again. "M' sorry."

"What are you sorry for, honey?" He asked, his voice soft and caring.

"Getting like this." You sobbed again, fisting the back of his shirt in a feeble attempt to ground yourself.

"Nothing to be sorry for, sweet girl." He brought your face to look at his, wiping gently at the smudged mascara under your eyes. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

You admired him for a second before replying, even when you looked like a mess, he looked at you like you were made of pure gold. "Just a terrible string of terrible tables."

"Talk to me, honey."

You sighed, walking away from him and sitting down on the couch, feeling all of the muscles in your legs sigh with relief. "Well... Some girl thought I was hitting on her boyfriend, then I had to do a table of 26 by myself during the lunch rush, little kids were running everywhere, and I almost dropped boiling soup down me—!"

Tears were streaming down your face as you recalled the nightmare of the day. Just pure stress. One thing after the other.

Steve sat down next to you and pulled you onto his lap, your favourite seat. "It's over, baby. It's all over."

"I know, but I was all by myself and I haven't eaten all day and I didn't get a single break because it was so busy-" You rambled, your voice sounding more and more frantic as you went.

"Hold on, honey." Steve interrupted, "You haven't eaten all day?"

"No." You sobbed, clutching the shirt as his chest. You were so exhausted.

Steve paused for a moment, thinking about what he was going to do.

You kept going, almost completely hysterical by now. Steve had never seen you so stressed out and overwhelmed. "I just wanted to come home to you. You'd make it all better, I knew you would."

Steve picked you up bridal style without another word, and walked you to the bathroom. You sat snuggly in his beefy arms, feeling like you were in the safest place in the world. He placed you on the closed toilet lid, and began running a bath.

You pulled your legs up, your knees underneath your chin. You smelled like food and coffee, but somehow Steve still thought you were some perfect goddess. You were, to him.

Steve didn't look back at you once, instead making sure the water was the perfect temperature. Once the bath was full, he finally turned to face you, taking in the way you had completely curled in on yourself.

He gently pushed your legs down, and began unbuttoning your shirt. He went slowly and carefully, before pulling it off and discarding it in the laundry basket. Next, he unclasped your bra, also discarding it in the laundry basket.

"Wow." He grinned, pulling your tights off, but his eyes were elsewhere.

"Stop it." You smiled for the first time since you got home, your cheeks flushing red with shyness.

"Glad I can still make you blush." He untied your apron and let it fall to the floor, before helping you shimmy out of your skirt.

You looked away as he pulled down your panties, and let out a low whistle. "Steve, seriously." You feigned annoyance, but could never withhold a smile from him.

"What!?" He grinned, lifting you off of the toilet seat and into the warm bath tub. "Can't I admire my wife?"

You felt every muscle in your body relax at once, the warm water completely engulfing you, feeling like a safe shield around your aching limbs.

Steve knelt down beside the tub and slowly began to wash your hair with your vanilla scented shampoo, making sure to really work it in. You always loved when he played with your hair, so whenever he did this, you completely revelled in it.

The pair of you sat like that for a while, and you allowed yourself to completely melt into him, letting him take care of you. Your body knew when it was safe, and it was safe around Steve.

You admired him again while he cleaned you. His sunkissed skin, slightly tan from being outside coaching baseball all day. His broad shoulders and big biceps, his soft stomach... And, most importantly, his perfect face with his big brown eyes that looked at you with so much love and fondness, the same eyes that you fell in love with all those years ago.

"I love you." You whispered, and Steve smiled in return.

"I love you too, my sweet girl. Let's get you into bed, yeah?"

He picked you up, wrapping you in a fluffy towel, and carried you bridal style to your bedroom, placing you on the cushy bed. He knelt by the dresser, getting out an old shirt of his, and your favourite boyshorts, and then he helped you into them.

Finally, he pulled the comforter over your body, and climbed in beside you, pulling you tightly into his arms.

"Steve..." You grinned, watching him relax. "I'm hungry."

"I know, baby... Gotta get you comfy first." He mumbled, feeling your warm skin underneath his hands. He always got sleepy when you guys were in bed, it was his weakness.

His hands trailed up your body, interlacing your fingers with his. He brought your hand to his mouth, and placed a tentative kiss on the big rock sitting on your ring finger. He always did that, every single day.

"I hate that people made you feel bad." He confessed, his eyes locked on the ring. His ring.

"I feel so much better."

"I know... Just wish I could've been there."

"You were working too, Steve..."

Steve smiled slightly, nodding. He was so proud to be able to take care of you, even if you had your own job. You only had it because otherwise you had nothing to do all day...

"Waitressing is stupid." He mumbled, kissing your forehead gently.

"It is." You agreed, sighing and leaning into his touch. But, you loved your job, no matter how terrible it was. You loved when you were working late and Steve came in, ordering an appetizer, main, and dessert just so he could hang around you for longer. Loved when he tipped you extra well, with an additional kiss for a job well done, before whispering in your ear, promising that you'll get the rest of your tip later.

"But it makes you happy... Sometimes." Steve continued, chuckling slightly. "Not days like these."

You smiled, he was being cheesy now. "Okay, okay..." You laughed. Steve laughed too, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

"Wanna order food?" He says after a moment of quiet, to which you nodded.

A little while later, the two of you ate in silence, watching a stupid movie on the TV while Steve had to pretend he wasn't staring at you.

It was the perfect ending to the worst day. You felt comfort in knowing that no matter what happened, you could come home and cry to your sweet husband while he took care of you.

Marrying him was the best decision you had ever made.

You leaned against the wall, trying to tune out the arguing and clear your head for a moment, then a distressed voice cut through the room.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Steve scoffed, everyone stopped in the middle of their sentences and you tried not to show how obvious you straightened up at his voice.

“Why don’t we just—stop thinking about it? It could all be so simple, we get through the gate, find what we’re looking for, and leave.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, turning around as he felt the stare of someone lingering.

You quickly averted your eyes as casually as you could, it was already so obvious at this point how much you wanted him, but maybe if you forced yourself not to, it would go away.

Steve’s attention landed on you, the searching look in his eyes that seemed like he was staring into your soul made your heart flutter briefly.

For a second, it felt like it was just both of you alone in the room, the voices faded into something unimportant, focused on the boy in front of you. The air turned electric, and if someone moved too quickly it would all shatter away.

You allowed your thoughts to get the best of you for a second, thinking that maybe he sees it. Maybe he wouldn’t turn away this time, maybe he would love you too.

But before you could dwell on it, Dustin called Steve back to reality, ripping him away from you.

You sank back into the dark empty space you had been in, like nothing had even happened. It was stupid admittedly—how much you cared about Steve.

But he wasn’t just anyone. Steve was your person, if you wanted to rant to someone in the middle of the night you’d call him. If you were anxious or upset or your thoughts got too overwhelming, Steve was the first one at your doorstep to comfort you, like it was instinct.

You hadn’t meant to fall for him, but the yearning came as easily as breathing was. There was a small hope back then in the beginning, that the Steve who was as vulnerable as you were, would fall for you. Brushing your hair out of your face, letting you lean against his shoulder, looking for you first without realizing it, all the confusing signals made your head swirl.

But then he’d backtrack and make a stabbing comment like, “you’re the sister I never had.”

You smiled at first, pretended like you agreed and that it didn’t hurt you. Soon it became numbing, another reason why you would never be able to have what you wanted, the only thing your heart desired.

When the group had finally calmed down, you swallowed the lump in your throat when you noticed Steve approaching you. His eyes were wide with something you couldn’t understand, like he had been secretly watching you this whole time.

“Hey, I noticed you were quiet?” Steve asked low enough just for you to hear.

“I’m fine, Steve” you huffed. You really didn’t mean to take that tone with him, but he couldn’t just decide when he wanted to care about you and when he didn’t.

His eyebrows raised, “you sure?”

“Yes. I’m good, just stressed out.” You shrugged.

“Alright, whatever you say, but you know that if you need me I’m here, yeah?” Something glimmered in his eyes that you couldn’t identify.

“I know, I know.” You reassured him, no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop the softness you possessed for Steve.

The plan was set in motion, and you began the descent into the void of the upside down. Your heart quickened when you entered through the gate, expecting to already be mauled by some monster, but unexpectedly you felt a familiar hand grab onto your wrist.

“Just stay close, where I can see you.” Steve’s voice echoed through your head, sending shivers down your spine.

You attempted to brush him off and walked a couple steps in front, “I can handle things myself,” you responded without looking back, leaving Steve pondering on what you meant.

What has gotten into you lately? Steve didn’t know what he did for you to start acting so cold all of a sudden, the way you now recoiled at his touch instead of leaning into it like before. You were his friend — you were his… it didn’t matter. You were important to him and he wouldn’t just let you go that easily.

The group fell into heavy silence, looking out for any clue that would help lead the way. You were still navigating through the forest, entirely in your own world. Dustin was rambling about something DND related but you tuned it out, the kids noticed the tension between you and Steve, but didn’t dare comment on it when mom and dad were fighting.

Steve looked up, sneaking his millionth glance at you, just making sure you were safe. It was mostly to keep his mind occupied before it could stray away, but his breath caught when he noticed an unusual figure beginning to loom near you.

It was dark and big, blending into everything else in the upside down, but the more he squinted the more he was able to make out its shape, a demobat. And when Steve realized it was seconds away from attacking you, he froze terror overtaking his features.

“Look out!” He screamed your name, trying to move as fast as he could towards you. But you turned around too late, and by the time you tried to reacted, you were rooted to your place by a vine wrapping tightly around your ankle.

Steve was forced to observe, as it tugged you back even further from where you were standing previously, slamming you against the hard ground.

“Steve! Help—“ you shrieked, being yanked by the upside down itself, you faded away into the darkness being swallowed up by the vine, the only feeling was falling down down down.

Steve lunged forward, trying to reach and find you. “No!” He felt like his whole world was coming down on him, you slipped through his grasp because of his carelessness.

A screech filled the air, and the group looked above, right at the bats who were now threateningly swarming them. “Steve, we have to go.” Robin looked pained, trying to pull Steve back.

“No—no! I need to find her—she’s okay—I know she is!” Steve refused, tugging at the mess of vines.

The demobats were closing in now, and if they had any chance of finding you, they needed to be alive themselves.

“We need to leave, now” Dustin panicked.

Arms wrapped around Steve’s body trying to pull him away, “I’m not leaving her—”

Steve cried out, but a demobat hit him hard in the chest, causing Steve to fall to the ground.

Robin dragged him back up to his feet, but Steve hesitated, fixed on where the bats surrounded the spot you disappeared into—then suddenly hands pulled him away, and he had no option but to follow.

He didn’t stop looking back, scanning for any sign of you, but all he found was emptiness.

Even when the atmosphere calmed back down, and they hid until the bats left Steve was still panting, not being able to just stand still while you were gone.

How could he let this happen? His worst nightmare came true, he wasn’t able to protect you, keep you safe when he could’ve. All he could blame was himself, you had called out for him and he failed.

Without wasting another moment, Steve started sprinting all the way back. To the place they had been running away from, the group couldn’t stop him this time, he wouldn’t let bats or any other monster stop him from reaching to what he depended on.

He cut through the vines with purpose this time, and when one tried to retaliate and grab him, he tore it away without hesitation, he wouldn’t make the same mistake all over again, not when it costed him your life.

When he cleared through all of them he could finally spot something lying underneath. Steve saw your face, but it didn’t hold the special smile you usually reserved for him, it wasn’t shining with that warmth he cherished.

It was empty and soulless, like you were directly punishing him for leaving you all alone. But when he detected a subtle shift in your form — a sign that you might still be alive, Steve didn’t waste another second.

“Hey—hey—I’m here, I promise I won’t ever leave you again. Just come back to me, please.” He moved you into his arms, gently shaking and pushing all the grime away from your face.

All you could feel around you was darkness, it was cold and lonely and memories were coming back slowly into your mind. The last thing that had happened was being pulled away, wrenched apart from the one person you couldn’t live without.

But now, you could feel hands holding you, the same hands you pushed away before. The anxious awaiting breath of someone fanning down onto your face, warming you down to your toes, and it could only be Steve, the one who would go through literal life and death just to save you.

“S…S-Steve,” you weakly muttered out, still attempting to open your eyes.

“Yes! Yes it’s me, your Steve.” He exhaled relief. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you in time. I…I almost lost you.” He rushed the words out, like he was glad he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life thinking them in regret and guilt. You heard his voice break off at the end, finally becoming more alert.

Like a wave, it all started flashing through Steve’s eyes. The way he almost lost you for good, how he rushed forward not caring that his own life would possibly be taken by the bats, just how far he would go for you. His whole life, he thought love was something complicated, that’s why he kept ignoring it thinking he was undeserving. But what he realized was, he was ignoring you in the process.

You didn’t look at him how Robin looked at him, your eyes always held a different type of softness and your voice would always come out unsure when speaking to him, like you needed Steve to clear things for you. And he suddenly felt so foolish, how hadn’t he seen it this whole time?

Steve was denying himself from you and the love he had buried away, it wasn’t normal to feel all those things for your friend. Friend? He mentally scoffed, you were no longer just a friend, you were his damn soulmate. And he wouldn’t mind repeating it over and over to you, if he hadn’t already fucked things up between you two.

“I love you.” The realization came out soft, not loud and passionate, steady like it had been there this whole time.

“W-what?” You blinked rapidly up at Steve, not wanting to believe what you heard.

“I love you.” Steve reaffirmed, more confident in himself this time.

“Are you okay?” You mumbled out like a scared animal. Maybe Steve had gotten bitten by one of those bats and had caught some type of psychosis.

Steve couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at your words. “Yeah, I’m okay now, baby.” He tightened his hold on you. “I know…I know you love me. I really should have seen it earlier, but the truth was, I was scared of loving.”

“I love you too.” You tasted how it felt, finally saying them out loud, directed to whom your heart dwelled on.

You let out a shaky breath, Steve was acknowledging your feelings, not rejecting you or laughing. And the scariest part was that he felt the same way back.

“You really love me?” You asked.

He nodded looking deeply into your eyes, “I always have and always will.”

And while still stuck behind all the vines in the upside down, Steve pulled you against him connecting your lips.

You leaned your forehead on his when it broke, “not how I imagined it to happen.” You laughed lightly, and Steve reciprocated the smile.

“I wouldn’t change it for a moment.” Steve confessed.

He was the boy who kicked a ball into your yard and broke your fence, then the one who gave you his favorite blue marker when you had lost yours. The middle school teenager who walked you home everyday after school, and once allowed you to give him a messed up haircut. The highschool ‘king Steve’ who didn’t leave you through all of it, and sat on your bedroom floor while you cried over your first heartbreak—insisting that anyone who didn’t see you for the real you was an idiot.

Somewhere along the way, Steve had stopped being only your friend. He became your home.

The bar was warm with the atmosphere you cherished, the buzz of laughter and the thrum of music in the background filling the room with more energy.

“—And I told him, if you can’t appreciate the artwork of real storytelling and appreciate the concept of alphabetical order, then maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to rent films!” Robin threw her hands up in the air, in the middle of some dramatic story telling about a recent customer.

Eddie was snorting the beer out of his nose from laughing so hard across the table, while Nancy looked around in embarrassment—seconds away from pretending like she didn’t know you guys.

You laughed so hard your sides hurt, sipping your drink while Steve sat close enough that his thighs kept brushing your bare ones every time he shifted. He was always touching you in small absentminded ways, a hand on your waist to guide you through the crowd, pinching your cheeks playfully as he teased you, and never leaving without a tight hug.

Though tonight, every touch seemed to linger.

Every so often, you’d turn your head and find him already looking—brown eyes stretched impossibly wide, taking in every detail of you, unguarded as he admired you with a hint of pride that made your chest tighten, perhaps it was from the proximity, perhaps you loved when he looked at you that way. Because whenever you’d catch him—Steve would never look away in embarrassment, simply letting a small fond smile grace its way onto his face, a special one only meant for you.

A couple of drinks later, when Robins drunk giggling quelled down and Nancy let out a yawn, admitting she had to get up early tomorrow—Steve stood you back up with a hand on your arm, whispering low enough for you to hear.

“Come back to my place?” He asked, and you wasted no time in nodding your head a bit more feverishly than you meant to, you just didn’t want the night to come to an end so soon.

“You all good to go back home?” He called out to the rest, taking on his motherly role of remaining sober enough to keep everyone safe.

Nancy saluted, keeping a steady hold on Robin who tripped over her own steps. “I’ve got her.” She assured, while Eddie gave a small salute, making his way out of the bar.

By the time Steve pulled into his driveway with you in the passenger seat, the night had settled into a quiet hour where everything felt so still.

Your cheeks still ached from laughing, but your light hadn’t dimmed a bit—the alcohol left a pleasant warmth in your belly, one that blurred the soft edges around your thoughts and made you feel on top of the world.

He turned off the ignition and glanced towards you, there was that look again. You raised a hand to smooth down your appearance, feeling a little more self conscious than usual. “What?” You finally asked, tired of not being clued into what he was seeing.

“Nothing,” Steve simply shook his head, a soft blush rising to his face, but the moment had ended as quick as it started—he got out of the car and rounded the corner to help you out and open the front door.

“Make yourself at home.” He sighed, pushing the door open. This was never really Steve’s home growing up, always filled with silence caused by his parents never being around, and when they were—it just felt lonely.

Which is why he always liked it when you came over, you brought a spark that remained comforting even in your absence.

You slipped off your shoes and wandered into the living room, collapsing onto the fluffy couch with a giggle, while Steve had strayed to collect his record player—setting it onto the table and rummaging through his collection. After a moment—you had opened your eyes when you heard the soft familiar sound of a song Steve had associated you with since years ago.

You excitedly sat up, “Oh, I love this song!”

He grinned, having predicted your exact reaction and stood before you, extending an awaiting hand.

You took it and got up, beginning to dance—clumsily but just like how you always did together, you probably looked ridiculous but nothing mattered in that moment while swaying across his hard wood floors.

You laughed as Steve spun you around his arm, knocking into each other as a result of your lack of rhythm. “You always step on girls feet while dancing?” You playfully commented and Steve rolled his eyes, tugging you closer.

“Only the ones who are drunk while doing it.” He retored, but with no real bite.

The song came to end while your hands had been around his shoulders and his locked on your waist, both of you not really wanting to pull away but doing it anyway.

For a long moment, the room became filled with silence, sitting back down with no space in between.

Steve suddenly swallowed, his relaxed expression shifting into one of unguardedness and vulnerability.

“You know,” he said, barely louder than the soft hum of the record still going in the background. “You’ve always been the one who understood me the most.”

The words settled over you like a soft confession. Your heart began to thud against your ribs, unable to take your eyes away from his, falling deeper into his trance.

“I don’t think I can tell you that enough.” He continued, his hand that was holding your wrist rubbed his thumb slightly over the skin.

“You never had to.” You could only respond with, there had always been a connection that hadn’t been spoken aloud.

Before either of you could think better of it, maybe it was from the electric glances you had shared all night, you found yourselves leaning in.

His lips were softer than you imagined, was the first thought that had struck you—only the second being ‘I’m kissing my best friend.’

Just as Steve was about to deepen the kiss, reality seemed to crash back over the both of you all at once. The haze of the adrenaline lifted in an instant, and the weight of what you were doing had settled heavily over the both of you.

His lips lingered against yours for the briefest of moments before he pulled back—eyes wide and searching, as if he only realized now that this was real, that after a long time of friendship—after years of unspoken feelings and blurred boundaries, he had crossed a line neither of you had ever dared to think about.

You breath caught sharply in your throat, and for a moment you could only stare at Steve with a stunned expression.

You felt hot all over as the ghost of lips still remained against yours. Steve had kissed you.

It wasn’t in the casual, platonic way friends usually experimented in—harmless. The rush of sobriety coursed through you, he had kissed you like he meant it.

Like the whole night he had been thinking of it—not a drunken mistake he could take back. All of the precious shared memories and hidden emotions had resurfaced in a single moment.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt impossible that Steve was unable to hear it. But slowly, the doubt started to creep in. You searched his face, but it only reflected the same shock painted over yours—a flicker of uncertainty that made your chest twitch painfully.

He had waited a second too long.

A second long enough to show his hesitation—but it felt like confirmation of every fear that had come crashing down on you since he pulled away. If he had been so sure of his decision he wouldn’t have looked so startled, so scared.

Had you really jepardized a lifetime of friendship in a single, reckless moment?

The thought hit you with startling force, that things couldn’t go back to normal after this, that you would lose your best friend unexpectedly.

Before giving the chance for Steve to open his mouth and say anything, you instinctively pushed off of the couch, the space between you turning suffocating.

“I…” you tried to get words out—anything to fill the crushing silence, but you could only feel the sharp sting of tears pricking behind your eyes, hands shaking uncontrollably.

“I can’t stay here” you blurted the words escaping your mouth before you had the chance to reconsider them. Leaving no time for Steve to protest before you had already gotten your stuff and slammed the door behind you.

Only then did you allow yourself to fully break.

You stumbled down the front steps, the cold air hit you like a bucket of ice, tears pouring down your face as the streetlights blurred together. You don’t remember getting home—only that you had flagged down the first cab you saw and replayed the last ten minutes over and over again, each time igniting a new wave of pain as it carved deeper into your chest.

At first, it had felt like a dream. The closeness of your bodies as he moved you across the floor, keeping a hand on you the whole time the music played. Then the quietness of his voice as he confessed, like it had been held back forever. Finally, the kiss, the gentlest of presses against yours, but it was enough to take your breath away completely.

Then the split second of uncertainty that shattered your future together, and by the time you had reached your apartment, your heart felt bruised.

The days that followed had been the longest you could remember. Sleep didn’t come to you at night, only lying awake with a stiff body—it didn’t feel like it belonged to yours anymore, because your soul only felt alive with Steve Harrington.

Your phone had been dead of battery since that night, and maybe it was for the better, that way you couldn’t see if Steve had bothered calling or had taken an oath of silence similarly.

You told yourself you needed space apart, time to think, but most importantly—to forget. Even that seemed impossible, he was in everything. In the songs that played on the radio he would sing along with off-pitch every time. In the cafes you’d stop by and he’d order your latte just the way you liked it. In the empty space of your home, the walls that whispered his name, the designated spot on the couch he’d gladly sit on.

It only made things worse, a reminder that you had lost the person who knew you better than anyone else, that he would forever remain your soulmate, even through distance.

And somewhere between the endless thinking, holding his sweater he had given you before against your heart, inhaling his sweet scent that would linger on you regularly, you understood the truth you had masked into friendship from the beginning.

You were in love with Steve. Irrevocably in love with him, the knowledge had you gasping and caused the knife to dig deeper, until his actions had felt cruel. That he had forced you to confront the depth of your feelings for him—before you had come to terms with them for yourself—only to pull away and leave you alone.

Despite the hurt, and the silence, the desperate attempts to move on, you accepted that you would never be able to let him go.

The pang coming from your door was too sharp to be normal. It wasn’t polite or soft—only urgent. You freeze where you’ve been standing in the middle of your kitchen, in only an oversized t-shirt that had a popular 80’s band on it with shorts that barely skimmed the middle of your thighs.

Then the knock came again, louder and more insistent. You slowly crept over, and when you swung open the door it was the last person you expected—Steve was standing there like he had run the whole way.

Hair sticking up wildly like he had been tugging at it, chest rising fast in uneven motions, eyes blazed in a way that makes him look like a completely different person—no longer confident, or strong. This version of him looks like someone who has been unraveling for days and has finally reached the limit of his ability to hold himself together.

As much as you want to slam the door in his face and turn away, to give him a little of the same treatment he’s given you, you can’t pull your eyes away. Because for the first time, Steve looks like he isn’t holding back.

“Steve,” you say, the name feeling illegal to say aloud now. “You shouldn’t be here.” You stand your ground as much as you can.

He doesn’t flicker his eyes away, only swallows hard once, then twice.

“I couldn’t—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head like no words are right enough to describe what he’s feeling. “I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Your grip on the handle tightens, eyes narrowing at him, a humorless laugh threatening to pour out of you. “You don’t just get to decide when you want to stay.” You shot back, breathing heavily and feeling transported back to that night.

The words hit him in real time, his shoulders dipping and jaw clenching, like he knows he deserves it.

“I know.” His voice breaks off at the end. “I know I can’t.”

You don’t respond immediately, the silence stresses between you like something unlabeled—it should feel like closure, but instead it feels like tension pulling tight, something you can’t escape.

He takes a large step forward, fully stepping into your apartment, he pretends like it doesn’t hurt him when you take one back, stopping himself shortly.

“I’ve been trying to make sense of it,” Steve rushes the words out like he’s afraid at any moment you’ll decide he’s no longer worthy of being listened to. “Of everything—you and me, what happened that night.”

Your chest tightens back up at the mention of it, and his eyes look glazed over for a moment, like he’s seeing it again, the moment where everything went wrong.

“I didn’t plan it,” he says almost desperately. “And that’s the problem…because suddenly it was there and it felt so-so clear like it had always been there, but I was just too stupid to see it.”

He drags a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath.

“Then I kissed you and it just wasn’t—easy anymore.” His tone drops, quieter now.

“It felt realer than I expected—as if everything I’d been pretending I understood no longer made sense and I messed up.”

Your throat closes up and Steve looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face before it disappears.

“And then I saw your face after,” his voice cracking as his eyes welled up. “And I panicked. Because I didn’t know what to say—how to—how to hold something that important to me without breaking it.” He paused, a single tear cascading down his cheek. “But I did anyway.”

Your own vision blurs, but you don’t move, rooted to your spot so far away. He steps closer again, slowly approaching something fragile.

“I thought you realized you didn’t feel the same.” He says, voice stripped of everything but honesty. “When you got up and left—I thought I ruined everything and you just—” he inhales sharply. “You just didn’t give me a chance to fix it.”

“I know you don’t want me here.” Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs heavily. “And I know that you probably…don’t love me.” He physically flinched after saying it, closing his eyes like he wished he could rewrite your story.

“But I need you to know it anyway.” He looked straight at you, no hesitation you had seen previously, it was only him—raw and hopeless. “I didn’t stop loving you when you left. I just realized I never knew how to say it without ruining everything we’ve built.”

He doesn’t turn away after saying it, regretfully, Steve just stands there, waiting.

All the words you had rehearsed over the past few days over and over in your mind—the accusations, the questions, the walls you had convinced yourself to construct around what was left of your heart—dissolved the second you saw the look on his face.

He looks like a man so terrified and heartbreakingly sincere.

You can’t help but tighten your arms around yourself, needing to hold your own pieces together.

“You don’t get to do that,” you whisper, voice trembling. His face falls but you continue before he can interrupt.

“You kissed me—in a way I could never imagine, then you looked at me like you shouldn’t have done it.” You wipe your tears away with impatient hands.

“Since then I imagined everything—I thought that maybe you realized after the kiss I was never going to be enough for you. That you saw me the way I’ve always been afraid you would.”

He shook his head immediately, expression solemn.

But you can’t stop now, the years of unspoken feelings were breaking loose all at once.

“I loved you before that kiss, Steve.”

The confession hangs between you, irreversible. His breath catches but you force yourself to keep going, you couldn’t back down now.

“I think I’ve loved you since before I knew it, maybe forever. And when you finally kissed me…” your voice falters. “For one second, I thought I wasn’t the only one.”

Your heart stutters. “Then you pulled away.”

“You hesitated and that told me everything—that you realized you made a mistake.”

“I don’t know how to pretend that didn’t happen.” You allowed him to see every ounce of vulnerability that haunted you these days.

Your voice softened, until only honesty showed through. “But the truth is that…I never stopped loving you either.”

Steve looks taken aback, the air knocked out from his lungs. You took your own shaky step towards him.

“I don’t know what to think,” you admitted. “And the hurt isn’t gone. But if you really mean what you say—if you really love me, then I need you to promise something.”

His voice barely rises above a whisper as he doesn’t miss a beat. “Anything.”

You look downwards, at his hand you missed so dearly—his touch that was reserved for you. And you intertwined your trembling fingers through his.

“I need you to promise to not run from me again.” You hold his gaze, a fresh tear slipping down.

“Because loving you now hurts more than anything else.”

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, an exhale leaving you. “If we’re gonna do this, and admit what’s been right here all along…then I need you to stay.”

His face crumbled with something so relieved it nearly brought you to your knees. For a moment, he could only stare at you—not believing yet that he heard you correctly.

Then he blinks, and tightens his fingers around your, raising them slightly. “I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said, unsteady but certain. “I’m done acting like what I feel for you is something I can run away from.”

He pulled you a bit closer, until only inches separated you. “You’re it for me,” he whispered, searching your eyes for something that hadn’t been there on the night of the kiss. “You always have been, I just didn’t understand what I had until I lost it.”

The confession broke whatever fragile restraint you still had left. Your hands broke free from his—and for a second he thought you had changed your mind, until you cupped his cheeks and wiped away at the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes. He leaned into your touch on instinct, a regular softness that made your heart ache.

“I’m still scared too.” Your voice shook as a small smile found its way into your face.

He gave a small breathless laugh. “Same, because I’m pretty sure my heart is about to beat out of my chest.”

You laughed through your tears, and despite everything, he closed the remaining distance and kissed you.

Slow at first, like he was relearning what your lips felt like, reverent in a way. Then it felt like the answer you had been searching for on sleepless nights, everything you had been carrying for years. Steve then kissed you with unbidden passion, pouring all the affection into this moment.

You made a small sound but pulled him closer, hands tangling through his hair as you kissed him back with equal urgency, harder like there wasn’t enough time left.

His hands settled firmly at your waist, keeping you stuck to him as if he never intended to let you stray away again.

The outside world seemed to disappear, and by the time you both pulled away unwillingly, his eyes fluttered open with a dazed expression.

“I love you so much.” He sighed, still marveling at the truth of it.

You smiled widely until your muscles ached, and traced over his cheekbones with care. “I love you too.”

Then Steve kissed you again, with more heat this time and full of promise—and you realized this was only the end of the beginning.

You let out a sharp breath as he began to walk you backwards, already knowing the familiar route to your bedroom he spent many long nights in before.

He didn’t break the kiss the whole way, fumbling slightly into the room and kicking the door behind him shut. He pushed you down against the mattress, taking a moment to take you in—what was finally his.

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore.” He exhaled uncontrollably, as he trailed his hands down the slope of his torso, gripping the edge of shirt and pulling it up.

You could only stare up at him with wide eyes, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’d just said.

“You don’t?” You repeated, eyes shifting to his no bare chest, leaning on the palms of your hand.

“No.” He responded, crawling over your form, his eyes shined with something darker. “I want all of you, for you to be mine, forever.” Steve spoke in a low tone, before capturing your mouth in another kiss.

Each time it felt more unreal than the last, that you were here—with Steve, and kissing him like it was the last time.

You broke away, heaving heavily as your hands stayed grasping his hair. “I need you Steve—please, right now.” It was a desperate plea, to feel him in the closest way possible, to make him yours.

He grinned a sharp tooth smile while looking back at you with so much love, looking more beautiful than you’ve ever seen him in this light. He roamed his hands all over your sides, sliding your shirt higher and higher, until you were pulling it off your head and only remained in your lacey bra.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Steve practically groaned, eyes blown wide at the sight.

You stopped yourself from covering up your body with your hands, feeling a blush rise to your face.

“I can’t believe you’ve hidden this from me this whole time.” He shook his head, leaving love bites down your neck until he reached your chest.

You threw your head back, Steve moved his hand to cup over your breast, kissing the plush skin. “I need this out of the way.” He referred to your bra, and you wasted no time in reaching behind yourself to unhook and allowed it to fall off your shoulders.

He instantly attached his mouth to the peak of your nipples, and the sensation was so overpowering it left you breathless. You didn’t bother keeping quiet as moans left your mouth, Steve shifted between the two until they were glistening with his spit.

You pushed him off, needing him to stop teasing you as he looked at you with a laugh. “Slow down, baby. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

You rolled your eyes, and he received the signal, gripping the edges of your shorts and sliding them down slowly.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He spoke more to himself than you, bringing your underwear down along with the shorts.

Steve pulled your thighs apart and without looking back up at you, buried his head between them, lapping up at your core.

You gasped loudly, shutting your eyes as your thighs clamped around his head. He sucked your clit with enough pressure that had your whole body shaking on the bed.

He detached his mouth to look at you with a glazed expression. “You taste so good.” He groaned, leaning back down to circle your entrance with his tongue, before pushing the wet muscle inside.

“Oh—ah, Steve!” Your moans carried all throughout the apartment, though it only edged him on further, thrusting it in with more force and tasting your sweetness.

“So close.” Your back arched off the bed, the feeling taking your body over in the best way possible, though you didn’t want it to end.

Steve sensed how badly you needed to let go and moved his mouth back to your clit as his fingers replaced his tongue, scissoring you from the inside. “You can do it, baby. Just let go for me.”

You cried out as your vision went white, the high feeling unlike anything you’ve ever felt. He continued to move his fingers until you were brought back down to reality, panting and looking at him with a lazy smile.

He matched your expression, pulling his slick fingers out and sucking them clean, you pulled him back into a kiss and could taste yourself on his lips.

You closed your shaky legs, holding Steve close against you. “What? You think I’m done with you?” He said darkly, moving his hands to unlatch his belt.

You connected the pieces only then, the kitchen light, which meant Steve was home. Your stomach dropped so suddenly at the realization that a shiver ran up your spine.

Everything came rushing back to you at once, being in the same situation not so long ago, coming face to face with your ex-boyfriend's wrath. The shame he used to make you feel for having fun, it felt like a bucket of ice cold water was dunked over you.

Seriously? You’re drunk again?

You swallowed hard and hurried to set down your shoes as quietly as you could without being noticed. If you could just make it to the bathroom first—wash your face, drink some water, sober up as much as you can—

“Baby?” Steve’s voice called out.

It was warm and gentle, and made your entire body lock up. A second later, he rounded the corner wearing his usual pajamas, grey sweatpants and a dark shirt. But there were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep while waiting for you, hair messed up having run his fingers through it multiple times. Concern instantly took over his features when his gaze fell on you, his face softening unexpectedly.

“There you are,” he sighed out of relief. “I was starting to get worried…”

He paused when he noticed the look on your face, brows scrunching together. Your breathing had changed, face paling and looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Steve immediately straightened and attempted to come a little closer, movements slow in order to not scare you. “Hey, did something happen?” His mind went to the worst possible outcomes, had you gotten hurt?

“N-Nothing.” You rushed out, but it didn’t calm his thoughts, you had never spoken to Steve like that before—so closed off.

Before he could come any closer you moved past him, avoiding his eye purposefully. The smell of alcohol followed you, Steve noticed, obviously, but his expression didn’t twist into irritation or disgust like you had been waiting for.

Instead, his pitch got softer, like everything made sense now. “Oh sweetheart.” He muttered. “You drank tonight?”

Your chest tightened and you instantly felt the need to defend yourself before he could attack you.

“So? Is there a problem with that?” You crossed your arms, but your words hadn’t come out as confident as you thought, slurring together slightly as you put all your effort into standing up straight.

Steve blinked, taken aback. “Is there supposed to be?” He slowly questioned, not sure why you were acting so strangely.

“I just wanted to, okay? I didn’t have too much I swear—I can—”

“Hey, slow down.” Steve stopped your panic momentarily, inching closer with his hands held out in front of him.

But you flinched anyway. “I’m sorry.” You blurted out, feeling like everything was crashing down on you.

Steve’s face fell while his heart shattered in tiny pieces at the sight of you breaking down. “Sweetheart…” he said quietly.

You stared down at the floor, humiliation festering inside of you while tears burned behind your eyes. “I know you don’t like it, but I can fix it, okay! I’ll—I’ll make it up to you, just please don’t be mad.”

“Mad?” Steve repeated, sounding genuinely startled.

The tears couldn’t be locked away any longer and began to spill out by themselves, because he didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand the apologies your ex demanded from you when you’d arrive late into the night. How small he’d make you feel for “embarrassing” him, and now your thoughts were unclear and slipping away from you until you couldn’t stop spiraling.

“I know,” you pleaded weakly. “I know I shouldn’t have gotten drunk and I—”

“Honey, look at me.” Steve interrupted, but you only shook your head.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t—”

Steve couldn’t stand uselessly like this any longer while you buried yourself further into a hole of self-loathing, he gently placed a hand atop your shoulder, stopping you.

“I’m not upset with you.”

Your breathing refused to slow. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You will be.”

Steve stared at you for a long moment, before carefully taking your purse from your hands that had been clutched onto it so tightly unconsciously.

“You know what I want right now?” He said.

You wiped your tear stained cheeks, about to brace yourself. “What?”

“I want you to have some water.”

Your brows pulled together, still looking at him like you were waiting for the catch—for the frustration to bubble out of him.

“That’s it?”

“Thats it.” He guided you toward the couch with a hovering hand behind your back, not fully attaching itself until you leaned into it first.

You sat down shakily as he disappeared into the kitchen, hearing the cabinets opening then the sink running softly. No fists banging on countertops, no annoyed sighs.

When he returned, he crouched in front of you, holding a glass of water and a couple of pills with a smile on his face. “Something to make the hangover a bit easier tomorrow.”

Easier. Like that was all Steve wanted for you in life, even when you were battling against your worries he still thought about the little things.

You took the water and almost drank the whole thing, not having felt how exhausted you actually were until now.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He said, and you started crying harder.

“Oh honey, c’mere.” You didn’t wait to fold instantly, your body physically and mentally giving out. Steve caught you as you collapsed into his arms, face hiding into his chest as sobs wracked through you.

He held you tightly through it all. “I forgot you were home and I got drunk and now you have to deal with me,” you didn’t hold back, only crying harder.

“I want to deal with you.” He rubbed up and down your back consolingly.

“He didn’t want to.”

Steve’s hand paused in your hair. “Who?”

“My ex…” you swallowed hard, feeling like even just talking about it was enough to bring him back. “He used to get really angry with me when I drank.”

Steve’s blood ran cold, going completely still as he allowed you to go on.

“He’d make me do things to make it up to him, and I’d have to apologize ‘cause he ‘put up with me.’”

Steve exhaled sharply through his nose at what things you meant, but he tightened his arms around you instinctively.

“Oh.” Was the only thing he could say in that moment, feeling a blow to his chest.

You nodded against him, “I thought you’d be mad at me too.” You whispered.

At that, Steve pulled back just enough to hold your face carefully in both hands, looking deeply in your eyes, you saw the way heartbreak was written all over him.

“Listen to me.” He said firmly, but not without softness.

“You never owe me anything just because you wanted to drink.” Your breath caught on the way out.

“And you never have to ‘make it up’ to me for being vulnerable. All I thought about when I saw you was taking care of you. Of bringing you water and changing your clothes and holding you in bed until you slept.” Steve let out a wet laugh.

“I don’t care that you got drunk.” He rested his forehead against yours, speaking low. “I care that you came home scared, and it broke me at the possibility that it was because of me.”

All you could concentrate on was Steve. On his heartfelt words, on his tone, on his sweet scent that invaded your senses, and on his hands that were touching you not out of entitlement, but out of concern.

He kissed your forehead then pressed another one in the same spot, lingering.

“You’re not mad?”

“I could never be. I’m mad for you.” He confessed, and a weak laugh escaped you.

His eyes crinkled at the sound, and he pulled you impossibly closer. “I love you.”

Afterwards, he helped you wash your face and change into one of his oversized shirts you loved so much, before tucking you carefully into bed,

You were sniffling when he climbed in beside you. He didn’t rush to touch you, only facing you while keeping some distance between your bodies.

“Want me closer?” He gave you the option, and you nodded once.

Steve opened his arms silently and you didn’t hesitate as you moved into them, feeling all his warmth seep through your once cold body.

You allowed your breathing to match his, chest falling up and down as he started a steady rhythm. “You’re safe with me.” He whispered as your eyes slowly began to fall shut, sounding like a promise.