Everything Has Changed | Steve Harrington x Reader
summary: steve finally plans to confess his feelings after years of “almosts,” but a guy at a party gets too close to you — and steve snaps. a jealous blow-up turns into a raw confession, a desperate kiss, and a heated moment in the safety of his car.
a/n: my obsession with him is returning in light of the new season. enjoy!
warnings: 18+ smut, mdni, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering (f! receiving), some dirty talk, creampie, slight cursing, some slight angst (if you wanna call it that) establishing a relationship, some fluff at the end, first time publishing smut online so pls tell me if it sucks :)
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Steve is jittery from the moment he picks you up.
You notice it immediately. His fingers tapping the steering wheel, fidgeting with his hair, his eyes fixating on anything but you.
You sink back into your seat, a deep knot forming in your stomach.
Because Steve Harrington does not get nervous. Not around you.
He never has, not in all the years you’ve known him, not through any of the absolute insanity you two had gone through together. You’ve seen him covered in bruises, bleeding from scraped knuckles and cuts, half conscious in a Russian base and in the back of a moving car. But, he was always steady with you. Solid. Brave.
So, what on earth could possibly shake him now?
You look out the window, chewing the inside of your cheek.
Your mind spins, captivated in worry. Maybe he’s worried about another creature out there? What if there’s something he hasn’t told you? Maybe something bad happened with the kids—
Not with the way he keeps sneaking glances at you, snapping his gaze away likes he’s afraid of being caught.
Something more. Something you were too afraid to speak into existence. Something you’ve tried not to hope for — not after all these years of almosts, of timing never lining up, of both of you ducking around feelings that felt too fragile to touch. You clear your throat softly, breaking the silence in the air.
He stiffens— actually stiffens— before forcing a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah? What’s up?”
“You okay?” You ask gently. “You’re acting kind of…I don’t know. Weird.”
He turns his head, eyes finally meeting yours. And then, it’s like everything inside you stutters. It’s not a quick glance. It’s not distracted.
He really looks over you, eyes trailing over your face, lingering like he’s memorizing every detail. His breath shallows, fingers still on the wheel. Something soft and raw flickers across his features before he catches himself.
“Sorry,” he mutters, gaze jerking away from yours. He clears his throat, hand moving to his hair nervously. “It’s just…”
His eyes meet yours once again, and you swore the mere sight could make your knees go weak. “You look really pretty tonight.” He says.
Your heart stops. You’re not sure he actually meant to say it out loud.
His face flood with color a second later, ears going pink, shoulder tense. “I mean—not that you don’t always look pretty—I just—I wasn’t…” He breaks off with a sigh, running an anxious hand through his hair. “Forget I even said that.”
As far as you know, Steve Harrington has never been able to look at you like that. Not during monster fights, not when he would vent to you about Nancy, not during all those moments where you almost swore there was something more.
“Thank you.” You try to steady your voice.
He nods once, eyes facing forward, face still a flushed pink. His hand grips the wheel, like it was the only thing keeping him together. You look out your side of the window, hiding a smile in between bitten lips, your face flushed, stomach fluttering with a feeling you can’t describe.
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You two don’t speak again until he pulls up to the house.
The party is practilly spilling out onto the lawn—loud music, warm lights, shadows moving on the porch and through windows, People laughing, shouting, stumbling in and out.
Steve turns off the engine, but doesn’t move.
His hands stay on the wheel, eyes fixated straight ahead. It’s like he’s gathering himself—stitching up whatever cracked open in the car moments before.
“Ready?” He asks, turning to you.
You nod, but you’re watching him too closely to miss how tense he is.
He gets out first and comes around to open your door — something he’s done a thousand times, but tonight he’s a little slower, like the movement means something heavier, something more. His hand hovers near your back as you walk up the driveway, almost guiding, almost touching.
Inside, the house is chaotic. Warm humid air hits your face—laughter, bass, bodies pressed together. The smell of beer and perfume lingers in the air, overwhelming, but familiar in a Hawkins—small—town kind of way.
Steve stays close behind you, weaving you both through clusters of dancers and loud conversations, offering polite waves and smiles to people calling his name.
But—he keeps glancing at you. Not in the curious way that he normally does—in that protective, focused way he gets before something dangerous happens. You lean into him so he can hear you over the booming music. “You okay?”
He nods, jaw tense. “I’m fine. Just—stay close, okay?”
You snort. “What? You expecting a demogorgan to show up to this party?”
He shoots you a tight look—the kind that would be funny if it didn’t look so serious.
“I’m not kidding,” he mutters. “There’s a lot of weirdos in here.”
You bump your shoulder against his. “Relax. If anything, I could handle myself. You know that.”
He sighs—a heavy, frustrated sound—and guides you towards the kitchen. His hand remains hovered over your back, brushing it every couple steps, his warmth radiating against you.
“Think you can get me a drink?” You grin up at him.
That gets a reaction. He freezes, eyes flicking to yours, worried, conflicted, like he knows he shouldn’t let you out of his sight, but also doesn’t want to seem insane.
Then, he clears his throat, trying to play it casual.
“Uh—yeah. Yeah, I can get us something. You’re gonna stay right here?”
You laugh. “I don’t need a babysitter, Steve.”
He doesn’t look very convinced. But after another beat of hesitation—one more glance—one more swallow—he forces himself to nod, to turn away from you.
It almost feels like he’s walking away from something dangerous.
He disappears into the crowd, weaving between people, and for a moment your chest twists because he looked…scared to leave you. Before you could sit with that thought, a voice appears at your shoulder.
You turn. The boy is tall, oddly familiar. Probably from school—some club—some sport—maybe even a class. He smirks, drink in hand. Tipsy, but not sloppy. His eyes roam you too openly, too slowly.
“Wouldn’t expect a pretty girl to be standing here all by herself.”
You start to answer, but he steps in closer, his chest nearly colliding with yours. His eyes darken, staring down at you like you’re a piece of primal prey. The corners of his mouth twitch into a wicked grin. “Lucky me, huh?”
You open your mouth—but then he reaches for your hand. His fingers brush against yours, lingering. You pull back quickly, like it’s instinct. He follows, eyes still trailed on you. “I saw you walk in with Harrington. That guy disappears every time someone cute is near.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, mouth agape. “Excuse me?”
He leans down, and you can smell the cheap beer on his breath. “You’re gorgeous. You don’t need to wait around for…”
The voice slices through the air like a knife.
Steve stands behind you, two solo cups in his hands, jaw clenched, eyes locked onto him.
Furious doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The guy lifts his brows and looks Steve up and down, sizing him up. “Didn’t realize she was with you.”
“She was waiting for me.” Steve snaps, stepping in between the two of you without a second of hesitation.
The guy scoffs. “Relax, Harrington. We were just talking.”
“Didn’t look like talking,’ Steve says, voice tight, shaking with anger he’s trying— and failing— to keep contained. “Looked like you were trying to put your hands on her.”
The guy shrugs. “She didn’t seem to mind.”
Your breath catches. Steve goes still, his grip tightening on the cups, knuckles turning white. You quickly step between them—one hand on Steve’s chest. You can feel his heart racing beneath your palm, trembling with adrenaline.
“Steve…” You warn under your breath.
But he doesn’t want to hear you. He’s staring the guy down like he’s facing another monster, another thing after you, another threat for him to conquer.
"She's not interested." Steve repeats, voice colder then before. "And don't ever—ever touch her again."
The guy raises his hands in surrender, feet shuffling against the floor as he backs away. "Fine, man. She's all yours."
He saunters off, vanishing into the crowd. You look to Steve, who’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. You touch his arm gently, and it grounds him, to this moment. This moment of humiliation. He jerks away like your touch had just burnt him.
"We're leaving." He snaps. You watch as he hurries to the front door, slamming both cups in a nearby sink. You have to jog after him, weaving through the crowd, ignoring the looks people throw your way as you follow him into the cold night.
The front door slams shut behind you, muting the music to a dull bass behind you. Everyone outside had vanished, either gone home or retreated back inside. The porch lights flicker overhead, Steve's shadow elongating against the wooden boards. When you reach him he's pacing, hands in his hair, jaw tight. Like he's coming apart at the seams.
"Steve!” You pant, wide eyes looking him over.
"Don't." he cuts you off, voice sharp, breath ragged. "Don't do that."
Your eyes narrow. "Do what?"
"Talk to me like nothing just happened back there!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" you snap, stepping toward him. "You just went full on guard dog on that guy for talking to me!"
He whirls, eyes flashing. "He wasn't talking. He had his hands all over you!"
Your breath catches, both from his anger and something else — something hot and unfamiliar twisting low in your stomach.
You throw your hands up, exasperated. "I told you I could handle myself! God, I didn't even want to come here! You were the one to drag me out here in the first place!"
"No," He says sharply, pacing again. "No you don't get it. You don't..." He stops, fist clenching at his sides, words choking him. "You have no idea what tonight was supposed to be."
You blink. "What are you talking about?"
He laughs once — broken, frustrated — and points at the door like it personally offended him. “That party? I didn’t want to go to that stupid thing. I took you here for one reason.”
Your stomach tightens. "What reason, Steve?"
He lifts his gaze to yours, and you watch as the fury melts into something more. Something far more terrifying.
"I was going to ask you out."
You stare at him, the words swirling into your stomach like butterflies trying to escape a net. He pushes a hand through his hair again, pacing harder, words tumbling out now without permission. You can barely breathe, barely blink, barely comprehend that the thing you’ve wanted for years is happening. It’s really happening.
"I spent the whole day rehearsing. God, you should’ve heard me — I sounded like an idiot. Dustin was giving me pointers, which was a mistake, and I was nervous as hell but I thought, okay, this is it. This is the night. I’m finally gonna say something.”
You swallow, chest tight, holding onto every word he said like a prayer.
“But then I got there and that guy was already all over you and I just—” His voice breaks. “I lost it.”
You step closer — cautiously, carefully — like approaching something fragile. "You were jealous." You say, realization finally hitting you.
Your heart stutters, getting stuck in your throat. "Why didn't you just tell me?" you whisper.
Steve raises his head, guilt and longing tangled in his expression. "I didn't think I was allowed too."
You inhale sharply. "Allowed to...what?"
Everything inside you collapses, spills, shatters, reforms — a dizzy rush from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers. You feel weightless and too heavy at the same time. You can’t breathe. You can’t think.
He continues, words spilling faster now:
“I’m in love with you,” he says, and it sounds like he’s ripping open his chest and handing you what’s inside. “I’ve been in love with you for so long I don’t even remember what it feels like not to be. And every time I think about telling you, something stops me — fear, timing, the damn end of the world — but tonight I couldn’t pretend anymore. Not after seeing him touch you like you were— like you were up for grabs.”
Your vision blurs as heat builds up your throat, practically swallowing your words. "Steve..." You begin, swallowing, mouth dry, speechless.
This can't be real. This can't be happening.
And he’s standing right in front of you, chest rising and falling like he just sprinted, eyes glowing with something big and brutal and long overdue. You try to speak, but words tangle in your throat.
"I'm in love with you too."
He stares at you like he’s hearing a language he never believed he could understand. And then he steps forward — one slow, trembling step — until his chest nearly brushes yours. His hand lifts, fingers barely touching your cheek, hesitant, resilient.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, voice cracking, eyes locked on yours with a desperation that steals your breath. “And I swear, I will.”
You stare at him, heart pounding against your ribs. Your hands slide up to his chest, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. Your skin feels hot, your whole body buzzing, running off adrenaline, off him.
"Don't stop." you breathe — not steady, not composed, but wrecked and wanting.
His breath leaves him in a harsh exhale, his pupils blown wide, his grip tightening on your jaw like he physically can’t hold himself back anymore.
“God,” he whispers, almost like it hurts, “you’re gonna kill me.”
And then he’s kissing you —
Hard. Hungry. Years of swallowed feelings crashing into one explosive, desperate moment. His hands slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips move against yours like he’s been waiting a lifetime: deep, claiming, breathlessly intense. You gasp when his mouth leaves yours, the sound that leaves him is guttural, low, practically ruined.
His fingers knot in your hair, gripping onto every piece of you that he can, scared to let go, to let this moment go.
It't in that moment that everything disappears. The porch, the cold, that stupid guy from the party momments ago. Everything disappears except his mouth on yours and the heat surging everywhere you touch.
He breaks away only to drag his lips across your cheek, your jaw, the edge of your throat — slow enough to make you shake, fast enough to make your breath catch. You tilt into him without thinking, chasing his mouth, fingers tugging at his jacket, and he groans — actually groans — against your skin.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, “I’ve wanted this… God, I’ve wanted you…”
He kisses you again, rougher, deeper, like he's trying to make up for every moment he willed himself not to have you, to hold you, to kiss you.
Your back hits the porch railing, his hands on your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips as if he’s anchoring himself — or keeping himself from completely losing control right there on that porch. Your fingers slip beneath the collar of his jacket, brushing the warm skin at the nape of his neck, and Steve’s entire body shudders.
He pulls back just an inch — panting, forehead against yours, eyes dark and blown wide as he stares at your lips like he’s fighting for sanity.
"Car," he says, voice raw and commanding in a way that you've never heard before.
You pant, breathless. "Steve.."
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The car door slams behind you, the fabric of both of your clothes rubbing against leather seats. You barely have time to breathe before Steve’s weight presses against you, gentle but urgent—the two of you fumbling into the dark interior, hands roaming.
His lips never leave yours.
He’s panting into your mouth, frantic and hungry, like every kiss is oxygen and he’s been drowning for years. Your back hits the seat, hands fumbled in his hair, tugging like it’s your lifeline. His hand steadies your face, fingers trailing over your jaw, the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against him. He pulls back just barely, just enough for the two of you to lock eyes. His breath mingles against your own, eyes blown wide in the dim light.
“Shit…” he whispers, voice shaking. “Is this really happening?”
Your hands clutch his jacket, tugging him closer as if he might vanish. “Yes,” you breathe with a chuckle. “Yes, Steve.”
He lets out a broken laugh, forehead dropping to yours, seconds before his lips find your jaw, leaving wet open mouth kisses along the bone. The touch sends a warm shiver down your spine, and your eyes flutter close and a content sigh leaves your lips.
Steve completely freezes, lips still hovering over your skin. His breath shakes, fingers tensing against your waist like he’s holding himself in place with sheer willpower. Slowly, he lifts his head—eyes wide, pupils blown, breath unsteady.
“Are you sure about this?” He whispers, voice so raw it almost hurts to hear.
It wasn’t doubt. Not hesitant. Just, terrified of hurting you. Terrified of wanting too much.
You cup his jaw with one trembling hand, grounding him. “Yes.”
But he doesn’t move. His throat works around a swallow, and he searches your face with a look so intense it roots you to your seat.
“You sure?” He repeats, softer, like he’s asking for a lifeline. “There’s no coming back after this.”
Your heart squeezes, because he’s right.
This moment—the heat in his eyes, the weight of his body over yours, his breath mixing with yours in the dark warmth of the car. It’s irreversible. It changes everything you two have ever had. Your voice comes out steadier than your heart beat.
“I don’t want to come back from this,” You say, eyes darkening under his desperate gaze. “I want you, Steve. It’s always been you.”
Those words are enough to drive him over the edge. He reels you back in, lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of hunger, of want. This kiss is different than the others, less careful, more rough. Like every ounce of fear and devotion he’s stored away has bubbled to the surface, drowning in waves. Your body relaxes against his, hands flying back to his hair. You tug softly, small whimpers escaping his lips at the sensation. The car around you suddenly feels too small, too warm, too charged to handle the gravity between the two of you. The windows begin to fog with your breath, his body warm and trembling against yours.
His hands move to the hem of your sweater, fingers lacing between the wool fabric. You pull away quickly, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head, discarding it somewhere in the shadows of the dark car. His finger graze your bare skin, goosebumps following shortly after. Your breath trembles, and his eyes meet yours, pure lust and love hidden behind them. His eyes scan you over, hands trailing over your bra, over the curves of your breast.
“You’re fucking breathtaking,” he breathes it out like it’s his final breath.
You kiss him again, pulling him into you by his belt. He growls into you, hand moving down your body, stopping at where your skirt stopped on your upper thigh. His fingers cover the area, grazing, kneading the inside of your thigh. You feel as you could burst right then and there. It was too slow, practically agonizing.
You pull away, panting wildly. “Steve, don’t be a tease.”
He chuckles against you. “Patience, baby.”
His hand shifts up slowly in between your thighs, your heat. You shudder, practically falling into him. He’s slow, middle finger circling your clothed wetness. You gasp softly, thighs clenching around his hand.
“Fuck baby,” he whispers out. “So wet for me.”
His hand curls around the hem of your panties, and in one fell swoop he tugs them down your legs. His finger inch closer, entering you at an abnormally slow pace. It’s one finger, then another. You gasp, head thrown back against the car seat, eyes closed tight in pure bliss.
His gaze stays focused on you, watching the pretty expressions fall as he works on you. He can increasingly feel his cock get harder and harder in his pants, begging to break free. His fingers move inside you at a slow pace, the tips of his fingers just edging that sweet spot. You shudder, body shifting in the seat.
“Steve, please…” You whimper.
“What is it baby, hm? Tell me what you want.” He whispers against you, his hand increasing rhythm like he knew what you were about to say.
“Faster, please.” Your voice comes out low, husk against him.
He smirks at your response, and wastes no time. His fingers dig deeper, further, finally hitting that spot, that spot that will indefinitely set you over the edge. Your hips buck up into his fingers, your breath quickening against him. Your fingers clutch at his jacket, knuckles white.
“That’s it,” Steve husks. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”
You whimper as his thumb drops to your clit, rubbing in slow agonizing turns. You gasp as that small burning heat begins to rise in your lower tummy. Steve leans his forehead against yours, and you can feel the huge bulging tent in his pants against your thigh. Your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure builds, turning into flames, heating up in your core. You shudder, orgasm racking over your body. A cry of his name leaves your lips, euphoria spreading throughout your limbs. You come down hard, panting wildly, sweat prickling at your brow. Steve rides out your high with you until you’re practically slumped against the seat, fingers slowly going until they come to a complete stop.
Steve pulls out, fingers soaked and slippery. He holds gaze with you as his fingers enter his mouth, sucking them clean. You moan at the sight, the overwhelming desire to have him inside you flooding your brain like poison. You pull him down against yours, lips hungrily back on yours. He grips you back in, chest flushed against you, member pulsating in his jeans.
“Please—I need…” You gasp out.
“I know, baby. I know.” Steve replies, a wicked grin curving his lips.
His hands fumble to his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders, discarding it in the dark. He wears a black t-shirt underneath, biceps tightened around the sleeves. You reach the hem of the shirt, pulling it over his head, discarding it as well.
You take in his lean body, chest hairs prompted wildly on his chest. You fingers trace scars, both white and red, some new and some old. A remembrance of all the things the two of you survived. Survived together.
You fumble with his belt, tugging at his jeans. Steve watches you, letting out a dark chuckle. “Someone’s eager.” He teases.
You look up at him through pretty eyelashes, the sight practically makes him melt. “You’re the one who had to do this in the car.” You shove a finger at his chest.
He chuckles once more. “I don’t see you complaining.”
You giggle, pulling his lips back down to yours. He craddles the side of your face, thumbs rubbing over your jawline. Lips still locked, you work at his pants, racking them down to his ankles. He kicks them off, leaving him on his boxers, member stretching the fabric. You run a hand over his length, and he groans into your mouth, bucking his hips forward.
“You’re mine, ya know that?” He whispers out to you. You can’t help but grin, “Yes.”
His boxers slip down his legs, and he discards them. His cock springs free, red and pulsating in all its glory. Your mouth practically waters, and your thighs clench together at the sight. You hike your skirt back up to your waist, spreading your legs wide and open for him. He hovers over you, stroking his cock. He pushes it toward your entrance, sinking in between your silky folds.
“Say it. I need to hear you say it.” Steve suffers out, face leaned in close to you, lips ghosting your ear. You shift, becoming antsy now.
“I’m yours.” You breathe, eyes dark, hooded under his stare.
“Good girl.” He mumbles back. You gasp, feeling the head of his cock slowly enter you. He fills you up, groaning louder with every centimeter that enters you. Your lips tug between your teeth, thighs wrapping around his waist, bringing him closer. He pants against you, cock pulsating against your walls. He stalls for a second, waiting for you to get adjusted to his size. After a moment, he begins to move, slowly, just grazing that sweet spot of yours once more.
Your fingers tug at his shoulder blades, breath heavy in his ear, brushing past the hair against his ears.
“Fuck,” He shudders, rolling his hips into yours. He fills you up all the way, hip bones grazing your ass. You gasp at the feeling, the tip of his cock at that sweet spot. Your head lolls back, bottom lip tucked in between your teeth. “Stevie…” You whimper out.
“You feel so good, baby.” Steve mumbles to you. You moan loudly at his words, almost like it was in agreement. The way your warmness swallowed around him made him clench, orgasm already beginning to rise, tingling throughout his body. He holds out, panting hard, hands squeezing at your thighs, leaving red marks behind. Your toes curl, legs beginning to tremble beneath him. His hips began to snap a little faster, skin slapping against each other as he fucks into you.
Steve’s gruff groans make your stomach flutter, that knot in your stomach beginning to form once more. You shudder, hands coming up to grip at the back of his neck, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his skin. Steve watches you, the way your body is reacting to him, and immediately knows what to do. His thumb presses against your clit, moving in the same pace as his thrusts. You gasp, the added sensation sending you to your second orgasm of the night.
Your lips connect to his in a lusted daze, lazy kisses prepping against his neck. You come hard and quick, hips bucking, legs pressing him closer into you. Steve follows close behind, his thrust becoming slower, sloppier.
“Fuck, fuck!” He grunts out, officially coming undone inside you, ribbons of hot sticky cum coating the inside of your walls. Your eyes never leave his, watching his mouth agape, panting hard, sweat dripping down the side of his temple. You push the wet slick hair from his face, grinning at the sweet sight before you. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty sticky body warm against yours, tangled together.
His forehead leans against yours, neither of you ready to pull apart yet, to come back to reality. You can feel Steve’s slowing heartbeat against your own. He lets out a soft broken laugh, breathless, and in awe—eyes fluttering shut beneath your touch.
“God,” he whispers, catching his breath. “You’re…unbelievable.”
Your chest flutters. “You okay?”
He nods, leaning into you. “Yeah. Yeah, I just…” He opens his eyes, searching yours, voice going quiet. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”
He swallows hard, lowering himself beside you on the seat, pulling you gently into his chest. His arms wrap around you automatically, protective and warm, nose brushing against your hair.
You curl into him, letting the rhythms of his heartbeat calm yours. A long moment passes, soft and peaceful, buzzing at the edges of everything that had just occurred. Steve tenses against you, not in fear, but in nervousness. He presses a slow kiss to your temple.
“Hey…” he murmurs, voice low, uncertain.
You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes in the dark. He looks terrified, but hopeful.
“I meant everything I said on the porch,” he whispers. “All of it.”
His hand comes up, cupping your cheek gently, thumb brushing against your cheekbone as if you were something fragile he was afraid to ruin.
“I didn’t say those things because of the moment, or because of the heat of everything.” He lets out another shaky breath. “I’ve felt this way for so long it’s…kind of ridiculous.”
Your heart swells at his words, leaning closer into him. He looks down at your lips, then back to your eyes—a quiet question burning there. And then, with the softest, most vulnerable voice you’ve ever heard, he says:
“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just—I want to ask you now, the way I meant to earlier before everything got screwed up.”
You both share a soft laugh. Steve pauses, almost gathering himself.
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
Your breath leaves your lips in a small stunned exhale.
He rushes on, flustered. “You don’t have to answer now, or if tonight was too much and you need time…”
You cut him off, taking his face and kissing him abruptly. He melts into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. You pull away, making sure to keep your face close to his. “Yes.” You respond with a smile.
He freezes against you, like he has to replay it in his mind to make sure it’s real.
“Yeah?” He murmurs, voice cracking. “You’re sure?”
You nod, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I’ve never been more sure.”
He smiles—slow and tender, a little crooked, and it hits you how many times years you’ve waited to see that smile directed at you like this. He leans forward and kisses you—soft, warm, lingering—nothing rushed, nothing desperate, just—full of love.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in.
“My girlfriend,” he murmurs, testing the words like their brand new.
“My boyfriend,” you whisper back, cheeks warm.
He grins—a real bright grin—and pulls you into his arms against yours, holding you like he never plans to let you go. And under the soft hum of the car engine, the two of you just stay there—wrapped up in each other, hearts steadying, breathe evening out, everything outside fading away. It’s in that moment you both realize:
And neither of you want to go back.
