Imagine: You were the one who took Spider in after Neytiti voiced her concerns. After raising your son on your own for over 14 years, you end up meeting his father in less than desirable circumstances.
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: murder (cmon it’s Quaritch and you’re a very protective mother)
Masterlist
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Your people said that you were born twice, once at your birth and the second in the eyes of Eywa when you earned your place amongst the clan. But you didn’t really feel like you started living until the day Spider came into your life. You remembered the day like it was yesterday.
It had been a long day, full of flying, patrolling the area on the lookout for any suspicious activity around the clan’s current home near the Tree of Souls, where you had to be forcibly relocated after the skypeople destroyed the Hometree. You were finally granted rest time and you head straight to the riverbank to wash your face and arms of the sweat and dirt that caked your blue skin, a satisfied sigh left your lips as the water cooled your flesh. You sat back on your heels, eyes closed, basking in the fading sunset as your ears twitched, taking in the sounds of the running water, the distant calls of ikrans in the sky, the quiet chirping of prolemuris as they swung through the trees.
Your eyes snapped open as your ears twitched to the left, hearing a shrill little giggle. It sounded so childlike. You turned to face the noise, finding a white-fleshed creature waddling its way towards the riverbank. It was covered in a loincloth similar to the kind your people wear, yellow hair frizzy and untamed down his back. A black mask stuck to its face and dirt caked its arms, legs and stomach. A skyperson. But it was so small? So tiny and helpless. A baby? You had never seen a baby skyperson before, and looking at this one, it was very difficult to believe they could grow up to be such heartless beings.
It didn’t seem to be aware of your presence at first, scurrying around, following something crawling along the floor. You watched intently, tracking its every move. Even as the child slipped on a wet rock and fell onto his behind. Your four fingered hand came up to cover your mouth to muffle the laugh behind it. The little human finally saw you then, head turning to look at you. He stayed on the floor for a few moments before immediately getting back onto his feet, waddling over to you. You were unsure how to proceed. What if his parents were nearby ready to shoot with their big guns? Did his presence mean you were close to others? Your ears and sense of smell told you otherwise, but your guard was raised nonetheless.
The small boy slowed down as he reached your kneeled form, you were so much taller than him just like this. It was comical seeing how much his head tilted back to look you in the face. It was enough to cause your mouth to split into a smile, making the human let out another giggle. His hands opened and closed as they reached out towards you, wanting to be held.
By all logic, you should pick the boy up and throw him in the river, discard of one more skyperson. It was what your head was telling you to do, but your heart and all your instincts had you moving towards the little boy. Hesitantly, your big hands cupped him underneath his armpits to lift him off the ground. It was as if he weighed nothing at all. You held him out in front of you, turning him to look over him, checking for injuries or perhaps even a hint he belonged to someone.
The baby human only giggled at being spun around, his hands opening and closing into tiny fists as he whined, reaching for you, gurgling nonsense, not even full words. Slowly, you brought him closer, his head resting on your chest. The contact soothed him, his whining stopping immediately, his small arms doing their best to fit around your neck as his head rested upon your shoulder. Your hands moved to slide one underneath his bottom whilst the other cradled the back of his head.
You slowly stood, turning to look all around you, but yet again, there was no sign of any other skypeople. You decided you would have to take him to the Olo'eyktan, Jake Sully, to decide his fate. Your tail swished behind you as you took a leisurely walk towards your home camp, glancing down every so often at the little boy in your arms. His hands had come down to play with the beads on your top, tracing them with his tiny fingers. The sight filled you with deep emotion.
You had lost your chance to be mated before the eyes of Eywa, your chosen mate losing his life in the skypeople battle before you could bond. In grief, you hadn’t chosen another mate and therefore had not been granted the blessing of children. Many times you had dreamt of seeing little fingers curled up against your chest just like this, carrying your baby protectively through the forest. Your closed off maternal instincts overpowered you as you looked down at the small boy. You made a silent vow to protect him until he was safe.
You were a few feet from the edge of the home camp when you heard panicked shouting, causing you to pick up your pace. Your hands held the boy closer to you as you ran, only slowing once you saw your fellow Na’vi. The first being the Olo'eyktan himself. At the sight of you, he came to a halt and looked down at your arms.
“Spider! Oh buddy we were looking everywhere for you. Where did you find him?” Jake came over to you, his attention turning to you after seeing the boy Spider was okay. Your hands loosened their hold so he could see Jake in front of him, the young boy giving him a wide smile before looking back up at you. Your teeth bared in a grin as you moved the hand on the back of his head to lightly stroke the bridge of Spider’s nose, “This little thing was running towards the riverbank. He came towards me and asked to be held. I accepted his request.” Spider giggled and grabbed onto your long finger.
Jake looked surprised at you, though your focus was trained onto Spider so you took no notice. The movement of tree branches had you all looking towards Neytiri who walked forwards to scowl at the boy in your hold. Jake waved his hand in Spider’s direction, “You see? He needs us, he doesn’t have anyone back there to look after him. It’s not safe for him there.”
Neytiri grunted, her disdain clear on her face, “He does not belong here. He was here for seconds and yet he cause trouble, running away. I cannot permit this, Ma’Jake.”
Jake ran a frustrated hand over his face, “Baby please, he has no where else to go, both his parents are dead. We can teach him our ways, he won’t grow up to be like the others.” Neytiri still wasn’t convinced, her teeth baring in a snarl as she glared at Spider. The sight made you hold the boy a little tighter. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, holding yourself a little higher. “I will take care of him.”
Both Neytiri and Jake snapped their eyes to you. One of shock and one of relief. Jake took a step forward, placing a strong hand on your shoulder, “Thank you, (Y/N), thank you. I am indebted to you for this.” Neytiri frowned, looking between you and her husband before giving a reluctant nod, she wasn’t going to win this battle,
“Very well. You are now responsible for the human. Raise it properly and perhaps it will not grow into its insanity.”
“-om, Mom!” A small nudge in the middle of your back had you shaking out of your memories. You lifted your arm to look behind you, seeing Spider standing there with a basket of berries. You smiled down at your adoptive son, patting him on his head. “Mom, you were like completely zoned out, I was calling you for ages.”
“Apologies, my son, I was just thinking about the day I took you in.” Spider wrapped his arm around your waist in a hug, “You were so tiny, and helpless. I can see not much has changed.”
Your soft laughter rang through the air as Spider tried to tackle you to the ground but his human body was no match for your Na’vi strength. “You’re not funny mom!” He whined as you pushed him back, reaching down to tickle his sides, grinning at his laughs. Only when his breathing got too shallow did you stop, immediately kneeling down to get face level with him, checking the oxygen markings on his mask. Still high. Spider rolled his eyes at your big eyes full of worry, placing his hands over your own, “Mom I’m fine, c’mon. Look I got you some berries, I know you’ve been craving them lately. I went with Kiri before you start worrying I was alone.”
The tone in your voice turned playful at the mention of Kiri, “Oh, Kiri hm? You’re often alone with the Sully girl aren’t you Son.” His smaller hands swatted at you but you brushed them off, “Ugh mom! We’re just friends.” Your smile widened as your hand brushed through Spider’s blonde dreads, “Mawey Son, I am just teasing you. Come, it is time to welcome the warriors back from patrol.”
You placed your hand on Spider’s shoulder, guiding him alongside you as you walked forward, your tail swishing behind you. You tilted your head back to release a call for your ikran, Amay, who came a few seconds afterwards. She was large and beautiful, all kinds of shades of blue adorned her tough skin. She screeched as she landed, bowing down before you to allow you to sit on her back. You reached behind you to grab your queue to bond with Amay, leaning back to make space for Spider who promptly crawled over to sit in front of you. Once he was comfortable, you held onto her and flew her around to the other side of the Hallelujah mountains where your clan had been moved due to the decision of your leader, Jake Sully.
The past year since the RDA had come back, your world felt unsafe once again. The skypeople were relentless in their pursuits and you often feared for your people, and your son’s life. You had no idea what might happen to him should he be taken by them. A human with a life’s worth of knowledge about the Na’vi way of life was sure to be valuable to them.
It didn’t take long before you landed at the camps, helping Spider down onto the ground before releasing your bond with Amay, allowing her to fly away to rest. You watched with a knowing smile as your son immediately made his way over to the eldest Sully daughter. She was a sweet young girl and had never treated your son as anything less than an equal, it wasn’t hard to understand why Spider was so attached to her and the rest of the Sully kids.
Jake called all the riders to the tent at the back of the cave, gathering for a debrief on the latest patrol. You were quick to follow the others, knowing your son would be fine with the Sully girl.
A few hours had passed, darkness spread through the night and fatigue was starting to take over in you. Your ears twitched along with your nose as you picked up the fading scent of Spider, where had he gone?
“(Y/N)! The kids and Spider are in danger, I need your help!” There was no time to waste, running alongside your chief as you both ran towards the edge of camp, shouting for your ikrans. You glanced over to your right to see Neytiri following closely behind, the three of you gliding through the air to the coordinates Jake had gotten from his son. It was like you could feel the blood pumping around your veins in a mixture of rage and worry. All of them were just children, but Spider was vulnerable especially without his mask. He needed you, you could feel it.
Landing as quietly as possible in a tree close to Lo’ak’s coordinates, the three of you stepped down from your ikrans, ears perking as you picked up the sounds of struggle ahead. Jake gave you and Neytiri hand signals, with his wife turning off right as you headed towards the left, taking out your knife to grip tightly in your hand. You crouched down low, your steps light on the ground as you made your way unnoticed towards a small clearing. There you saw all of the children held up by demons, or Avatars, as Jake would have you call them.
You watched as Jake made the first move, taking down a guard in front of him. You scowled at the avatar in front of you, waiting for the moment he stepped back, far enough away from the view of the others to strike. One more step. Now.
You lunged, jumping up to wrap your legs around him to keep him still, one hand covering his mouth as the other sliced his neck, jumping off to slowly lower his body to the ground. Two down but still too many to go. The upper hand was yours, your positions kept secret. Until Neytiri fired her bow into the head of a demon right next to the tallest demon of them all. He held your son’s hair tight, the pain on his face forced a snarl from you. The avatars turned to shoot in Neytiri’s direction, foolishly keeping their backs to you.
You rushed out of hiding, using your knife to stab through the stomach of one man, hissing as you pushed him away, pulling your weapon back to wield again. You ducked a hit from the man to his left, coming back up to push your knife into his chest.
“Mom!”
Spider’s voice distracted you only for mere moments but it was enough time to have you be grabbed by your queue, a foot to the back of your legs forcing you onto your knees. You snarled and snapped your jaw at the hands trying to grab at your face.
“Well lookey here. Ain’t you a little spitfire.” The tallest Demon, the one Neytiri recognised, walked closer to stand in front of you. His eyes held curiosity as he stared down at you. You had killed three of his men and yet he smirked down at you? But it was irrelevant, he took your son and now he needed to pay.
You glared up at the demon man before you, jaw clenched in unmeasurable anger. A rusting and a cry of pain had your head turning to see Spider being held unconscious on the shoulders of the female demon. A quick scan around the clearing showed all the Sully kids and their parents nowhere to be seen. At least they made it out safely but the sight of your son in the hands of that bitch turned against your better judgement. Your elbow drew back into the stomach of the demon behind you, releasing his hold on your queue to spin around, kicking your leg out behind you to swipe him off his feet. Your hands grabbed handfuls of dirt into your palms to throw at the face of the demon in front of you. It was juvenile and not well planned but it worked for long enough to be able to get close to your son.
Just as your hand held onto Spider’s the feeling of something cold pressed against your forehead. The weapon the female demon was holding in her hands dug into your skin as your bared your teeth at her. “Stand down, Z.” The she-demon frowned but obediently pulled back her weapon. You snarled at her, “Give me back my son.”
An amused laugh echoed in the clearing, the taller man coming into view as he walked to the side of you, wiping the mud from his face. “Your son huh? Is that right? Forgive me if I’m wrong but uh ain’t you a little too blue for a son who looks like that?”
Your gaze hardened, “I have raised him since he was a little boy. He is my son and I will not let you demons take him from me, or I swear to Eywa I will hunt you down and kill every last one of you with my bare hands.”
Quaritch’s mouth spread into a grin, his small fangs revealing themselves into the night, “Ain’t that a pretty promise? Alright, we’re taking her too boys, let’s roll out.” His hand came up to grab your wrists, placing a strange black binding around them, “No biting cupcake, or I’ll have to muzzle you.” You answered his words with a hiss, only gaining another laugh. Your tail swished in fury, preparing to make another attack even with your bound hands. That was, before you were hit in the side of the head with the gun of the marine behind you, knocking you unconscious.
The sound of the helicopter above had Quaritch leaning down to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, as they made their way towards the landing hovercraft. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure Spider was in tow with the others.
-
Your lungs burned as you awoken, mouth open desperately trying to gulp down air that wasn’t meant for your body. Your vision blurry as your arms swung around, fighting for survival. A blue blur in front of you came closer, grabbing something from your chest to press over your nose and mouth.
“Breathe. That’s it. Nice and slowly.” You greedily swallowed down four big inhales of air before your heart rate slowed down enough to regain full consciousness. Blinking, your sight cleared to recognise the blue blur as the soldier from (you assumed) last night. Immediately, you bared your teeth to snarl at him, ears pinning back and making a move to strike him. Your wrists were caught before you could make contact, his grip firm but not enough to cause pain.
He could only smile at your defiance, “I like the fire in you, lady. We haven’t been formally introduced, the names Miles Quaritch.”
Your nose scrunched in distrust for the man. “I have no desire to know you, Demon.” Quaritch smirked as he let go of you, either foolishly thinking you wouldn’t try to attack him again, or cocky enough to assume he could stop you a second time.
“I’d beg to differ. We seem to have a common interest. The boy, Spider, is my son.” Your eyes widened in shock, that surely wasn’t possible, he had to be lying. Quaritch continued, “Not from this body of course. I was a human killed by Mrs Sully, my memories stored and placed into this body. He was born just before things went tits up for us, his mom died fighting alongside me.”
“Wrong. I am his mother.” The scoff from Quaritch’s mouth made you angry, as if you were a child lying for attention. “I took him in, cared for him as my own for fourteen years! I have been there through the sickness, through the good. I have wiped his tears and bathed his tiny body. I have been the one to keep him fed and soothe him to sleep. I am his mother in every sense of the word and I will not let you or anyone take him from me.”
Quaritch stood still for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest, looking you up and down and nodded once, twice. “That right? Guess I owe you some kind of thanks then, for keeping my boy safe and sound.” You didn’t bother hiding the anger on your safe from hearing Quaritch call Spider ‘his boy’ but at least he didn’t seem to have bad intentions towards your son.
Quaritch lifted his own breathing mask that lay around his neck to take a deep breath before turning to leave the room, his hand reaching for the door handle. “Wait,” he paused, “I want to see him.”
Quaritch pursed his lips at your request, letting out a quiet hum in thought. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, lady.”
“Please.”
Quaritch looked back over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing as they stared into your own. A slow nod, “I’ll see what I can do.” You tried not to show your emotions to this demon but you couldn’t help the relief on your face at the chance of being able to see Spider. No doubt he was feeling scared and angry at being cooped up in this horrible place. The walls were so bright it was making your head hurt to look at them. You sat down on the metal bench, occasionally taking breaths from the mask around your neck as you waited for when you could see your son.
It was hours later when you heard the door to your glorified cage unlock, opening to see Quaritch behind it. Your nose twitched as you recognised Spider’s scent, sitting up straight to look past Quaritch to see Spider pushing his way into the room, “Mom!”
“Spider!” You leapt off your seat, meeting your son halfway in the room, crouching down to take him into your arms. Your large hand cradled the back of his head as you felt your eyes watering, the relief at seeing Spider pushing the tears out of you. You pulled back to start lifting up his arms, looking for any signs of injury, “They didn’t hurt you did they? I swear, if they laid a finger on you I will happily bite them off.” Spider laughed at you, oh how you were so happy to hear that laugh.
You brought your hands up to cup his face, leaning down to press your forehead against his own, feeling his hands wrap around your wrist. “Mawey mom, I’m fine, see!” You smiled at that, he seemed like the same old Spider. You tilted your head up to press a soft kiss against Spider’s forehead, your tail curling around Spider’s leg. You had never seen Spider up close without his mask before, having refused many times to enter the human labs he liked to frequent with his friends. You could see every detail so much clearer, including the red streaks on his cheeks where it was clear he had been crying.
Your eyes flickered up to see Quaritch stood at the entrance, staring at the two of you with an unreadable expression on his face. Seeing he had your attention, he cleared his throat, “That’s enough now, we need to get ready to leave.” His words had you standing immediately, putting yourself in front of your son, “You will not take him from me again, Demon.”
“Mom it’s okay,” Spider’s hand tugging your own did nothing to calm you down, not as Quaritch smirked, taking two steps towards you, limiting the distance to mere inches between the two of you. You hated that you had to crane your neck a little to look up at him and the smug grin on his face. “Oh no little lady, you’re coming with. Spider’s made it very clear he won’t cooperate unless you tag along.”
‘Lady’ you despised that name. It was meant for the sky people, not na’vi like you. Your teeth gritted as you spoke, “My name is (Y/N), not lady.”
“Pretty.” Your ears pinned back as you scowled at him, placing a protective hand over Spider’s chest behind you. Pretty? It was not a word you had often heard about yourself in regard to your name but you refused to feel praise at the compliment. Quaritch held out his hand to you, but you swatted it away, taking hold of your son’s hand as you stepped out of the white box room, ducking so as to not hit your head off the low ceiling. Spider’s hand clenched around yours, “Don’t worry Mom, I’m gonna get us out of here. We just need to play along for a while.”
Your thumb rubbed over the back of Spider’s hand, trying your best to make the smile on your face look genuine. But it was difficult to feel any sort of hope for your future, with it being in the hands of these dangerous creatures. As Quaritch led you two towards yet another skyperson air craft, Spider spoke to you in Na’vi informing you of what it was that you were supposed to be doing.
Your stomach bubbled with dread for what lies ahead, your only comfort being your son sat by your side, arms wrapped around your waist like he had always done when seeking your affection. You didn’t smile, keeping your face stoic as the back of your hand gently stroked the back of his head. How you wished to grab him by the face and tell him everything was going to be okay, but you didn’t want to show any kind of weakness or fear to these demons. At the feeling of being watched, you raised your head to see Quaritch looking at you and Spider with that same unreadable expression. Your graze hardened, your arm subconsciously moving to cover more of Spider and holding him closer. Quaritch blinked twice before seeming to come back from his thoughts, making eye contact with you. He smirked, you bared your teeth and wrapped your tail around Spider’s leg. Your eyes closed as you muttered under your breath, praying to Eywa that the two of you would remain safe, that you would find your people again, and that you would bring these demons to their knees.
╰➤ INCLUDES: desperate Adrian, whining, sprinkle of dacryphilia, established relationship, sappy, codependency vibes, hurt/comfort
Adrian wasn’t a sentimental man.
He walked the tightrope of psychopathy with a grace that most sane people lacked entirely. He didn’t flinch when he took a life, when he hurt someone, when someone hurt him. That lethal indifference to the conditions of his physical body let him do what he did, let him keep the streets clean. He’d take a bullet if he had to. Would kill a kid happily if Peacemaker couldn’t manage it. Anything for the cause, anything to ensure justice was carried out.
He wasn’t sure if he was someone who felt love in the way others felt it, but he felt an equivalent. When you stripped him down to bare bones and organs, there were names carved messily on his heart just like anyone else. People who had managed to win his disgustingly solid loyalty, his devotee tendencies. Chris had been the first, then John, and now you.
You hadn’t meant to put your name there, hadn't even realized he’d handed you the knife until the wound was already bleeding. You were nobody special, certainly not someone capable of dismantling an alien race. You were just a friend of a friend, someone who existed in quiet pockets of solitude and occasionally visited Emilia when you knew she was nearing an edge. That’s how it started, how he’d cemented himself as an irreplaceable aspect of the life you now shared with him.
You worked a job that normal people worked, being different from them only in the tremendous weight of your worry. Your co-workers weren’t dating the deranged defender of their homely city - that was just a you thing. Your co-workers weren’t completely consumed by the possibility of a criminal getting the better of their partner, of having to see headlines about it, of having to watch people celebrate it.
You were. You could barely breathe with the gravity of it sometimes.
When the butterfly threat had been neutralized, you were thrilled to have Adrian go back to thieves and dealers. It wasn’t ideal, but he loved it, and you loved seeing him fulfilled. More importantly, he could handle those threats. He made it look easy with how equipped he was for it
Post 11th Street Kids, you and him had managed weeks of peace and domesticity. Nothing deadly hung over your heads anymore, just quiet nights and shared laughter over the absurd headlines being written about him. It was perfect, and it was calm, and it was yours. Something the two of you had all on your own.
After Chris tasked your lover with helping him clean up the corpse of his doppelganger, you knew that time was over. Something new was starting, and at the core of Adrian’s involvement was, yet again, Peacemaker.
You never liked him much. You’d been excited to meet him after hearing the man you love speak so fondly of him. How he was a legend, how he was a role model, how they were best friends. After you’d met him, though, you saw the acidic truth that Adrian’s dedication wasn’t always reciprocated. In this case, it wasn’t even respected.
You’d tried your hardest to voice it, to tell him what you’d felt, what you’d seen. How it seemed like Chris enjoyed him only as long as he was useful, only for the purposes he could serve. He’d looked heartbroken before you even finished talking, so you stopped. You cleaned it up, said Peacemaker just wasn’t your kind of person, but that Adrian was his own man. If he valued the friendship, that was what mattered. You showed your distaste through pointed stares and flat tones whenever you saw him, letting his pleasantries rot in the air like neglected fruit.
Chris had been the cause of your first fight in months. Something entirely too burdensome for such a late hour. He’d called for Vigilante a little after 9, saying that he needed something in the other dimension, and he wanted backup for it. You told Adrian that the request was ludicrous, that not only was it late, but that it wasn’t his problem. Whatever strife the helmet-clad asshole was dealing with was something of his own doing. He should stay, go to bed, stop running to Chris’ every beck and call.
He slammed the door on the way out. You went to bed angry. Something you both had promised never to do.
The door didn’t slam on his way back in. He shut it gently with the hands of a man who’d lost a battle. His footsteps dragged, presumably staining the floor of your holy place with inevitable sins of the outside. It woke you up immediately, the irregularity. He didn’t walk like that. He didn’t open things like they’d yell at him if he pressed too hard. He entered spaces as he was, grand and malevolent. It made you nearly question his identity, question whether or not it was him who’d just walked into the bedroom. His breathing was audible for a moment, sounding like his lungs were shaking the oxygen out instead of fondly pushing.
You sat up when it was clear he was standing still, waiting for something. The room was dark, but light from the window made him decently visible to eyes that had been in darkness for hours. You saw his lips part, as though he was trying to speak, but he just couldn’t.
The sheets were parting around you before you even registered you were moving, allowing your legs to straighten as you stood up. You moved over to his slouched form, all the accumulated rage from before dissolving into nothing but cold air. Was he hurt? Why wasn’t he saying anything?
“Woah, hey.” His neck was craned down, eyes drooping cruelly to the floor, like he couldn’t bear the sight of you. Your hands burned with the heat of his flushed face, tilting his head back up to eye level. “What happened?”
The second he felt the heat of your fingers, the warmth of life, he collapsed into you, forcing you on to the wrinkled sheets of your shared bed. His arms wrapped around you like a ravenous snake readying the prey for consumption. His forehead met your shoulder, nearly crushing you with how close he pressed himself. His cheeks were wet, he’d been crying.
That put the fear of God in you. Adrian Chase didn’t cry.
“Saw you die over there.” You were surprised at how cohesive his speech was, although slurred and thick with bottomless horror. His arms gripped tighter, somehow. Like he was trying to tuck you inside his chest to stop the ending he’d seen. “I saw you in the street and some guy just…”
You didn’t have words that could properly convey the hurt radiating off of him. You weren’t equipped to talk him off this particular ledge.
You put your hand on the back of his head, wrapping both your arms harder against him. Reassurance felt wrong, and comfort felt unreachable with how shaken he was. He could clearly tell you were still alive in the world that was his, but it seemed like he couldn’t digest it. Like your voice, and your smell, and your presence wasn’t enough to stop the fact from slipping through the cracks in his heart.
“I’ve just been sleeping, Adrian. I’m okay.”
You said it as softly as you could, not wanting to shatter the stillness of the air. He nodded against your chest, but he still shook like he was watching what happened play on loop.
“I know.”
You sunk your head down slightly, kissing the side of his head and further messing up his curls that had puffed from the exertion of his outing.
You felt his hands find home on your hips, pushing his fingertips into the pliable flesh in a very specific way. Something he only did when he was needy, when he was aching for the intimacy of being taken, of being seen.
His name slid through your barely parted lips, a warning in the softest degree. He was mourning, barely holding himself together enough to tell you what happened. You didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want him to do this and then regret in the morning.
“Please, I know. Just need to feel you.”
You went to object, truly. Some vague declaration of his ill mind, his sleep deprivation, his grief. The start of it met his ears both irrefutable and insignificantly. It didn’t matter what you’d almost said, because the latter half died off at the first roll of his hips. The attire you rested in every night was made of thinner material than the clothes you wore during the day, making it that much easier for him to catch you at just the right angle.
A heavenly groan fled from his lips, settling as a tiny vibration against the skin of your neck. Your hands were gripping him tight. Tighter than anything that could be covered by the guise of comfort.
This was greed. Something mindless and insurmountable found only in the childish grinding, in the shameful moisture once again flowing from his glossy eyes.
“Fuck - just like that. Just need this.” His head stayed put against the crook of your collarbone, as though you could shield him from whatever sights were hidden behind his eyelids. “Don’t even wanna be inside you. Just need you close to me.”
Sounds you’d never heard yourself make were pouring mercilessly out of you, not even encroaching the territory of the man above you. He was pitiful, exhaling whimpers so sharp and so wonderful that they could have sliced your skin on impact. It was a magical thing to hold him like this, to be someone so deep within him that this was the result of seeing someone with your face fall victim to circumstance.
He was evidently hard now, and you swear the material of his suit was even rougher when felt through more layers. It’s solid and it’s perfect. The friction of his pumping hips burns you in a way you’d never anticipated, licking stripes of smooth fire up the length of your spine.
“You’re too good for me. ‘m sorry I need you so much.”
You couldn’t think properly enough to interject, simply resorting to shaking your head in disagreement. The pressure of his evident bulge made you continuously clench around nothing, made your inhibition pour out of your ears like soap. You could feel evidence of your own arousal soaking through your underwear. You needed him just as bad, just as carnally.
“But I really fucking do. Couldn’t live without you. Wouldn’t want to.”
He was so strung out that his sentences were bleeding into each other, wobbly and coarse. He was certain of only one thing - you. Your state wasn’t proving much better, head dizzy and fingers tight in his hair. The rhythm you’d managed to find with him was innate, as though your body knew what his was doing before it’d even been considered. It felt so fucking good that you didn’t know how to be with him, didn’t know how to be anything in that moment except whatever he chose to make you.
“Couldn’t live without you either, Adrian.”
If someone had heard an isolated recording of that response, they would most likely assume you were inebriated. Some type of alcohol or laughing gas making your words loopy. Devoted, even. Like someone who’d found the keys to the universe.
And being there with him, it felt like you just might have.
“Shit -”
You could tell he tried to warn you, tried to tell you that he was done for. He didn’t manage to get the cautionary remark out of his mouth, breathing one of the prettiest noises you’d ever heard into your neck like he was sealing a secret into you. Branding you with the time he’d cracked open before you, with the time you’d held his fragments in place.
Maybe in the other world you were gone. A speck of dust to be blown away amongst all the other extinguished life. But here, you were his.
Simon Riley may not look the part, but he's a man absolutely smitten with your cheeks. Oh, don't be naughty, luv, he means your face... though the ones below the belt are easy on the eyes, too, yeah?
He's never been the touchy-feely type, but when it comes to you, Simon can never say never. There's something about the way your face lights up whenever you're with him, cheeks damn near bulbous because your smile is so damn big or you're laughing your arse off, and it makes him want to cup them. Every single time. Without fail.
And he does. Every single time. Without fail. Big, calloused hands grabbing your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks, marveling at the softness of your skin, dark eyes boring into yours, committing every feature to memory, just... just watching you, same as he did the very first time he laid eyes on you. Same as he does every time he sees ya, luv.
And every single time, without fail, he squeezes 'em, enough to make you pout and scoff in faux irritation, enough so that when he covers your face in kisses, chonky cheeks especially, you're back laughing your arse off, and Simon's heart is soaring as he chuckles against your skin.
cw: 18+ mdni!!, smut, lowkey implied reader is plus size, smoking, obsessive behavior, panty stealing, stalking, possessiveness, angst(?), teasing, marking, pet names, slight switch!dex, fingering, oral sex (receiving), brief handjob, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex, (rushed) aftercare, no use of y/n
a/n: i started writing this like a year ago after the first season of dd:ba specifically bc of this edit of dex but season 2 had us eating reallll good so i needed to run it back lmao. it’s been a while since i’ve posted anything so pls be kind! feedback is appreciated!!
Tuesday
The city that never sleeps seemed alive more than ever tonight. The sound of choppers flying overhead pass by Dex’s building, accompanied by the wailing of sirens scattered across the borough.
Dex sat in front of the large window in the living room. The soft glow of the TV is the only thing illuminating the room as Dex had remained glued to his post since the sun went down, just watching.
Watching you.
You sat on your fire escape, your phone held up to your ear in one hand while the other rolled the filter of the cigarette you were smoking between your fingers. You put the extinguished cigarette in the ashtray you had seated on the windowsill next to you and begin to reach for the pack for another, just to realize it’s empty. You curse to yourself, then climb through the window back into your apartment.
A smile creeps onto Dex’s face watching you grab a hoodie off your bedpost before jumping into a pair of sweatpants. You leave your apartment, and Dex loses sight of you momentarily.
In this time, Dex exits his own commandeered unit, but stays to the shadows once he’s out on the street, keeping out of your eyesight as you leave your building.
Dex waits until you enter the deli on the corner before he crosses the street and hoists himself up onto your fire escape with a practiced ease.
He finds the window to your apartment left wide open and climbs through it himself. Dex looks around your bedroom, seeing the familiar grey sheets hazardously thrown across the bed from when you overslept this morning, leaving it unmade. Carefully making his way around your room, he stops at your vanity, examining the new pictures you have stuck to the mirror alongside the old ones Dex has already seen before.
As he reaches for the closet doors, he stops in his tracks when a piece of blue fabric lying on the floor catches his eye. He bunches the soft lace-lined cotton material between his fingers as he brings it to his nose, deeply inhaling your scent. Dex clenches his jaw and balls up his fists even tighter, feeling the primal urges stirring deep within him.
He hears your voice from the other side of the front door, still talking on the phone as you shove your key into the lock. Dex stuffs your panties into his pocket before he leaves the same way he came in.
Thursday
Dex has been staring into the dark window of your apartment for an hour now.
With a few errands of his own to run earlier, Dex couldn’t follow you to work or even drop by your office building to watch you have lunch at your desk today. But having your work schedule memorized, he knows you should be home by now.
Your bedroom window was wide open yet again, and it beckoned Dex across the street like a siren’s song.
He ignores every rational thought that screams at him not to as he crosses the short distance from his side of the street to yours.
Climbing through your window, Dex’s eyes quickly adjust to the darkness of the room, looking around to see no one in sight. He instead finds a trail of clothes leading out of the room like breadcrumbs down the hallway, where he sees a sliver of light peaking through the bathroom door.
You are home.
Instead of turning around like he told himself he should’ve, Dex continues to follow the sound of the shower running, carefully making his way down the hall. Right outside the bathroom lies another pair of discarded panties. It’s nearly instinctual now for him to bend down and pick them up to add to his growing collection in his bedside drawer back at his apartment.
With the bathroom door left slightly ajar, Dex nudges it gently, further opening it for him to look inside.
You were obstructed behind the glass from the condensation clinging to the shower door, but he’s still able to make out the suds of soap cascading down your body as you bathe yourself. Standing under the stream of warm water, he can visibly see the tension dissipating from your shoulders. Your body wash clings to the humidity of the small space, enticing Dex further into the bathroom. His hands itch to touch you, wishing they were running all over you instead of your own.
Dex nearly reaches for the shower door handle when he hears the sound of your phone ringing from your bedroom, breaking him out of his trance.
He retreats back to your room to find your phone charging on your dresser, lit up with a call from your father. You must be speaking to him again. Dex watches the call go to voicemail before he picks up your phone and unlocks it. He smiles to himself. Of course, your passcode remains the same even after all this time.
After looking through your messages and finding nothing exciting among the threads with your coworkers, Dex swipes open your camera roll to see the recent food you’ve been eating, the bars you’ve been frequenting, and the friends you’ve been hanging out with.
“You could’ve used the door, you know.”
Too distracted catching himself up on your life, Dex didn’t hear the shower shut off. Nor did he hear your footsteps enter the room.
“You know where I usually leave the key,” you say.
This was an issue Dex kept having with you—he let his guard down.
Dex looks to see you illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window. You’re only clad in a towel with your arms crossed over your chest, looking at him like he were a child caught with his hand in the candy jar. He feels the blood draining from his face and remains frozen in the shadows.
“I should go,” is all he says as he begins to back away toward the window.
“Why even come at all then?” You stop him before he can leave again.
A beat of silence passes before Dex admits, “I needed to.”
You reach over to flip on the light switch.
“Don’t.” Dex switches the lamp off before you could get a good look at his face. But you ignore his warning and turn the light back on.
Dex can’t tear his eyes away from yours as you approach, worried about what they might tell him once you see him up close. But all they hold is sorrow; the sight of the fully healed scar across his cheek breaks your heart all over again.
“Oh, Ben.” You caress his face gently, and he immediately leans into your touch.
Dex caves in, pulling you into his arms and locking you into a tight hug like someone would come and rip you away from him. “I needed to see you,” he mumbles into your hair.
“Seems like you’ve been seeing me just fine,” you say, nodding toward the open window that faces his apartment.
He opens his mouth to question how you could’ve known, but you beat him to it.
“After hearing about an inmate escaping from Riker’s merely hours before an attempt is made on the mayor’s life by a sniper, it was pretty easy to figure out whose prying eyes have been watching from across the street.” You know him all too well—it kinda scares him. “I missed you, too,” you peck his lips.
One kiss was all it took for his entire resolve to break.
Dex flattens his hands against your spine to pull you in for a kiss again. Your lips meet in a hungry, needy clash of tongues, making your knees nearly buckle.
You only pull away when you feel your towel loosen around your body, threatening to unravel.
“Wanna let me get some clothes on?” you ask between giggles, attempting to pull away from Dex as you readjust.
“Why would I wanna do that?” he barely budges, firmly keeping you flush against his chest.
“I’m still very much naked under this.” you raise a brow.
“And you’re still wearing too much if you ask me,” he lowers his head to your neck, letting the faint scent of shea butter lingering on your skin flood his senses. But then Dex feels the uneven skitter of your pulse when he softly presses his lips to your jugular.
“What is it?” Dex asks, searching for an answer in your eyes. He can read you as well as his favorite book; there’s not much you could hide from him if you really tried.
“A lot can change in a year,” is all you say.
He certainly did.
Dex was fit before, but he’s practically doubled in size since. The thin material of his shirt stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves contouring his bulging biceps, while his sweatpants hang low on his hips, hugging his deliciously thick thighs.
“I can see,” Dex grins, sliding his hand down to your lower back, “You somehow got more beautiful,” he tells you, planting a kiss on your cheek.
You involuntarily roll your eyes, “you’re just saying that,” you mutter.
“Oh am I now?” Dex’s brows stitch together incredulously, “I kinda find that hard to believe when that new coworker of yours tries to find every excuse under the sun just to come and talk to you. He spends more time leaning in the doorway of your office than he does at his own desk.”
You laugh. How long has he been watching?
“Brian’s just a friend.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I’ve seen how he looks at you. I mean, he was practically drooling when you came in yesterday wearing that baby blue dress.” It’s not like Dex could forget, even if he wanted to—it took everything in him not to put a bullet between Brian’s eyes as he walked to his car after clocking out.
“A lot can change in a year but what I feel about you hasn’t.” Dex says, “Unless it’s how you feel about me that’s changed,” you can visibly see the worry weighing on his shoulders.
“I wouldn’t have left the window open for you all these nights if it had,” you smile.
Dex kisses you again, but this time softer—slower. He gently cups your face, deepening the kiss as you crane your neck. Dex runs his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the minty mouthwash you had rinsed with before you found him in your room.
Your hands travel up his chest, and it intimidates you a bit, feeling the difference in his size from the last time you saw him—felt him. Dex lowers himself to grab the back of your thighs and hoists you off the ground in one swift motion. You gasp into his mouth, feeling your feet leave the ground, and grab onto Dex’s shoulders. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, and you grab his face eagerly accepting.
Dex takes his time walking over to your bed like he wanted you to savor every moment just as he was.
He sits down at the edge of your bed with you straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. You only part from his lips to catch your breath. Dex chases after your lips, desperate for more, forgetting he needed to breathe himself. He opens his eyes to find you looking at him.
You run a hand through his hair, slightly tugging his head back. Dex’s low-lidded lashes flutter as he grips the soft plush on your thighs, trying to fight those primal urges yet again. He’s waited this long to have you in his arms again; he didn’t want to rush this moment with you.
“My beautiful, beautiful angel,” Dex mutters as he drags you by your thighs higher up on his lap, seating you right on top of the bulge tenting his pants.
He begins littering kisses across your chest, and you arch into his touch.
“Dex,” you sigh, carding your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.
“Yeah?” he lowly draws out.
“Touch me.”
“I am,” he laughs.
“Don’t be such fucking tease. Not now, been too long,” the second half of that sentence came out as a whine.
Dex slides his hand under your towel, carefully dragging his hand across the skin of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.
“Like this you mean?” he spreads your folds, softly petting your clit.
Dex slips two of his fingers inside of you, musing as he watches your face contort with pleasure. He languidly curled his fingers inside of you, moving at a slow come-hither motion as your hips begin to rock against his hand.
He croons, feeling your warm, wet walls open up for him. Dex keeps his eyes locked on you as you desperately grind against his hands, wishing he’d move his fingers. But Dex knows that’d be too easy. He knows your body too well; he could definitely make you cum with his hands tied behind his back.
“That’s it, pretty girl, get yourself off for me.” his arm flexes with each gentle stroke of his digits against your gummy walls.
“Dex, please,” You desperately whine as he pulls his fingers away just enough to stay gloved by your pussy but just missing that sweet spot inside of you.
He finally gave in to your pleas and sank his fingers the rest of the way until his middle and ring fingers were knuckle deep inside of you.
You buried your head into Dex’s shoulder as you gush onto his hand. Dex slowly pumps his fingers, hitting that soft spongy spot inside of you every time. You grab onto his arm, gently digging your nails into his skin as you feel yourself get closer to coming.
He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing tight, calculated circles, and you cling to Dex’s shoulders tighter. He flips you onto the bed, lying you down while keeping his fingers buried inside of you.
His eyes stay trained on your face as he hovers over you.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Dex whispers in your ear, “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum for me.” You feel him smile against your skin as your hips rise from the bed, chasing after that high. Your back arches and your thighs tremble. Your walls spasm around Dex’s fingers as they ferociously fuck you through your orgasm. The harmony of your whiny moans and obscene, slick squelching from between your legs filled Dex’s ears euphoniously. He basks in your beautiful sounds.
Your fingers wrapping around his wrist gets Dex to slow down before he slips his wet fingers out of your heat. Dex examines his glistening fingers as they catch the moonlight, coated with your arousal, before bringing them to his mouth and licking your juices clean off his hand.
“God, I’ve missed the taste of you,” he says before lowering his head to your neck, softly licking and nipping your skin between his teeth. Dex presses open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as he inches a hand up your thigh, pushing your towel open further. His hand continues the rest of the way up your body, until the rest of the towel unravels.
Dex sits back on his haunches, taking in your bare figure laid out before him like a gift he just unwrapped, and runs a hand through his hair.
As Dex’s eyes slowly drink you in, you were suddenly hyper aware of how exposed you feel while he was still fully clothed. You attempt to re-cover yourself, but Dex stops you by pinning your arms to the mattress beside your head.
“Oh, darling, don’t go trying to hide from me now,” he darkly smiles. Dex begins to make his way down your body, alternating between soft kisses and love bites.
He releases your arms to let his hands roam all over you, groping and kneading every part of your body. His calloused hands cupped your breasts, humming in delight as he welcomed the weight of them in his hands.
Dex buries his face between the valley of your breasts, licking and sucking your skin to leave red splotches that would blossom into purple bruises. Dex was careful of where he placed them, making sure you’d just barely be able to hide them; only visible to those staring hard at your cleavage—like a certain coworker of yours.
He rolls his thumbs over your pearled nipples, tweaking them between his deft fingers. You yelp, nearly grinding your hips against his clothed thigh.
Dex settles between your legs, shouldering them wider apart to make room for his broad frame. He kisses each of your thighs, directing them over his shoulders. Without hesitation, he laps at your folds, tasting the remnants of your previous orgasm. Dex hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer to his face, burying his head deeper into your pussy. Your legs threaten to close around his head, the skin of your inner thighs scratching the stubble on his cheeks. But Dex’s arms barely budged, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Dex closed his eyes, losing himself in the taste of you on his tongue, gushing into his mouth like a never-ending fountain.
You could feel the growing wetness sticking to your thighs as Dex’s drool mixes with your slick, making a mess of the sheets below you. Dex brings his free hand between your legs, spreading your lips to tongue your labia.
His tongue weasels inside of you, and his nose bumps your clit, making you buck your hips against his mouth. Dex flattens one of his arms across your stomach, pinning you back to the bed. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, not because you wanted him to let go but to get him to exert more of his strength. You mewl, your head spinning as he keeps you locked in this position.
“Fuck, baby—you’re gonna make me cum again,” you moan. Your fingers comb through his hair, letting your nails gently scratch his scalp as you grip onto his dirty blonde locks.
Dex growls back in response, hungrily sucking on your clit. His tongue worked relentlessly, languidly swirling the bundle of nerves in his mouth. You cried out Dex’s name and roughly pulled on his hair, making him groan into your mound. The vibrations from his mouth send jolts of electricity up your spine, and your toes curl.
Your upper body flailed and jerked as your lower half was kept pressed against the mattress. Dex lapped up your cum, gladly drinking down your release until he felt the tense quiver of your thighs around his ears.
Dex sits up, and you look at him through your lashes, the lower half of his face wet with your juices. You watch as he licks his lips and wipes his mouth of your essence before he grabs the back of his shirt and tears it off over his head.
Your eyes run down the expanse of his chest to his defined abdomen, flexing with every slow breath he takes. You watch the muscles in his arms ripple under his skin as he begins to push his sweatpants down his hips.
Fuck me.
Dex looks up at you and laughs, “I’m getting there, sweetheart. Mind a little patience?”
Fuck, you said that out loud. No backing down now.
You slide off the bed and stand in front of him, “I’ve been patient enough, Poindexter, don’t you think?” You grab the waistband of his boxers and pull him close.
Dex brings his lips to yours, and your hands push his boxers down his thighs, freeing his dick from its confines. You take him into your hand, making him moan into your mouth. You run your thumb over the leaky slit, smearing his precum over his shaft. You twist and jerk your wrist as Dex throws his head back, giving you access to his neck. You lick a stripe up the side of his throat before tugging his earlobe between your teeth. You softly litter kisses across his neck before you return the favor and suck a bruise above his Adam’s apple.
“Fuck,” Dex sighs as he rocks his hips into your hand. He picks you up once again, guiding your legs around his waist. “I need to be inside of you,” Dex mutters against your neck, “need to feel you,” he says as he climbs onto your bed with you still clinging onto him like a sloth hanging on a tree branch. Dex sits with you in his lap, resting his cock between your wet folds. You reach between your bodies to take his cock into your hand again, rising out of his lap to guide his tip to your sopping core.
You bite your bottom lip as you feel the blunt head of his cock pushing into you. Dex roughly grunts, taking hold of your hips in both hands, trying to keep himself from slamming you down onto his lap in one go.
“Attagirl,” Dex deeply sighs, “just take it easy,” he soothingly rubs your back. His eyes fall to where your bodies connect, watching the way your pussy slowly sucks his cock the rest of the way in.
Your eyes screw shut as you drop your forehead to rest against his, feeling him fully sheathed inside of your warm cunt.
Dex wraps his arm around you, wanting to feel impossibly close to you. But even balls deep inside of you wasn’t enough for him—he wanted more. More of you.
“Holy shit, you fit around me just so perfectly,” his voice reverberates in your ear, “It’s like you were made for me.”
You hum in agreement, moving your legs from beneath you to flatten your feet on the bed and grab onto his neck.
“Just for you,” you tell him as you roll your hips.
Dex drops his hand to your lower back, letting you set the pace. You lean back, resting a hand on his thigh behind you to steady yourself as you rock your hips.
“That’s it, angel, take what you need," he rasps. "I'm all yours to use," he tells you. You moan at his words, throwing your head back with a lustful smile. You bring your lips back to Dex’s, and he swallows your sensual whimpers and cries.
You push him back onto the mattress, and his hands on your waist move south to cup your ass as Dex angles his hips up into yours. The tip of his cock easily finds your sweet spot, and you cling onto him once more. You let Dex take control, thrusting up into you at a faster—more desperate rhythm.
“Oh god, Ben, please,” you pant.
A deep growl rumbles in his chest. He slides his hands up your back, locking you into a bear hug as his thighs flex beneath you with every thrust of his hips. Your breathy whines and broken moans fill Dex’s ears while his cock repeatedly bullies your g-spot.
A smile spreads across Dex’s face as he watches you completely lose yourself on his cock. He pushes you back onto the bed, never slipping out of you as he fucks you into the mattress. He hooks an arm beneath your hips, spearing into you while using his other hand to press his thumb to your clit.
“God, you’re so wet. I can feel how close you are from the way you’re soaking me,” he says, reveling in the way your pussy pulses around him.
“M’so close…fill me up so good—feels so fucking good,” you slur.
A guttural moan rips from your throat, and your hips desperately buck into Dex’s. Your walls clamp around him as you cum. Dex nearly cums himself and quickly pulls out of you, making you whine from the sudden loss of contact.
He doesn’t leave you untouched for long, however, with his hand finding its way between your thighs once again, slipping his fingers back inside of you. You shoot upright and grab onto Dex’s arm, closing your legs around his hand.
“Dex, it’s too much please. I can’t-” tears pricked your eyes, feeling overstimulated.
“Oh but I know you can, darling. Need you to stay wet and ready for me.” Dex says like it takes much for you when it comes to him anyway.
Dex stands before you can process the emptiness his hand leaves you with. He wraps an arm around your middle, manhandling you onto your knees at the edge of the bed. Your head spins from having him toss you around like a ragdoll.
Dex brings his cock back to your slit, gently tapping your clit with his cockhead, and you fall back against his chest. Dex pushes inside of you, enrapturing you once again. He grunts deeply, letting his breath fan over your shoulder, feeling the way your warm, wet walls open up just for him. His lips press languid kisses up the back of your neck as he holds you there, not moving—just leaving his cock buried deep inside of you. You try to move your hips with his tip curving deliciously into your sweet spot, but Dex tightens his hold on you, restricting your movements.
“Just look at yourself,” he gently grabbed your face and directed your eyes to the mirror across from your bed by the window. The same mirror Dex would watch you stand in front of for half an hour, contemplating your outfits. Looking at your reflection, your lower stomach pools with arousal, seeing the scene before you. Dex slowly draws his hips back, just barely leaving his tip inside of you before filling you up again, making you shudder. “My precious angel, so needy, all fucked out. All just for me,” he says lowly in your ear.
Dex hugs your shoulders, and you feel his bicep nearly close around your neck every time his arm flexes as he thrusts into you. You weren’t worried he’d hurt you, though he was fully capable of doing so in this position. Your hands rest on his forearm, but you don’t stop him, and just roll your head back onto his shoulder.
“I’m so close, baby, please don’t stop,” you reach behind you, tangling your fingers in his hair, “Wanna cum again—wanna cum with you.”
His eyes were glued to your reflection in the mirror, intensely watching you as you fall apart. Dex’s arm around your waist pulls you back onto his cock, hitting that sweet spot inside you with such precision every time he bottoms out.
“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, and you slowly nod. “Gonna stuff you so full of my cum you’re gonna be dripping for days afterwards. Brian won’t have a doubt in his mind who you belong to then,” your velvety walls flutter around Dex, and he laughs. “Oh, you like the sound of that, huh? What a fucking tease you are.”
Dex’s hand reaches down to your puffy clit, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers. Your orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, and you see stars. Dex continues to pump his cock into you, his hips stuttering as he feels the damn begin to break inside of him. Dex sharply pounded into you, the skin of your ass roughly slapping against his lower stomach.
If Dex still wasn’t holding you, you would’ve fallen forward face first onto the mattress, your legs unable to hold you up as you cum for the fourth time tonight. Warm ropes of Dex’s cum coat your inner walls in white. You quietly chanted his name, your mind growing hazy, only able to think of the man wrapped around you. Dex leaves kisses on your shoulder as his dick begins to soften, and he slowly eases out of you.
Dex hooks an arm beneath your thighs, effortlessly scooping you up bridal style. You settle in his arms, circling your own around his neck as you kiss him.
“Ben-”
He interrupts you because he doesn’t need to hear you say it. “I know,” and he passionately kisses you.
Not wanting to let you go, Dex carries you out of your bedroom to the bathroom. He sits you on the bathroom counter, starting up the shower before opening the door to step inside. He holds his hand out for you, which you quickly accept, allowing him to pull you into the shower with him.
After your second shower of the night, you were finally able to dress yourself in one of Dex’s old Quantico shirts and now lay with your head on his chest.
The sounds of the city coming in through the window were drowned out by the sounds of Dex’s heartbeat in your ears. You feel him trace spiraling shapes on your skin with the tip of his fingers.
He breaks the comfortable silence to ask, “When did you start smoking again?”
“Few weeks after you were indicted. It’s a good distraction,” you answer, gently stroking the blonde hairs on his chest.
“It’s not good for you,” Dex says, but you can hear the hint of amusement in his tone.
You lift your head to look at him, “When has that stopped me?”
a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed <33 feedback is appreciated!!
Sorry for any mistakes, writing and posting this at 3 am
Yandere!Femboy roommate who you had been living with for a while now. He was very nice! He paid all of his share of the bills on time, even offering to cover for you.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who also kept everything neat and clean. He would always beat you to the house chores.
“My hardworking woman deserves to come home to a clean house everyday hm?” he would say to you as he often served you up dinner!
Yandere!Femboy roommate who, outside of being a pure sweetheart and an excellent roommate, is a filthy fucking pervert.
Yandere!Femboy who walks around the shared apartment completely naked in the mornings after his showers because he needs to “air dry.”
When he’s not naked, he has on the tiniest booty shorts, showing off his perfectly rounded ass. Not that you were looking.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who is unbelievably loud when he touches himself in the solidarity of his own room. His whimpers, mewls, and moans can be heard very clearly through the wall.
Little do you know, he’s holding a dirty pair of your panties to his nose as he pumps his achy cock until it’s spurting white, pearly cum over and over again.
You knew he knew that the walls were thin! Hell, he told you they were when you first moved in.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who has done filthy things he is not proud of around your apartment in hopes that you would catch him.
He has fucked himself to pieces on your shared couch, imagining it’s your strap or your dripping pussy wrapped tightly around him. He often leaves dried cum stains too in hopes that you would notice.
Watching you sit in his dried cum is satisfaction enough sometimes.
Yandere!Femboy who purposely leaves out his sex toys for you to find and berate him about.
“Dude, you can’t just leave your plug on the bathroom sink!” you yelled as you chucked it towards where he was laid on his bed.
“Sorry, look I’ll put it to use really quickly!” he smiled as he picked up the plug.
He stared into your eyes as he made a show of him licking around the bulbous end of it, getting it wet. He sucked into his mouth sloppily.
You only had to pretend like your clit wasn’t pulsing for a split second because as soon as he reached back to pull down his pajama pants to reveal his juicy ass, you slammed his door shut and retreated back to your room.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who you have zero boundaries with.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who always ends up needing to pee whenever you happen to be in the shower.
He cards all the vivid images of your soapy body away for those late night jerk off sessions.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who cannot help but indulge himself!
“You know, you have really nice tits. Wait, can you like lather them with soap really quickly?” he giggles as he bites the tip of his finger.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who begins to grow hard in the confines of his short little shorts.
“Hey, don’t shave your cunt either. Looks nice,” was the last thing he said before leaving the bathroom. It barely clocked to you that he never actually peed.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who absolutely hates when you have guests over, specifically men. He always finds a way to get them gone.
Often times, he’ll barge in talking about some big exam or having to get up early the next day, so your guest has to leave.
You often ignore the evil glare he gives the poor boys you invite over.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who was particularly very angry about your most recent guest. Some guy in your lecture who asked you out on a date.
“Boring!” he said when you had told him.
Now all three of you were awkwardly sat in the living room watching some movie your date picked out.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who was cuddled up to you. It was just a coincidence! He was chilly! Your plush body kept him plenty warm. If he wanted to grope you a bit under your blanket, well that was his business!
Your date was not very excited about him being there. About half way through the movie, he had asked you where your bathroom was.
“Down the hall.” you had pointed.
As soon as he was gone, Yandere!Femboy was snuggling up closer to you.
“So have you kissed anyone before, well besides me?” he inquired as he loudly smacked his bubble gum.
“Yeah,” you shrugged as your attention stayed on the screen. This caused him to pout.
“Are you planning on kissing that douchebag?”
“I don’t know maybe? Not seeing how it would be any of your business,” you groaned and rolled your eyes.
“What if…what if we practiced really quickly! Just so that you’ll be prepared if he asks for a kiss huh?” he smiled, the light of the tv reflecting off of his glossy pink lips.
Before you could respond, he was leaning into you. His lips were plush and sticky from lip gloss. Sweet too.
The little cunt was quick to lick into your mouth, eager to taste you. Eager to have your spit in his mouth.
Shortly, your date had made his way back into the living room.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who makes direct eye contact with your date as he sticks his tongue out and gives a kitten lick to your puckered lips.
“I knew you two had something weird going on! Fuck this shit!” he huffed as he made his way out.
You quickly parted from Yandere!Femboy, startled. You had tried to defend yourself, but your date was having none of it.
Yandere!Femboy roommate who sat cozily knowing he had successfully ruined another one of your conquests.
Yandere!Femboy who had no clue what was in store for him.
Yandere!Femboy who you had fucked within an inch of his life!
You and him laid out on the couch as you rode his cock until his body felt like it was on fire.
“Please! I’m so sorry! I can’t take it!” he babbled as drool began to roll down his chin. His eyes rolled back as he gripped onto the fat of your hips.
“You want me all to yourself, huh? Can’t take what I give you? Fucking pathetic,” you spit down onto him.
He stuck his pink tongue out, gathering your essence. He gripped onto you harder before his body started spasming again, sparse cum shooting into your puffy cunt.
“Oh please, please let me pull out! I’ll eat you until my jaw burns! Your cunnie is milking my brains out,” he whimpered as he looked up at you through damp lashes.
You only rolled your eyes before climbing off and making him go to town on your cunt.
Yandere!Femboy who was the best roommate you could’ve ever asked for.
He was anxious at first, checking over the food and water you had gotten, making sure the blankets were fluffy and warm enough for you, he couldn’t sit still.
You had to find some way to keep him from having a panic attack when the snow came. So, you made a little nest out of blankets on the bed, and lured him in. He whimpered as you snuggled in with him, his body curled against yours.
You pet his head and scratched behind his ears. His hips bucking into you instantly with a gasp. The bunny took off his pants quickly along with yours. He wrapped his arms around your hips and put his head between your thighs. He starts slow, flicking your bud with his tongue until he can feel you starting to get wet. He doesn’t hold back as he devours you, losing himself as he squeezes your thighs.
He desperately eats you out until you cum, letting him enjoy your sweet taste. He doesn’t wait for you to recover. He quickly pops up and mounts you, pressing himself inside of you. His head drops to your neck as he pumps himself into you. He loves smelling you and kissing your neck as he holds your waist. He keeps you in place as his hips slam into yours. He fucks you with no mercy, cumming inside of you he still doesn’t stop. Trying to fuck his cum deeper into you, he doesn’t want to remember there’s a storm outside, his only relief is the warm embrace of your pussy around him.
Hii!! As a chubby gal, who sometimes get pretty insecure about it, I was thinking about a chubby reader who works with steve at family video. he is super into her, but she doesn’t realize it, because she doesn't think that guys like steve would be into girls like her. Steve thinks she is rejecting him, cos reader is convinced he is just being nice. tysm if you decide to write this, no pressure though 💞💞
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡
Thank you for the request, deary. I really hope this is fitting what you had in mind. Steve being soft, confused, and completely down bad is always so nice to get to write <33
Steve Harrington x f!reader || Masterlist || Steve playlist
summary: You’ve spent a long time believing people like Steve don’t look twice at people like you, and you've come to terms with that, but Steve Harrington is kind in a way you never really know what to do with.
word count: 8.9k
notes/tags: Fluff. Slightly insecure reader. No use of y/n. Plus size/chubby reader. Idiots in love. Friends to lovers.
You have never been popular. You never had a ton of friends in school, nor were the kind of girl people seemed to look twice at. It’s not like you didn’t have any friends. You did, just not a lot. And it’s not like you have never been on dates or been liked by someone. But it has never really felt like it meant anything. Not in the way people describe.
Had anyone told you back then that you would end up being friends with Steve Harrington you would’ve laughed. Not in a mean way, just confused. But here you are, not just colleagues, but also friends. Actual friends.
And he is easy to be around. He’s kind, something you don’t think people give him enough credit for. But also something you have been embarrassed about finding so surprising now that you actually know him, which feels a little unfair, when you think about it.
Like you expected less from him just because of who he used to be. Or, maybe more, who people used to say he was, the two of you didn’t interact much back then. But Steve isn’t that person. Not with you, not with Robin, not with Nancy’s brother and his friends who come into the store like it’s their second home.
He is the guy who asks you if you need a lift home after every closing shift. “Just in case,” he always says, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. He is just nice like that. And you, you let it be nothing. Because that’s easier.
You might have learned that Steve Harrington is so much more than the popular jock he was back in high school. But you haven’t quite learned what it means when someone like him looks at you the way he does. Because in your head, those things don’t connect. Steve being kind? That makes sense now. Steve being thoughtful, patient, soft in ways people don’t always notice? You see that. You know that.
Steve liking you? That still doesn’t fit anywhere. But it hasn’t stopped you from harbouring a little crush on him, though you push it down. It’s quiet, like a secret, tucked away behind the part of you that tells yourself it’s impossible. Because boys like Steve Harrington don’t look at girls like you like that. They just don’t. And if you start believing otherwise, you’ll ruin whatever this is. Friendship is far safer than hope.
Steve is going out of his way to be kind to you, which obviously means he feels bad for you. That’s what nice boys do when they feel bad, they’re gentle. They soften their voice, they look at you like you might break. It’s just kindness.
· · · · ·
It’s late. You’re the last two at Family Video, lights dimmed, the open sign buzzing faintly in the window. You’re perched on the counter, swinging your legs, telling him about a book you’re reading.
He’s not really listening. He’s watching the way your hands move when you talk. The way your eyes light up when you get excited. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s thought that for a long time now. Not that you have any clue.
Steve is in love with you. He knows it, Robin knows it, probably the entire state of Indiana knows it. Everyone except you. Because every time he tries to flirt, you look at him like he’s just offered you a polite pleasentry. Like he’s said “nice weather we’re having” instead of anything that actually matters. Which, in Steve’s opinion, is deeply unfair, because he is trying his absolute best.
It’s painful. Not because you’re rejecting him. God, Steve almost wishes you were rejecting him. At least then it would mean you understood what he was trying to do. That you saw him, saw the way he looks at you, and decided no.
But you don’t. You just smile, soft and absentminded, and move on like nothing happened. Not offended. Not flattered. Just… mildly confused, like you’re trying to figure out why he thought you’d say yes in the first place. And Steve? Steve is losing his mind.
Back in high school, flirting was easy. It landed, it worked. People got it. But with you it’s like he’s speaking an entirely different language, and you’re nodding along out of courtesy while missing every single word. He has begun thinking that you might be completely, hopelessly, immune to him.
Not just to his flirting, but to him. And that thought sticks. It lingers in the back of his mind longer than he wants it to. Longer than he’s comfortable with. Because Steve has never been someone people just… don’t notice.
But you do notice him. Just not the way he notices you. You laugh at his jokes, you ask him questions. You lean a little closer when he’s telling a story, like you don’t want to miss a word. So it doesn’t make sense to him.
Maybe you do actually know what he is doing and you just don’t want to hurt him, or make it awkward between you now that you work together. And that thought hits harder than anything else.
Because that would mean you do see him.
You see the way he looks at you, the way he lingers, the way he keeps finding excuses to be near you, and you’ve decided to pretend you don’t. To spare him. To keep things easy and not hurt his feelings.
Steve hates that idea. Not because it makes him look stupid, he’s already accepted that part, but because it means every soft smile you give him, every laugh, every easy conversation might just be you sparing his feelings.
You are one of the kindest people he’s ever met, which is exactly the problem. Not a bad problem of course. It’s not something he’d ever want to change about you. But it does make everything harder.
Because you really are so kind. You go out of your way to make people comfortable. You soften your words, your reactions, your expressions, like you’re always thinking about how someone else might feel before you think about yourself.
So yeah. It would make sense if you would pretend not to notice if you thought he liked you and you didn’t feel the same. It sits heavy in his chest while you keep talking, completely unaware of the spiral happening three feet in front of you.
He hasn’t given up completely, not even close. He’s thought about it, sure. Late at night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every awkward attempt, every missed moment, every time you smiled at him like he was just being nice. One day he has to actually ask you out. like, actually ask you out.
Not hint at it. Not circle around it with bad jokes and half-finished sentences. Not hide behind “we should hang out sometime” like that isn’t the most cowardly version of what he means.
He has to say it. Clear and direct, with no room for misunderstanding. One day… And then you can put him down gently. That’s how it plays out in his head. You’ll do that soft smile. The one that never hurts on the surface but somehow still lands. You’ll say something careful, something kind, something that makes it clear without ever making him feel stupid for trying.
Or maybe, his first intuition was right and you really don’t have any clue about his feelings for you. But how couldn’t you. That’s the part that gets to him the most. Because to Steve, it feels so obvious. He is completely smitten by you.
· · · · ·
It’s a couple of days later, you and Steve are again the only two people left in the store. You’re getting the store ready for closing. The routine is familiar. Lights dimmed halfway, counters wiped down. The soft hum of the store settling into the night. You just need to finish the last few things in the back before you can lock up.
The back room is small. It’s always been small. But tonight it feels microscopic.
You’re trying to reach a box on the top shelf. The hem of your shirt rides up a little when you stretch, and you’re hyperaware of it. Of your stomach. Of your body taking up space in a room that doesn’t leave much to spare.
“Hold on,” Steve says softly behind you. You freeze. His hands land on your waist. Warm, steady, not the last bit hesitant. He moves you aside gently. “I’ll get it.”
Your heart is beating so loud you’re sure he can feel it through his palms. “Thanks,” you murmur, staring at the floor. “Sorry. I’m kinda… in the way.”
His hands don’t move. “You are not in the way.”
You shrug, because you always shrug. “Small room.”
He grabs the box, sets it down, but he doesn’t step away. You’re still close. Almost pressed together in the narrow space. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, solid and steady, and it makes something in your chest twist in a way that’s not entirely comfortable, but by no means bad either. Just unfamiliar. Like standing somewhere new without knowing where to put your feet.
Steve shifts slightly behind you, and for a second you think he’s finally moving away from you. He doesn’t. Not really, hebonly moves a little. No longer touching you, but still close enough to feel intentional.
“Why do you do that?” he asks quietly.
Slowly, carefully, you turn around. It’s a mistake. Or maybe it isn’t. Because now you’re facing him, and there’s barely any space between you. Your brows knit. “Do what?”
You can’t fully read his expression. Not when his eyes keep flicking between yours like he’s trying to decide something. “Talk about yourself like that.” His voice is soft, but there is something heavier under it now.
Your stomach drops. You let out a small, awkward breath. “Like what? I just said it’s a small room.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that part.”
You don’t turn around. You don’t think you can.
“You do it all the time. Like you’re… apologizing for being here,” he continues, gentler now.
That lands harder than you expect. Your fingers curl slightly at your sides. “I am not,” you start, but the words feel thin, automatic.
He doesn’t let you hide behind them. “You are,” he says, not harsh, just certain. “You just said you were in the way.”
You swallow. Because you did. And it didn’t feel like a big deal when you said it. It never does. “I just meant,” you try again, quieter now. “You needed to get past me.”
“I did get past you,” he says. “That doesn’t mean you were in the way.”
There’s a pause.The kind that stretches, the kind that asks for something real. You let out a breath, shoulders sinking just a little. “It’s the same thing,” you mutter.
“It’s not.”
Your chest tightens. Because he sounds… almost frustrated. Not with you, more just at the idea of it.
“Well, I’m sorry then,” you say a little sharper than you meant to, suddenly feeling a bit defensive. The second it leaves your mouth, you wish you could take it back. Not because you didn’t mean it, but because of the way his face changes.
“Don’t apologize.” His voice softens almost immediately, like he heard the edge in yours and is trying to meet you somewhere gentler. “I’m sorry, okay. I wasn’t trying to criticize you.”
“Don’t apologize,” you just echo. Again more defensive than you mean it to.
Steve stills a little at that. He lets out a small breath. “Okay,” he says softly. “No one’s apologizing.”
You nod, even though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Your arms fold loosely over your middle. “It’s just how I talk,” you murmur after a second. “I don’t think about it.”
“I know,” he says.
And he does, that’s what keeps throwing you. Because he’s not misunderstanding you. It’s like he’s seeing something you never really looked at yourself.
You glance up at him again, hesitant. “I’m gonna go check the locks,” you mumble. A clean exit you can pretend is just about the job.
For a second, Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t step aside, doesn’t make it easy. And that alone makes your chest tighten. But then he does and you step out, leaving him behind in the small room.
You check the locks and afterwards you start to wipe down the already wiped down counter, simply just to do something. Behind you, you hear the faint shift of movement, Steve coming out from the backroom. The soft thud of boxes being left where they belong. The quiet hum of the store feels louder now with just the two of you, the weird interaction still lingering in the air.
You don’t turn around right away. You don’t even fully understand what happened back there. He was just trying to be nice, and usually you can sort him into something simple in your head. Easygoing coworker, kind friend, a little teasing sometimes, nothing complicated if you don’t look too closely, which you never let yourself do.
It was just words. Just a moment. Just Steve being Steve… too close, too observant, too him in a way you still weren’t used to.
“Hey,” he says gently from a few feet away. “I can still drive you home right?”
Your hand stills against the counter. Of all the things he could’ve said… that’s what he goes with. You swallow. The way he said it made it sound like it would be a punishment, a slap to the face not be able to. And a terrible feeling settles within your chest and stomach. He’s pitying you more than you thought.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” he answers immediately. Not rushed, just certain, like it was never a question. “And I don’t like you walking home alone.”
“It’s only a twenty minute walk, and it’s not like Hawkins is exactly a criminal hotspot,” you finish, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, but still…” he answers, softer. Not arguing, just holding onto it. “I just like knowing you get home okay,” he adds after a second.
A small pause settles between you again, but it’s different now. Softer. Less sharp around the edges. You nod, more to yourself than to him, and go back to wiping the same already-clean spot, even though you’re not really seeing it.
But Steve lingers, you can feel it. Not in a way that presses, but in a way that waits. Then, after a second, “Hey.”
You glance up again.
“I think the counter is clean enough now.”
You blink, like you’ve been pulled out of something you weren’t even fully aware you were in. Your hand stills mid-wipe. You glance down at the spotless counter. “Right.”
There’s a beat. You shift your weight, suddenly aware again of him standing there looking at you. You’ve never had an argument or anything close to one with him before. And it’s not really like this was even a real argument, you don’t even understand why you got upset over something so small. Over him just trying to be nice. You have never reacted like this before, and you don’t really like it.
“You ready to go?” The question lands softer than everything else tonight.
You nod a little too quickly. “Yeah.. Yeah, I’m ready.” Your voice sounds normal enough. You’re hoping it is normal enough.
Steve studies you for half a second, just long enough that you feel it, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t bring any of it back up. “Okay,” he says easily, like he’s letting you have that.
He reaches for his keys in his jeans pocket, the familiar rattling of the metal cutting softly through the quiet. You grab your bag from behind the counter, movements a little too careful, like you’re trying not to disturb whatever fragile thing the night has turned into.
You walk side by side toward the door. Not touching, but not far apart either. The bell above the door gives a soft ring when Steve holds it open for you. Cold night air slips in, brushing your face, clearing some of the tightness from the back room. You step outside first, and he follows, locking up behind you with practiced ease.
The parking lot is almost empty. Just his car, a few flickering lights from the street beyond, and the quiet stretch of a late evening in a small town. You stop near the passenger side without thinking. Steve doesn’t move right away.
He just stands there beside the car, keys loosely turning between his fingers, like he’s waiting for something that isn’t part of the routine. Like he is debating saying something. You notice it immediately, even if you try not to.
Steve has a certain rhythm to him when things are normal. Easy. Predictable in a comforting way. Keys. Door. “Get in.” Some joke that lands too effortlessly. Music he’s softly humming along to from the radio. Talking to you like you are the best of friends.
But tonight, he’s not doing any of that. He shifts his weight slightly, eyes flicking toward you and then away again, like he’s re-reading a sentence in his head before deciding whether to speak it out loud. He doesn’t, instead he just gives you a small tired smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Alright,” he says, like he’s settling something inside himself more than starting a conversation, unlocking the car. “Let’s get you home.”
You pause for a second longer than you mean to. It’s small, the way he says it, simple words, but something about his tone makes your chest tighten in a way you can’t quite name. Like he’s choosing not to say something else. He almost sounds defeated.
You clear your throat softly and step toward the car, reaching for the handle. “Yeah,” you manage, light enough that it almost sounds normal. “Long day.”
Steve lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh if it had more air behind it. “Yeah. Long day,” he echoes, but he still doesn’t sound like himself.
You slide into the passenger seat, tugging your bag into your lap. The car smells familiar of leather from the seats, faint cologne and something faintly sweet from the air freshener hanging near the mirror. It should feel grounding, it usually does, but tonight, it doesn’t quite land.
Steve gets in on the other side, and for a moment neither of you moves. He just sits there with both hands on the steering wheel, staring forward like he’s giving himself a second to reset. Then he turns the key. The engine hums to life, soft and steady. Headlights spill across the empty parking lot, stretching long shadows across the pavement.
“You cold?” he asks after a moment, glancing over.
“No,” you say automatically. Then, a second later, a quieter add-on. “I’m okay.”
He nods like he believes you, but his hand still reaches for the dial anyway, turning the heat up just slightly. Not enough to be obvious, just enough that you’ll notice he did it. The silence settles again as he pulls out of the lot.
Hawkins passes in slow, familiar pieces outside the window, dim streetlights, closed shops, empty sidewalks. Everything looks the same as it always does, but it feels a little farther away than usual, like there’s glass between you and it all.
Steve keeps both hands on the wheel. He’s driving carefully. Too carefully, almost, like he’s thinking about every turn before he makes it.
You glance at him once, then look away again. He notices, of course. You’re pretty sure he always notices.
“You’re quiet,” he says gently.
That shouldn’t feel loaded. It should be just a comment, but it lands anyway. Your fingers tighten slightly around your bag. “So are you.”
A beat, then, a soft exhale through his nose, something like agreement, something like resignation. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I am.” The car hums on. A few more seconds pass before he speaks again, quieter this time. “I wasn’t trying to make things weird back there.”
Your gaze drops to your lap almost immediately. “It’s not weird.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence feels heavier than the words. Finally, “Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
You swallow. “Serously, it’s fine, Steve. I know you’re just trying to be nice to me.”
That makes him glance over again, quick and sharp this time, like he’s trying to read you properly. Not your tone. Something underneath it.
“Okay,” he says, but it comes out thin, like it doesn’t quite hold. The car keeps moving, but something between you doesn’t. You can feel him thinking. Not drifting, but thinking. Like he’s standing right at the edge of something and deciding whether to step over it or walk away.
He doesn’t look at you again right away. Just exhales slowly through his nose, fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel. But then he looks at you again, just for a second before turning his eyes back to the road.
“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
“Do you really think I’m just being nice to you?” There it is again, that tone, careful, almost wounded.
“Well,” you say lightly, because that’s safer, “yeah. That’s kinda your thing now, right? Reformed King Steve. Protector of the socially unfortunate.”
His face falls. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”
You blink. “I mean, yeah. You don’t have to. I appreciate it, I just… you don’t owe me anything.”
“Owe you?” He lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “You think I hang around you because I feel obligated?”
“Hanging out at work sounds like an obligation to me,” you finish, trying to keep it light. Like it’s a joke. Like none of this actually matters, it doesn’t land.
Steve’s grip tightens on the steering wheel again before it softens again. He stares at the road so you take the freedom of studying his profile, the line of his jaw, the outline of his nose. There is something raw and unguarded breaking through the usual ease he hides behind.
“We hang out outside of work too.”
“Right, and I’m happy we do.” You say it gently. Honestly, even. Because you are. But the second it leaves your mouth, you see it, that flicker across his face. Not relief. Not quite hurt, either. Something in between. Or maybe more of a mix between the two. “I’m happy we’ve become friends.”
Steve goes very still beside you. Not dramatic or obvious, just still, like something in him quiets all at once. “Right,” he says after a second. “So am I.” A small pause and then he continues. “I really like being around you… I like you. You’re a really great person, you know”
Your breath catches.
“And I thought maybe,” he exhales, a little uneven, “maybe you knew that. And just… didn’t feel the same.”
Your stomach drops, not because you don’t understand what he’s saying. But because you suddenly realize you do. It all rearranges itself in your head, like pieces finally clicking into place in a way that makes your chest feel tight.
“I just figured…” You swallow. “Usually guys like you don’t…”
“Like what?”
You shake your head immediately, like you can undo it. “Forget it. I didn’t mean–”
“No.” His voice isn’t sharp. It’s steady, patient. “No, I want you to say it.”
Your fingers curl in your lap. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat now, loud enough it feels unfair. You look anywhere but at him. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
That’s what finally makes you look up. His eyes aren’t playful like they usually are. There’s nothing easy about his expression now. Just honesty. And something softer underneath it that makes your chest ache.
“You think I don’t know what people used to think of me?” he asks quietly. “And I don’t blame you for thinking like that about me back then… I just hoped you could see now that some of it wasn’t true back then, and that now I’m not like that at all anymore.”
Your throat tightens. “That’s not what I meant.”
He doesn’t interrupt you this time, he just waits. Completely still, like he’s giving you all the space in the world to get it out properly.
Your hands twist together in your lap.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” you repeat, softer. “I don’t think that about you, I really don’t.” You swallow. “I just meant… people like you, usually like girls like…” You stop yourself again, because even saying it out loud feels like stepping onto something fragile.
Steve’s eyes don’t leave you.
“Like what?” he asks again, but gentler this time. Not pushing. Just asking.
You let out a breath that shakes more than you want it to. “Like not me.”
Silence lands in the car, but it isn’t empty. It’s heavy in a different way now, like something important has finally been said out loud and neither of you can pretend it wasn’t. It’s barely audible. The silence after is thick.
“I’ve been trying to ask you out for so long,” he then says.
You stare at him. “What?”
“I’ve been flirting with you,” he insists. “The rides home. I mean, I would have offered them no matter what, I’m not letting a girl go home alone at night. But I also asked because I wanted more time with you, more opportunity to talk.” he admits. He lets out a short breath, almost a laugh at himself, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve been so into you, that I’m sure I’ve been making myself look a fool so many times.
He trails off, scrubbing a hand down his face like he can’t quite believe he just said that out loud.
“I mean,” he adds, quieter, a little rough around the edges now, “Robin told me I was being obvious. Like, painfully obvious. And she is the most oblivious person I know, so I thought… okay, great. I’m doing fine. Like I’ve been standing too close on purpose, just because I like seeing how your eyes crinkle when you smile.”
“You stand too close to everyone.”
“I absolutely do not.”
Your brain is scrambling. “You’re… you’re not flirting,” you say weakly. “You’re just… being considerate.”
“Do I look considerate right now?”
You finally meet his eyes. He looks nervous. Not pitying, not indulgent. Nervous.
“You’re not rejecting me?” he asks, softer now. “Because every time I try to make a move, you just smile at me like I’m doing community service.”
Your face burns. “I thought you were pity-flirting.”
He groans quietly. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is to me!”
He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head lightly before looking right back to you.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he says firmly. “I like you. I like working with you. I like hearing you rant about bad movies, and the book you’re reading and hear you complain when people return their tapes without rewinding them first.”
He stops himself there, like his brain has finally caught up with his mouth. His eyes flick away for a second, then back to you again, softer now. Less frantic. More certain.
“I like you, okay” he repeats, quieter this time. The words sit between you both, filling the small space of the car like they belong there more than anything else tonight.
Your throat tightens again, but this time it isn’t defensive. It’s something warmer, more overwhelming than you know what to do with. “I didn’t think that was possible,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Not more as a friend at least.”
Steve lets out a short breath, almost a laugh, but it breaks halfway. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back into the seat for a second like his body finally remembers how to exist. “That’s kind of been the problem.”
A beat passes. Then, more carefully, like he’s stepping onto something fragile but refusing to step away from it:
“You really thought I was just being nice to you?”
You nod once, small, honest. His expresssion shifts, something like disbelief, but not in a cruel way. More like he’s trying to reframe every moment he’s ever had with you.
He lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath, like he’s replaying weeks, months, the entire year you have been working together. A replay of moments in his head and none of them make sense anymore.
“Jesus,” he mutters, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “I thought you were letting me down easy this whole time.”
Your stomach flips. “I thought you were being friendly.”
Steve drags a hand down his face, slow, like he’s trying to physically reset his brain.
“Okay,” he says after a second, more to himself than to you. “Okay, so… we’ve just been having two completely different conversations for, what… months?”
Your lips press together, a little helpless. “Seems like it.”
He lets out a breath that almost turns into a laugh, but it’s shaky around the edges. “Unbelievable.”
There’s a small pause, and then his gaze shifts back to you, honey brown eyes so soft that you almost have to look away. But you don’t, because something in you finally understands that if you look away now, you might lose this moment. And you don’t want to lose it.
The car is quiet, engine humming low beneath everything else, but it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you sitting here, too close and not close enough all at once. Steve swallows, like he’s steadying himself.
“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. Not trying to get your attention—he already has it. Just… easing into something.
Your fingers loosen slightly in your lap. “Yeah?”
He hesitates. It’s small, but you notice it. You always notice him—you’re just realizing now that you do.
“I meant what I said,” he tells you. “About liking you.”
Your chest tightens, but you don’t shut down this time. You let it sit there. Let it exist.
“I know,” you say quietly.
And you do. That’s the difference now. It’s not something you can explain away or shrink into something safer. It’s real, and it’s right there between you.
Steve searches your face, like he’s trying to find the answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet.
“Do you…?” he starts, then stops. Runs a hand through his hair, nervous again. “Do you feel anything like that? Or did I just completely derail a perfectly good friendship for nothing?”
The vulnerability in his voice hits you harder than anything else tonight. It hits you somewhere deep, not because of the question itself, but because of how carefully he asks it. Like he’s bracing for impact, already half-convinced he’s about to lose something he really cares about.
And suddenly, the fear you’ve been holding onto for so long. the one that told you this could never be real, feels a little smaller than the one sitting right in front of you now.
Because he’s scared too.
You swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the strap of your bag before you force them to loosen. “No,” you say softly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
Steve’s shoulders shift, just barely, like he’s trying not to react too quickly. “Okay,” he murmurs, but there’s still that uncertainty lingering, like he’s waiting for the rest of it. You have reached your street now and he parks the car, turning off the engine.
You take a breath. It feels bigger than it should. “I just… didn’t let myself think about it like that,” you admit. Your voice is quiet, but steadier than you expect. “About you liking me, I mean. Because if I did, and I was wrong…” You shake your head a little. “I didn’t want to mess this up either.”
He looks at you again. His gaze soft, something warm and almost relieved flickering through it.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything,” you add, a little quicker now, before you can lose your nerve. Your heart is racing, but you keep going anyway. “I do. I just… didn’t think it mattered, I guess. Or that it could.”
That lands, you can see it. Steve’s breath leaves him slowly, like he’s been holding it for longer than he even realized. For a second, he just looks at you.
“Why couldn’t it?” he asks quietly. It’s not sharp, not accusing, just confused. Like he’s standing in front of something that never made sense to him and finally getting to ask about it.
You look down at your hands for a second, twisting your fingers together before you answer. “Honestly… I didn’t think you found me attractive.”
Steve blinks, like the words don’t quite register at first. “What..?”
You wince a little under the weight of it, like saying it out loud makes it more real than you intended. “I just…” you let out a small, awkward breath. “I didn’t think you looked at me like that.”
There’s a beat, a quiet one. And then. “You’re kidding.” It’s not mean, it’s not mocking, it’s stunned.
“You really thought I didn’t find you attractive?”
You nod, small but honest. “Yeah.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Why wouldn’t I find you attractive?” He says it like he truly doesn’t understand.
You swallow, because there isn’t really a version of this answer that doesn’t make you feel a little exposed. “I don’t know,” you say at first, but it comes out thin, almost automatic.
Steve doesn’t interrupt. He just waits, eyes steady on you, like he already knows there’s more.
You let out a breath, shoulders sinking slightly. “Okay, that’s not true,” you correct yourself quietly. “I just… I don’t really look like the girls you used to go out with.”
Steve’s expression stills for a second, his brows draw together slightly, like your words simultaneously pains and confuses him. “I do find you attractive. Very much so”
The words land between you like something carefully placed. No hesitation, no performance, just steady and sure.
You blink, like your brain needs a second to catch up.
Steve doesn’t look away. If anything, he seems more focused now, like he’s decided this is the part he refuses to get wrong.
“I mean it,” he adds quietly, a little softer. “I don’t know how else to say it so you actually believe me, but I think you’re beautiful.”
You feel it in your chest first. Tight, warm, it’s kind of overwhelming, like your body hasn’t quite decided whether to pull away from the words or lean into them. Steve doesn’t move, he just stays there with you, steady, like he’s not going to let the moment slip away or turn into something you can dismiss later.
“I really mean it,” he says again, quieter this time, almost like he’s grounding it. “I think you’re the most beautiful..” He stops himself mid-sentence. Not because he’s unsure, but because he seems to realize something as he says it.
Steve exhales slowly, shaking his head a little like he can’t quite believe how long it’s taken for him to just say things plainly.
“I think you just don’t see yourself the way I see you,” he admits quietly, a faint, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth.
That hits softer. More careful, less like persuasion, more like truth. Steve shifts slightly in his seat, turning just enough so he’s fully facing you now.
“When I say you’re beautiful,” he continues, slower, “I don’t mean it as a line. I don’t mean it as something I say because I’m trying to get you to feel a certain way.” His voice dips a little. “I mean it like a fact.”
Your breath catches faintly at that. Your throat feels thick, a small, helpless breath leaves you
“I see you,” he says, quieter now. “And I don’t know how else to explain it except… it’s not complicated for me.” He swallows, then adds, a little more honestly. “I totally understand if you’re not interested.”
That makes your head snap up. “What?” The word comes out quicker than anything else you’ve said tonight, instinctive, almost startled.
Steve pauses, like he didn’t expect that reaction. Like he thought that part would be the easy out for you. “I just mean,” he starts, a little more careful now, “if you don’t feel the same way, or if this isn’t something you want, I get it. I don’t want to—”
“But I do feel the same way.”
Everything goes still. Steve just looks at you, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right, like this is the one moment he refuses to misinterpret.
“You do?” he asks, quieter than before, like he doesn’t want to break it.
Your heart is racing, but you nod anyway. “Yeah,” you say, softer now, but steadier. “I just didn’t think it mattered, because I didn’t think you—” you stop, exhaling lightly, “I didn’t think you felt the same.”
Something in his expression shifts. Relief, first. Immediate and unguarded. Then something warmer and deeper, like everything he’s been holding back finally has somewhere to go.
“Okay,” he breathes, almost a laugh under it, like he can’t quite believe it. “Okay, wow…”
Steve lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Wow…” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s trying to steady the moment instead of rushing past it.
He looks at you again, really looks, like he is taking you in like something that finally makes sense.
Your lips press together, a little breath of a laugh escaping you. “Yeah… wow.”
That makes his smile grow, just slightly. Warmer now, easier. There’s a pause, but it’s not heavy anymore. It’s full, like something has settled into place between you instead of sitting wrong.
Steve shifts in his seat, turning more toward you, one arm resting along the back of it, not quite touching you, but just close enough that you feel the heat of his skin.
“So,” he says, a little tentative again, but not pulling back. “We’ve both just been into each other and completely missing it?”
You nod, a little sheepish. “Looks like it.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Unbelievable.”
A small silence settles, but it’s not awkward, just new. His gaze drops briefly to your hands in your lap, then back up to your face. There’s still a hint of nerves there, but it’s different now. Not fear of rejection, just wanting to get this right
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
You nod.
“Can I take you out?” he asks, and this time there’s no joking, no deflection. “Like, properly. No confusion. No… me apparently being terrible at flirting.”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re not terrible.”
“I am with you,” he counters, but there’s a smile in it.
You hesitate for half a second, not because you don’t want to, but because this is the part where things become real.
Then you nod. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
Steve exhales, something in his shoulders finally relaxing fully, like he’s been braced for something all night and can finally let go of it.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Great.”
“Great,” you murmur, a shy smile in your lips which seems to melt Steve completely. It’s instant, the way it softens him. Like whatever nerves were still clinging on just give up at the sight of it. His expression warms in a way that’s almost unfairly gentle, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second before he catches himself, dragging them back up to your face.
The word lingers between you, simple and a little shy on both sides. Neither of you moves right away. Then Steve shifts just slightly, like he’s resisting the instinct to fill the silence with something easy or familiar. For once, he lets it stay.
His gaze drops again, brief, almost involuntary, to your lips, then back up, slower this time. Like he’s not pretending he didn’t do it. Checking in with you, always checking.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Yeah?” Your voice comes out just as quiet.
He hesitates, and for a second you can actually see the moment he decides not to hide behind anything this time.
“I’m trying really hard not to mess this up,” he admits, a small, self-aware smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I…” he starts, then stops himself, exhaling softly. “I don’t want to assume.”
“You can.”
The words leave you before you can overthink them, soft and certain. Steve stills for half a second, like he needs to make sure he heard you right. You give him a little nod, the corner of your mouth curving again, just slightly, like you can’t quite help it.
That tiny shift is what does it, it’s all it takes. Something in his expression shifts, the last bit of careful restraint loosening into something warmer, more honest. His hand lifts, keeping the motion slow, not tentative in doubt, but in respect, like he’s still making sure you’re with him every step of the way.
It brushes your cheek, settling there gently, grounding.
“Okay,” he murmurs, almost like he’s reassuring himself now. His own lips lifting in a faint, almost disbelieving smile. And then he leans in.
The kiss is soft and unrushed, like neither of you is trying to prove anything. It’s not overwhelming, not uncertain either. It’s just right, like something that’s been building for a long time finally has somewhere to land. For a second, everything else falls away. No overthinking, no second-guessing.
When he pulls back, it’s only a little, his hand still resting lightly against your cheek, his forehead almost brushing yours.
He lets out a quiet breath, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding it, and then a small, almost disbelieving smile pulls at his lips again. His thumb traces a slow, absent line against your cheek, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that this is real.
You let out a tiny breath that turns into a giggle without meaning to, the tension finally draining out of your shoulders all at once, and Steve notices immediately. His smile shifts, warming further at the sound, like it settles something in him too.
“That was nice,” you say softly, a little shy again now that the moment has fully landed.
Steve’s smile deepens at that, like the simplicity of it somehow gets him more than anything else. “Yeah,” he agrees immediately, voice low and warm.
His thumb pauses against your cheek, just for a second, like he’s letting himself really register you there, still close, still real, still choosing this. You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you like he can’t quite stop. Like it’s effortless now. Like it was always going to be you, once you both finally caught up to it.
“You’re smiling a lot,” you point out quietly, a little amused.
“I know,” he says, without even trying to hide it.
That makes you giggle again, soft, breathy, still a little overwhelmed. Steve’s eyes brighten at the sound, like it’s his favorite thing in the world already and he didn’t know it until now.
“What?” you ask, still smiling.
He exhales through his nose, almost laughing too, then shakes his head slightly.
“I just,” he starts, then stops, clearly deciding there’s no point pretending anymore. His hand shifts slightly against your cheek, more certain now. “I really like you.”
You go a little still at that, like it still catches you off guard, even after everything. Then you soften. “I know,” you whisper again.
His expression changes at that, something tender and relieved all at once, like hearing it back makes it feel safer to exist out loud.
“Good,” he murmurs. A beat. Then, quieter, almost playful now that he’s steadier. “‘Cause I’m probably going to keep saying it.”
You smile, leaning in just a fraction this time instead of pulling away.
“I don’t think I mind,” you admit.
“Good,” he echoes again, softer this time, like the word has settled into something deep and comfortable between the two of you. His smile lingers, easy now in a way it hadn’t been earlier, like he’s finally stopped bracing for impact.
You bring a hand up to his forehead, brushing a loose strand of hair back without really thinking about it. Steve goes still for a second, like even that small touch is something he wants to memorize properly. Then he leans into it slightly, not enough to move away from the moment, just enough to make it feel like he’s choosing to stay right there with you.
Your hand lingers for a moment longer than it needs to. “You’re still smiling,” you whisper, softer now, like it’s almost unbelievable.
He lets out a quiet laugh, barely there. “Yeah,” he admits again, like there’s no point pretending otherwise anymore. His eyes flick down to your mouth for a second, then back up, slower this time. “I think I might just keep doing that around you.”
“Good, I like your smile.”
“Yeah?” he asks quietly, like he wants to be sure he heard you right.
You nod, still close enough that it doesn’t feel like either of you really wants space yet. “Yeah,” you say simply. “I do.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, a small breath of a laugh slipping out again. “That’s good to know.”
There’s a pause. Not uncertain, but warm. Steve’s gaze lingers on you a little longer this time, steadier, like he’s getting more comfortable with the idea that he doesn’t have to overthink every second anymore.
Then, quieter, almost like he’s letting you in on something simple and true. “I like yours too.”
Your smile widens at his words, and his widens at the sight.
“Are you gonna follow me to the door?”
He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head a little, still clearly not fully recovered from how easy everything suddenly feels. “Of course.”
The answer comes so quickly it makes your smile tug a little wider. Like there was never really another option in his head.
He shifts first, reluctantly breaking the stillness, but even then he doesn’t really create distance, just enough to move with you instead of staying frozen in that moment, like he’s aware of exactly how much he doesn’t want to let go.
“Let’s get you home pretty girl,” he says with a wink, and you can’t help but giggle at it. Steve’s grin widens immediately at the sound, like he’s filing it away somewhere important.
It’s only a few steps to your door, Steve walks beside you, close but not crowding, his hand brushing yours once, then again, like he’s testing something. The third time, his fingers curl gently around yours, hesitant for half a heartbeat before settling.
You glance down at your joined hands, then up at him. He’s already looking at you.
“What?” he asks, a little smile tugging at his mouth.
“Nothing,” you say, but your thumb brushes over the back of his hand anyway.
His smile softens. “Okay.”
It feels easy in a way that makes your chest ache a little.
He squeezes your hand, just a little, like he felt what you did without you having to say it. You reach your door too quickly
You both stop there, a little closer than necessary, your joined hands still between you like neither of you has remembered to let go.
Steve glances at the door, then back at you, a quiet kind of reluctance settling into his expression.
“I guess this is here we say goodnight.”
You look at him, still close, your hand still in his. “Guess so,” you say softly, though you don’t move to open the door.
His eyes flick to your lips just for a second, then back up. It’s slower this time, like he’s not pretending he didn’t do it. Steve exhales softly, almost like he’s steadying himself.
“I’m really trying to do this right,” he murmurs, voice low, honest in a way that makes your chest tighten.
Your thumb brushes lightly over his hand again, a small reassurance. “You are.”
His gaze lingers on you at that, something easing in his expression.“Yeah?” he asks, quieter.
You nod. “Yeah.”
That small confirmation seems to settle something in him. He shifts just a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that the space between you feels intentional now. His eyes flick to your lips again, then back up, checking, always checking.
“Can I…” he starts, then pauses, a faint, almost nervous smile touching his mouth. “I know I already did, I just… wanna make sure.”
Your heart skips, but you nod, soft and certain. “You can.”
That’s all he needs. He lets go of your hand, settling his palms at your sides, thumbs brushing lightly against the fabric there, grounding himself before he closes the distance. His gaze lingers on yours for one last second, soft and searching, making sure. Then he leans in.
You tilt your head just slightly, closing the distance just enough to meet him halfway, like you’re both arriving at the same place at the same time. His lips find yours softly at first, like he’s still holding onto that care, that need to get it right, but it only takes a second before it melts into something more certain. Something deeper, something steadier. Like he’s finally letting himself feel it instead of holding back.
Your hand tightens slightly where it now rests against his chest, and he responds without thinking, his hands on your hips squeezing lightly as he presses you a little closer into him. Usually you would be slightly insecure about the way you’re being held right now, the awareness of your body making you overthink things at the worst possible moments.
But right now, that thought doesn’t get very far. Because the way Steve is holding you isn’t about anything like that at all. It isn’t judgment. It isn’t expectation. It isn’t anything that asks you to be smaller, different or anything you arent.
It’s just him. Warm hands at your sides, steady and careful in a way that makes it feel like he’s choosing you in a way that doesn’t require you to become anything else to be worth choosing.
His touch at your hips remains firm enough to keep you close, but gentle enough that it never feels like pressure. More like reassurance. Like he’s making sure you don’t drift away, not because you could, but because he doesn’t want to risk a single inch of distance right now.
The kiss itself slows without either of you deciding it should. It just naturally softens at the edges, like both of you are exhaling into the same moment. His breath catches lightly against yours. When he pulls back, it’s only by a fraction. Close enough that his presence still wraps around you. Close enough that the rest of the world feels like it’s a long way away.
His eyes stay on yours for a second before anything else happens, soft and unreadable in the best way, like he’s still taking you in, still quietly surprised by how real this feels.
Then he lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath, like he’s trying to steady something inside himself that’s finally loosened.
Goodnight,” he murmurs, softly, like he doesn’t quite want the word to create distance.
“Goodnight Steve,” you whisper back, like you’re saying it carefully, like anything louder might break the quiet between you.
Neither of you moves right away. There’s still that small space between you, but it doesn’t feel like distance. It feels like a pause, like something neither of you is ready to end just yet. His gaze lingers a second longer, even softer now, almost reluctant, before he finally lets go of you.
“I’ll call you,” he says quietly, like it’s already decided, like there’s no world where he doesn’t.
A small, almost shy smile pulls at his mouth afterward, softening the seriousness of it, but not the meaning. His hand slips away from your slowly, reluctantly, like even that feels like too much space all at once. Still, he doesn’t step back immediately.
Just lingers there for one more second, looking at you like he’s already counting down to the next time. Then, finally, gently. “Tomorrow,” he adds, softer.
“Tomorrow,” you echo, barely above a whisper.
The word lands softly between you, simple and certain. His smile warms at that, like it’s exactly what he wanted to hear. For a moment longer, neither of you moves. The space between you feels suspended, like the world is holding its breath just to let you have this.
Then he finally steps back, slow and reluctant, eyes still on yours as if he’s memorizing you one last time before distance becomes necessary. Even then, he doesn’t fully let go of the moment, just eases out of it gently, like he knows it isn’t ending. Only pausing. It’s only the beginning.
