𝕮𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖊 𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝕴𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

Loving You | M.H.

[Fluff]

The hotel room was cloaked in stillness, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the quiet. The city sprawled below the window, its lights too distant to feel real, like some other world neither of you belonged to. Maria stood at the sink, her hands braced on either side, head bowed, damp hair curling at her neck from the quick shower she'd taken. Her tank top clung to her skin, a little loose around the shoulders, and the sweatpants hanging off her hips were yours — stolen, casually claimed without asking.

You lingered in the doorway, the weight of the evening still hanging between you both. She must have felt your eyes, because her reflection lifted to meet yours in the mirror, her mouth curving just slightly — not quite a smile, but softer than her usual guardedness.

"Come here," she said, voice hushed, almost shy, though Maria Hill was never shy.

You crossed the room, bare feet soundless against the tile. When you reached her, she turned slowly, her hands slipping from the sink to find yours. Her fingers were still damp, her palms warm, and she held you like she was testing the weight of you in her hands — like she was convincing herself you were real.

No sudden moves. No intensity. Just the deliberate, careful way Maria always handled the things that mattered most to her.

She stepped closer, folding herself against you with a sigh so soft it felt like something breaking apart. Her arms wound around your waist, her forehead settling into the curve of your neck, her breath warm against your skin. You held her in return, arms sliding up her back, fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle beneath her skin — muscle earned from years of carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"You okay?" you whispered.

She nodded, but her grip tightened, her fingers curling into your shirt like she needed something to hold onto before she slipped too far into her own silence.

"Just need this," she murmured against your neck. "Just you."

It wasn't like Maria to ask for comfort — to reach for it so openly. That made the moment sacred, your arms around her the only shield she was willing to lower her guard for.

Your fingers moved slowly, tracing the planes of her back, cataloging each muscle and scar like they were written in a language only you could read. The tension that lived there was a constant companion, the armor she never quite took off, but here, in the stillness, she let it slip — just for you.

She shifted slightly, her lips brushing the side of your throat in a kiss so soft you almost didn't feel it — a whisper of affection, a thank-you without words. Her breath shivered against your skin, and she stayed there, like the feel of you grounded her when her thoughts got too loud.

"I love you," she whispered, the words foreign and familiar all at once in her voice. Maria never said them casually. Every syllable felt measured, tested for weight and meaning before it left her mouth. But here, pressed against you in the dark, they spilled out like a confession.

Your throat tightened, the fragile sweetness of it settling deep in your chest. "I love you too," you whispered, your hand sliding up into her hair, fingers curling at the nape of her neck.

She melted into you, her body leaning heavier, her hands sliding up your back beneath your shirt, palms pressed flat to your skin like she was trying to memorize the feel of you. Her touch wasn't demanding — it was reverent, almost hesitant, like she was afraid you'd slip away if she wasn't careful.

"Sometimes..." she started, then hesitated, her breath catching. "Sometimes it scares me. How much."

You pulled back just enough to see her face, your hand cupping her cheek. Her skin was flushed, eyes a little red from the heat of the shower, or maybe from the weight of her own words.

"You don't have to be afraid," you whispered. "You don't have to hold it all in."

Her lips trembled, and for a second, Maria Hill — composed, unshakable Maria Hill — looked like she might break. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned into your touch, eyes closing as your thumb brushed along her cheekbone.

"You make it feel safe," she murmured, the words so quiet they barely crossed the space between you. "Loving you."

Your chest ached with how delicate she sounded — like this was the only place she could unravel, the only place she was allowed to.

You kissed her — not out of hunger or urgency, but with the same aching sweetness she gave you. Her lips were soft, a little unsure at first, like she needed to remember how to do this without overthinking it. But when her hands found your face, her thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth, the kiss deepened into something tender and certain.

There was no need to rush. The world outside could wait. This was just for you — the hush between breaths, the slow, deliberate way her mouth moved against yours, like she was tasting the word home and learning how to believe it.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath mingling with yours in the sliver of space between. Her fingers traced your jaw, soft and reverent, her touch trembling slightly.

"Mine," she whispered, not with ownership, but with the kind of fierce protectiveness that meant I will stand between you and the world if I have to.

"Yours," you whispered back, your hands settling over hers, grounding her the same way she always did for you.

That was enough. That was everything.

Maria didn't let go — not even when you pulled her toward the bed, not even when you slid beneath the sheets. She curled into your side, her arm draped over your stomach, her face tucked into your neck. The weight of her was warm and solid, her fingers curling into yours under the covers.

She held on all night, her breathing slow and steady against your skin, as if the act of holding you was the only thing keeping her from drifting too far into the silence that lived in her bones.

And you held her right back, the same way you always would.

Yours.

Hers.

Always.

<3