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He was still in his tactical gear, boots scuffed, knuckles split, lip blood red and raw from him biting it too much and helmet hanging from his fingertips. All he wanted was a goddamn shower and to find you curled up on the couch, half-asleep in one of his old shirts, perhaps waiting on him even when he clearly told you he didn‘t know when he would return with something playing low on the TV that you weren’t really watching.

But the apartment was silent. Still. Too still. He frowned.

“Baby?” he called, his voice hoarse. Nothing. Not even the sound of you rustling around in the tiny-ass kitchen that barely had space for both your bodies when he pressed you against the counter. “You here?”

No answer.

He dropped the helmet onto the couch with a dull thud, scanning the living room- small, lived-in, your touch on everything. Blanket thrown over the armrest. Mug on the coffee table. One of your socks under the edge of the couch. The place looked like you'd just stepped out for a second. But his gut told him otherwise.

Jason moved fast when he was worried. But now in your way-too-small apartment he was bumping into the walls. Bootsteps heavy as he checked the bedroom, the bathroom, the closet you both swore you'd clean out last week. Nothing. No bag missing. No note. No message on his phone, not that he’d had service the last two days. "Goddammit..." he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. The apartment barely fit him on a good day — hell, it barely fit both of you, and that was half the charm. But now it just felt... empty. Wrong. Where the fuck were you? He felt his heart start to race and his breaths start to leave him in short, quick, strong breaths that hurt. Before he could start ripping the walls off of your apartment because maybe-just maybe-you were hiding underneath them as a prank a new thought entered his messed up brain. Maybe joker got to you. Maybe Joker got to….you. And he swore to whatever entity above if joker got his hands on you he would tear Gotham from limb to limb until there were ashes left in place of this godforsaken city. His shaking hands fiddled with his phone to try and call Dick. Dick was still on patrol around the area maybe he could go out and search for you as Jason gets every weapon known and unknown to mankind to torture any of Joker‘s goons for information because any other explanation wouldn‘t make sense to him.

He has you. He has you. He has you.

And maybe you were already dead.

His phone fell from his trembling hands as he tried to pick it up again but his heart was beating too fast his hands were shaking too much snd they were too sweaty and everything just fucking hurt and why the fuck weren‘t you here? On his knees now his hands found his hair as he digged into the strands.

„Jay?“

His head snapped over his shoulder towards the door and there you stood. Key in hand and your eyebrows furrowed and not a fucking worry in sight about perhaps being captured by the Joker. If Jason couldn‘t breathe before right now he certainly couldn‘t.

His eyes glossed over and he parted his lips to speak but before he could even think of saying anything you quickly close the door behind you, mindful not to actually slam it shut, and stalk towards him as you land on your knees before him. His face contores into a small grimace as your knees scrape against the rough hard wood floor you had. Your nimble hands cradle his face and he can see your mouth moving but he can’t hear anything. His ears are ringing and everything around him was going in and out of focus. All he could actually focus on was you. Your thumbs brushed over the stubble on his jaw as you tried to get him to look at you- really look at you.

“Jay. Jay, baby? Baby, breathe. It‘s Okay.” Your voice cut through the white noise like a lifeline, soft but urgent and in a whisper, your fingers slipping into his hair replacing his rough ones that pulled at the strands just to ground him.

His lips trembled. You were warm. Solid. Alive. And he was going to throw up.

Jason surged forward, his arms wrapping around you so tight it knocked the air out of your lungs, but you didn’t care and you were quite sure that he didn‘t either. You held him just as tightly, if not more. He buried his face in your shoulder and breathed. In. Out. In again. It was messy, shaky, and uneven, but the scent of you was familiar, grounding and enough to make the world tilt back into focus. Slowly.

"I thought-" His voice cracked. “I thought he had you.”

You felt it then- the wet heat of tears hitting your skin. He had cried in front of you before. Many nights where his nightmares were just too real for him to bear alone. He would softly wake you up and you would hold him as he silently wept into you and you never judged him. Not him or his past. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his temple.

“I just went outside for a second,” you whispered. “We were out of coffee. You always want coffee when you get back from a job. I wanted to get you some but i forgot my wallet. Kinda glad i did right now“ a soft chuckle escapes you.

Jason shook his head against you, still holding on like letting go might undo you, might unmake you and all the fragile peace you brought into his chaos. “Didn’t see a message. Nothing. Place was too quiet. I-I thought…”

“I know.” You combed your fingers through his hair again, slow and soothing, like you’d done on the nights the nightmares were too loud. “You’ve been out there too long. Everything feels wrong when you come back.” You place your chin ontop of his head as you keep ranking through the back of his hair.

“It wasn’t just that,” he choked out. “I felt it. That...in my chest. The panic. I couldn’t breathe. You weren’t here. I thought it was like that time. I thought-fuck, I don’t even know what I thought, just that it was happening again. I was there again with him..”

In that warehouse.

With death.

You tightened your grip around him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jay,” you said. “You hear me? You could raze Gotham to the ground looking for me, and I’d still come home to you.” He laughed then, but it was hollow, cracked down the middle, his forehead pressing hard against the crook of your neck. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t have to come home to this.”

You didn’t say anything for a beat. Just held him. Let him collapse without shame. Because you knew better than anyone that Jason Peter Todd was the strongest man known. But even steel buckles under enough pressure.

Eventually, you pulled back, hands moving to cup his face again. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin, pale. His lip, cracked. He looked wrecked. Destroyed. “C’mon,” you murmured gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He shook his head in a frenzy. “I don’t want to move.”

“We don’t have to go far,” you promised. “Just the bathroom. I’ll draw you a bath. And we can sit. That’s it. Just sit me and you.”

You guided him up slowly, carefully, mindful of how unsteady he was on his feet, when you realised you wouldn‘t get another answer out of him. His grip never left you — one hand tangled in the fabric of your hoodie, the other on your waist. Like if he let go, the floor might open up and swallow him whole and he would be back there.

In the bathroom, you flicked the lights on and turned the faucet. The water hissed into the tub, and the steam quickly filled the room. Jason stood behind you, leaning against the sink. You turned and reached for the hem of his suit. Only now did you realize that he still had it on.

He flinched.

“Hey.” Your voice was soft, coaxing. “It’s me.” Jason closed his eyes. Breathed in again.

Bruises, fresh and healing, littered his torso like a road map of violence. The jagged scar near his ribs, the one that never fully faded, was red around the edges. You didn’t ask if he’d reopened it. You already knew. He had this tendency when he got anxious that he would just sit and scratch away at all of his scars as if it would make them dissapear. He didn’t speak, not for a long while, until your fingers ghosted too gently over one of the deeper cuts.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, eyes distant, fixed on the tile.

“You didn’t,” you said. “You won’t.”

“You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

You met his gaze. “You’re not the only one who fights to hold on, Jason. I may not be out there on rooftops or in back alleys, but I fight every day to be here. With you. You think I’d let some clown-faced asshole take that away from me? Take you away from me? I wasn‘t there the first time and i won‘t let it happen a second time.”

He let out a shaky breath, “I love you.”

The words didn’t tumble from him often. Not because he didn’t feel them, but because he felt them too much. Too deeply. Like they were fragile, and precious, and terrifying all at once.

You stepped closer and pressed your forehead to his.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Now get in that tub before your muscles lock up like last time.” He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

You helped him in and sat nearby, cross-legged on the bathroom floor. The bathwater lapped gently at the porcelain as Jason let himself sink deeper, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to bleed away.

A long silence stretched between you.

Then,

“You really went for coffee?”

You smiled. “Yeah. And those snacks you like.”

He blinked. “The spicy cheese ones?” You nodded. Jason tilted his head back and let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “I really do love you.” “You better. I’m the one who’s gonna be dealing with the tub drain full of your blood and war grime.”

He huffed. “Romantic.”

“Always.”

Afterward, wrapped in a towel and wearing the old hoodie of his you’d swiped years ago, Jason slumped onto the bed. You curled up beside him, throwing the blanket over both your legs.

Your head rested on his shoulder, and his arm wound around your waist, hand brushing against your side absently, like he still needed to reassure himself you were real. That you were there.

“I hate what this city does to me,” he said quietly.

You looked up. Jason frowned.

“How it makes you feel, Jay. How it makes you scared. That’s not weakness. That’s love. That’s being human.”

He was quiet again for a moment. “I couldn‘t stand living without you here. I think i would have gone mad.“ You shifted in his hold.

His eyes met yours.

“You don‘t have to worry about that.,” you said. “You came home, Jay. To me. And i will always be there for you..”

He leaned down and kissed you then. Soft. Barely there. But it lingered.

“Don’t ever disappear on me again,” he said against your lips. You pulled back just enough to smirk. “Only if you promise not to assume I’ve been Joker-napped every time I step out.”

Jason exhaled slowly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Can’t promise that.”

“I’ll settle for a text next time you’re off-grid.” “I’ll try,” he said. And for Jason Todd, try meant more than most people’s swear.

You both layed there for a long while, tangled in each other and the quiet aftermath of panic. And while the city outside still breathed with crime and chaos, in this tiny, too-small apartment, with your heartbeat steady against his side, Jason felt maybe for the first time in weeks that he wasn’t losing everything.

That maybe, just maybe, he was allowed to have something.

“And you know what Jeff said about his girlfriend?” 

“Hm?” 

You’re buckling up and only half listening, when Eddie gets with his band mates, they’re always talking bullshit for days. 

“He said she told him she didn’t watch porn.” 

That had you raising your eyebrows a little. 

Eddie picks this time now to drive out of the parking lot and keep his eyes on the road. 

“And then, Jeff’s girlfriend went on to say that girls don’t watch any porn, and we were all like, ‘she’s gotta be fucking joking right?’” 

Eddie’s pulling off the road, and you have a soft smile on your face as you watch him. How pliant Eddie was. Such a boy.

“So is it true?” He whispered. Still too embarrassed to look over at your side of the van. 

“Is what true?” You just want to hear the dumbass question come out of his mouth. 

“Do girls watch porn?” 

You’re thankful your relationship with Eddie has gotten to the point where he’s comfortable enough to ask silly questions like that, even if he can’t look you in the eye when he says it. 

“No Eddie. Girls are just so much more mature than guys, we would never stoop so low as to watching a woman get dicked down on camera.” 

You shake your head a little. Voice clearly sarcastic but when you look over at Eddie he doesn’t seemed convinced. 

“So what, you like, use your imagination?” 

“I’m joking Ed’s.” 

There’s a pink tint on the tips of his ears. That’s what gets him embarrassed. Not asking straight out if you’d watch other people having sex from time to time. 

“So you do watch porn?” 

“Woman aren’t monks Eddie. Of course some woman watch porn. If we can get our hands on it.” 

Eddie nods as if he’s thinking it over. He’s shifting in his seat and when he looks over at you, you can see he’s chubbed up just thinking about it.

“So… What do you watch?” He leans over. Trying to act coy and teasing, but you roll your eyes. 

“None of your business.” 

“I’m sure it’s a tape titled ‘it takes two to satisfy.’” 

“No.” 

“What about— ‘daddy’s cumming home.’”

“Are you sure that’s not what you watch?”  

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, he’s totally unbothered right now. It’s like this new information about woman being as dirty as men has grounded him. 

“Yeah. You’re right. I bet you watch shit about weed dealers.” 

“Maybe once.” 

“You’re gross.” 

“Come on! Tell me what your favorite porno is.” 

It’s silent for a moment, and Eddie finally risks a glance off the road to look at you. Now you’re the one with pink in the cheeks and playing with your sleeve. 

“Educating Ava…” 

“Baby— That’s so boring!” 

“The guy instructs her though the whole thing! It’s sweet, and the most life-like porn I could find.” 

“So you want life-like, huh?” 

“Shut the hell up.” 

Eddie snickers. It’s still about 7 minutes away from Steve’s house. You can see Eddie’s dick through his jeans. You don’t think anyone would mind if you made a quick 5 minute pit stop.

The best you can call them are lessons learned, because boy have you learned your lesson. With each relationship you have, a part of your lover girl soul seems to chip away, each one leaving you with something new to take into your next.

With your first boyfriend, James, who you dated your sophomore year of high school, you learned how to be less sensitive. 

It was during that famous fall, when the entire town was holding its breath, scouring the woods for Will Byers. You’d cried yourself to sleep. He was just a kid, a quiet boy in your brother’s grade, and the thought of him lost, cold, and scared made your chest ache with a visceral, suffocating dread.

James had found your tears irritating. “Why are you so upset?” he’d asked, baffled. “You didn’t even know him like that. It’s not that deep.”

It’s not that deep. 

The words somehow became a mantra. James beat the idea into you so much you believed it. It’s not that deep. Not worth the emotions. 

You learned to swallow the lump in your throat when you saw Joyce Byers’ frantic eyes on the news, to school your features into something neutral when the search parties gathered.

You stopped being so sensitive. You made yourself smaller, quieter, less feeling. By the time Will was found, miraculously alive, the part of you that cried for near-strangers had been neatly packed away.

You hadn’t realized that in doing so, the phrase had started to apply to other aspects of your life as well. Like the part of you that cared for James. So you ended it. Your relationship was never that deep anyways.

Then came Mark, junior year. 

The best way you could describe Mark was that he was… a lot. He wanted passion, fire, drama. He wanted you to scream and fight and make up. All that exciting, borderline toxic stuff that made relationships feel real. But you’d forgotten how. Or rather you simply couldn’t be bothered. You were so practiced in calmness and in not making a scene with your emotions, that he called you heartless.

“Don’t you care about me at all?” he’d yell, his face flushed with a feeling you could no longer access. “It’s like you’re not even in this! You’re so emotionless!”

It wasn’t true. You cared. You just didn’t know how to show it anymore without the fear of being ‘too much’ clawing at your throat. 

You’d excised the sensitivity, and in doing so, you’d seemingly removed your ability to feel outwardly at all. Mark left you for a girl who threw a plate at his head during an argument at lunch. You heard him say she was “passionate.”

So, for your senior year, you tried to find a middle ground. And you found it in Ben. Ben, with his soft smile and softer hands, who loved films and basketball and knew all the words to your favorite songs. He felt like the one. 

The love of your life. 

You carefully, tentatively, began to unpack the boxes you’d sealed inside your heart. You let him in.

And it was the best decision of your life. Ben was the most loving thing you’d ever come close to.

You were sure. For the first time, you knew.

And then you found the lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt—a shimmery pink that was nothing like you would ever wear. 

The discovery was a physical blow, a nausea that started in your soul and radiated outwards. The confrontation was worse. Apparently it wasn’t a one-time thing. It went on for months. With a freshman. 

The words “love of your life” curdled in your mouth, leaving you sick and throwing up for a week straight.

That was the final lesson. The master class in heartbreak. You learned that trust was a fool’s game, and you, it turned out, were the biggest fool of all.

From then on, you swore off guys. 

You couldn’t give the emotional connection they were looking for anymore and now you had enough trust issues to fill Lover’s Lake. 

What you could do, you discovered in a blur of cheap beer and lower back tattoos during your first year of community college, was sleep around. 

It was a phase, a frantic, desperate attempt to feel something without the risk of feeling everything.

And god it was so easy.

It was so easy to slip into someone's bed knowing that they expected nothing of you. That you couldn’t say the wrong thing or even the right thing, which still wouldn't be enough anyways.

It was empty. And lonely. But oh so easy.

And when the phase ended, when you looked at the string of nameless faces and forgotten mornings, you crashed. 

Hard.

Depressed couldn’t even begin to describe it. It was this suffocating dread and loneliness that encapsulated you whole.

You turned to your friends, the ones in happy, stable relationships. “How did you know?” you’d ask, your voice thin with a desperation you hated. Your desire to be loved so bad made you physically ill.

They’d all give you the same infuriating smile. “You just know,” your best friend Sarah would say, squeezing her high school sweetheart's hand. “When you know, you know, ya know?”

But you didn’t know. You genuinely, honestly, did not know. 

You knew suspicion. You knew how to build walls and how to perform emotions you no longer felt. You knew the precise weight of betrayal. But you did not know how to know.

Which is why, when Steve Harrington, who just finished scooping your ice cream and handing it to you, asked you out to dinner, you had no real thoughts. 

It was just another data point in the long, miserable graph of your romantic failures. A blip. Steve Harrington. King Steve. A relic from high school you’d never really known, just observed from a distance.

He was handsome, sure, with his perfectly styled hair and a smile that had probably launched a thousand sighs. But that meant nothing to you anymore.

“Dinner?” you’d repeated, scrunching your brow.

“Yeah. You know, it could be fun? I pick you up, take you to that new diner downtown. The whole deal.” He’d grinned, but it wasn’t the cocky, predatory grin you remembered from the halls of Hawkins High. This one was softer, a little lopsided, with a hint of nerves at the edges.

You’d agreed because it was easier than refusing. Because you were tired. Because maybe, on some deeply buried level, you were a masochist.

But it started to feel different.

The first date was… nice. He talked about the kids he babysat—babysat, a high school legend now a glorified unpaid nanny—with a fond, almost paternal exasperation. He didn’t try to impress you with old stories of parties and his glory days of ruling Hawkins High. He asked you questions, and he actually listened to the answers. 

It was unsettling.

But not as unsettling as when he asked you on a second date. 

And you said yes.

The second date was a movie. He held your hand, his thumb stroking gentle circles on your knuckles. It was such a simple, cliché gesture, but your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. You spent the entire second half of the film fighting the urge to pull your hand away, to retreat to the safe, familiar numbness.

When he asked you out on another date, you pretty much had it solidified in your head. 

This wasn’t real. It was all a dream, and you were going to wake up from it any minute now, because there was simply no possible way that Steve Harrington would be the one to make you question love.

But, nonetheless, it was real. 

It was all very real and on the third date, he cooked you pasta at his big, empty house. It was slightly overcooked, and the sauce was from a jar, but he’d lit candles and decorated and it was cute.

More than James or Mark or Ben had ever done for you before. You’d looked at him, bathed in the warm, flickering light, laughing as he almost set a potholder on fire, and you felt it—a tiny, fragile crack in the frost around your heart.

It was terrifying.

You started making an effort, a conscious, deliberate one, to get to the bottom of what it meant to be in love. 

You had to know before you were in too deep.

So, you observed Steve like a scientist studying a rare, potentially dangerous species. Because that’s what he was. A very rare male species who was now beginning to make his way to your heart, and that was the most dangerous thing of all.

You cataloged basically all his behaviors. The way he always walked on the street side of the sidewalk. How he remembered you liked extra pickles on your burger. The deep, weary concern in his eyes when he talked about the weird, unexplained things that seemed to follow the kids—the same things, you realized with a jolt, that were tied to Will Byers’ disappearance and the Starcourt Mall fire.

But with every thought and theory you had, you were coming up with blanks.

All your previous experiences had not prepared you for this. How to act and feel when everything was going right.

So right, in fact, that Steve had asked you to be his girl just two months after your first date, with a beautiful bouquet of lilies (your favorite) and takeout from your favorite Chinese place, at a cute picnic at the park right around the corner from your house.

You had said yes, and kissed him dizzy, because he was a great kisser and you loved getting to be close to him— your boyfriend, who you were starting to fall in love with. Whatever that meant.

The word “boyfriend” echoed in your head for days after, a sweet, terrifying bell you kept ringing just to hear the sound.

Steve Harrington is my boyfriend.

It felt like claiming a shooting star. Beautiful, impossible, and destined to burn out.

Except, it wasn’t burning out.

If anything, it just kept shining brighter and brighter.

He held your hand in public. He brought you a six-pack of your favorite soda just because he saw it at the grocery store. He bought lilies every chance he could. And he kissed you like you were something precious, his hands cupping your face sweetly every time. He never pushed, never demanded, and that both soothed and unnerved you.

What did this mean? Did this mean he was the one? Did you ‘know’ now?

Your mind continued to wrack itself for answers you couldn’t find. So you decided to do the next best option.

Go to his place.

Steve wouldn’t mind, right?

He enjoyed your company and most girlfriends occasionally surprise their boyfriends. You hoped he would enjoy this surprise, showing up unannounced. So you head over and stop at the market to pick up a small pizza and cake for the both of you to eat.

You ring his doorbell, anxious, but excited to hopefully get the answers from Steve you needed. No matter what, tonight, you would know.

When he answers, his face breaks into a smile so bright and unguarded it makes your breath catch. He’s in soft sweatpants and an old Hawkins High tee, his hair damp from a recent shower and delightfully messy.

“Hey you! What are you doing here,” he says, his voice warm as he steps back to let you in. The familiar, clean scent of his laundry detergent and shampoo envelops you.

“I come bearing gifts,” you announce, holding up the pizza box and the small cake. “I was hoping we could hang out.”

Steve smiles bigger at that, leaning down to give you a soft kiss that makes your head spin, and taking the pizza and cake from your hands.

“I love that idea.” Steve hums, “Hanging out and eating junk food with my girl? Perfect.”

My girl.

The words still sent a little thrill through you, even as you continued to analyze them.

You settle on the couch, the pizza box open between you as he queues up a cheesy, predictable romantic comedy. The house is quiet, save for the movie’s soundtrack and the comfortable sound of chewing. Steve’s arm is slung over the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair.

It’s domestic. It’s easy. It’s everything you’d once been terrified of.

About halfway through the movie, during a particularly cliché scene where the grand gesture fails, you both start yapping, dissecting the terrible writing with matching grins.

“No way,” Steve laughs, pausing the film. “He thinks showing up at the airport with a boombox is a good idea? He doesn’t even have a ticket! Security would tackle him in two seconds.”

“Right?” you giggle, leaning into his side. “And her new fiancé is just standing there? Just letting it happen. This is a disaster, not a romance.”

The conversation flows effortlessly from there, jumping from bad movies to good music, from his frustrating day at his new job at the video store, to a funny story about the kids. You’re laughing, your sides aching, and for a moment, you forget why you came over. You’re just happy.

Maybe that's a sign…

It’s during a natural lull, as you’re both picking at the last of the chocolate cake, that the topic shifts. You’re not even sure how it starts, but suddenly you’re talking about high school.

“It’s just weird,” you muse, licking the frosting off your finger. “Thinking about who we were then.”

Steve nods, a wry smile on his face. “Tell me about it. I think my brain was fully located in my hair back then.”

You laugh, but the opening is there. The question that has been burning in the back of your mind. You take a steadying breath. “Speaking of… I know you were with Nancy back then.”

You almost wince at how it sounds coming out of your mouth. He probably feels like you're interrogating him now.

“Yeah, yeah I was.”

You don’t really know how to ease into it anymore, so you just blurt out with a scrunch of your brow. “Were you in love with her?”Steve stiffens a bit and you contemplate making a run for it, but then he relaxes and his smile softens, becoming more thoughtful. He doesn’t seem surprised or mad by the question.

“Nancy,” he says simply. “That was… a whole thing. It was intense. She was the first girl I ever… really loved, I think. She was so smart, so driven. I was this dumb kid with a bad boy reputation and she saw right through it. Wanted to fix me, I guess. Or maybe I wanted her to.”

You nodded slowly, taking in the information. He looks down at you then, asking with his eyes if that answer was acceptable enough for you. Probably wondering where this all came from.

You sucked in a deep breath and asked your final question. “How did you know? Like know know.”

There was a long moment before Steve moved, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. But then he reached out brushing a strand of hair from your face, his warm brown eyes searching yours before speaking.

“Well, It was a lot of little things,” he began, his voice a low, thoughtful rumble. “The way she’d scrunch her brows when thinking hard about something. How she always loved to be close to me, even if it seemed like she didn’t know why. Or when I’d surprise her with her favorite flowers and she would smile oh so bright. Sometimes she would even surprise me back.” He paused, his eyes drifting to you. “I knew I was in love when the idea of her being hurt or sad felt like a physical pain in my own chest. When her happiness became more important to me than my own.”

His words settled over you, a rush of emotions you couldn’t explain filling up your body at his words. They were oddly familiar, the things he described, but you couldn’t quite place it.

So instead you just said, “Thank you, thank you for sharing that with me.”

He gave a small, understanding nod, his hand coming up to gently squeeze your knee. He didn’t turn the question back on you. He didn’t ask about James, or Mark, or Ben. He just let his truth sit there. You were immensely grateful for that.

But words still felt inadequate. You needed to show him. You needed to kiss the ghost of Nancy Wheeler from his thoughts and replace her with the tangible reality of you, here, now.

Slowly, you shifted, moving the empty pizza box aside. You crawled into his lap, straddling him, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips.

His eyes widened in surprise, then darkened with a warm, tender intensity. His hands came to rest automatically on your waist, steadying you.

You framed his face with your hands, your thumbs stroking the faint stubble along his jaw. You leaned in, capturing his mouth with yours in a deep, searching kiss. A silent communication of thank you and I’m here and I’m trying. You poured every ounce of your confused, hopeful, terrified heart into it, kissing away any further questions you might have had.

Steve responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He kissed you back with a matching fervor, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

He knew deep down that this response was likely because of Nancy. But you were all he could ever think of. All he wanted to think of.

So, he kissed you even harder and vowed, from that moment on, that he would do whatever it takes to make sure that you knew, without a doubt, that he was the one.

━━━━━━━

It was, albeit, a bit harder than he anticipated.

Steve knows practically everything about you. What you like and don’t like, so finding something that was worthy of such a grand gesture felt impossible. He couldn't just buy you flowers again, or your favorite soda. That was baseline Steve. That was the man who was already, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you. He needed to show you the depth of it.

He started small, but with intention.

He noticed you dog-earing the pages of your favorite paperback because you’d lost your bookmark. The next day, a beautiful, handcrafted bookmark with your initials on it was waiting on your nightstand.

Steve heard you mention offhandedly that the draft from your apartment window kept you up at night. That weekend, he showed up with a toolkit and fresh weatherstripping, spending the afternoon meticulously sealing the edges while you watched nearby.

They were never big declarations. They were just… evidence. Evidence that you were always on his mind, woven into his everyday life.

The big grand gesture came on a perfectly ordinary Friday. You’d had a brutal day—everything that could go wrong, did. You felt drained, brittle, and the old, familiar urge to retreat, to build the walls back up, was more enticing than ever.

So you did what you always did when you needed to feel better and dragged yourself to his doorstep. Steve didn't ask what was wrong. He just pulled you inside, sat you on the couch, and handed you a mug of tea. Then he disappeared into his bedroom.

He came back out holding a large, flat, rectangular object wrapped in brown paper. It looked… handmade.

You knew he was getting a bit more crafty, especially after making that bookmark for you, but this seemed much bigger. You were oddly impressed.

“I, uh… I made you something,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically shy. He handed it to you.

Puzzled, you tore the paper away. It was a shadow box frame. And inside, arranged with a painstaking, almost artistic care, were dozens of tiny, mundane objects.

Or at least you thought they were until you looked closer and those objects became more familiar.

The ticket stub from your first movie together.

Dried lily petals.

The paper wrapper from your favorite brand of gum.

Polaroid photos of the two of you together.

The pull-tab from the cans of soda he’d brought you that first time.

It was filled to the brim with small meaningful items that you had shared together throughout the course of your relationship. Each item was glued in place, a perfect museum of your relationship. It was the physical manifestation of all those little things he’d noticed, all the memories he’d cherished. At the bottom, in neat, block letters, he had written:

A Collection of Things That Made Me Fall in Love With You.You stared at it, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes traced over every single item, each one a tiny spark igniting a memory. Your eyes started to well with tears. You hadn’t even known he was making this for you. The thought alone made your heart clench.

Suddenly, your mind drifted back to that night. When you were questioning Steve about how he knew he was in love with Nancy. The familiarity of his description of Nancy finally clicked into place. The scrunched brows, the favorite flowers, the surprises. He wasn’t describing Nancy.

He was describing you. He had been describing you all along.

A sob broke from your lips, but it was a happy cry. One of joy, and understanding, and love. The last of the frost around your heart melting away in the warm, brilliant light of his love.

You looked up at him, tears streaming freely down your face. He was watching you, his expression a mixture of hope and nervousness.

“Steve,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You set the box down carefully and stood up. You walked to him, took his face in your hands, and looked directly into his warm, worried eyes and said with complete confidence.

“I love you.”

The words were clear. They were solid. And they were the truest thing you had ever given anyone.

You love Steve Harrington.

You love Steve Harrington.

You have all along. He made you feel wanted, and loved, and beautiful and you loved him so much for it.

Steve’s eyes widened with glee. He searched your face, and this time, he found no hesitation, no shadow of doubt. He found only the clear, certain reflection of his own love staring back at him. He knew that his plan was successful. You knew.

A shuddering breath escaped him, and his own eyes glistened with tears. A slow smile spread across his face, so full of relief and overwhelming joy that it made your heart swell.

“I know,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled you into a crushing hug, burying his face in your hair. “I know you do.”

He held you for a long moment, just breathing you in, before pulling back to look at you. “I love you too. So much. More than anything. More than everything.”

And as he kissed you, deep and sweet and full of a promise that stretched into forever, you finally understood what everyone meant.

You just know.

And now, you did.

━━━━━━━

Your fingers carded through the thatch of hair on Steve’s chest, only to grip tight as you rode him into the mattress, earning you a loud groan in response. Eddie was right behind you, pushing Steve’s legs wider and wider apart, with one arm wrapped possessively around your middle. So close to the edge, you rocked faster, harder into Steve’s hips, feeling Eddie snake his hand lower to help you speed towards the precipice.

A head full of inky black curls, tangling with your own hair as he bit down on your neck. Steve groaned beneath you, clearly close as well, if the heaving of his breath was anything to go by. Another hand joined yours on Steve’s chest, this one paler, covered in rings and with nails painted black, holding your smaller one in place. Steve’s knees were tucked either side of your hips as Eddie pushed into him from behind you. Feeling every thrust from Eddie, making Steve rut up into you, you pushed faster and faster, so close to the edge. Closer, closer, until you were right there- and a noise from downstairs, a thud and someone swearing.

You woke with a start, thighs clamped together, with the sheets tucked up between them. A sheen of sweat beaded along your forehead as you sat up and let the blankets fall to your lap. The heat in your stomach bubbled, an angry boil ready to overflow the pot, slowly started to abate. Still there, just under the surface, but no longer a breath away. After a few moments, you’d convinced your heart rate to slow, almost a normal pace now.

With a huff, you smoothed your hair back from your forehead, taking a look around your shared bedroom. It was exactly as you’d left it when you’d gone for an afternoon nap, your side of the bed littered with Eddie’s detritus. He always slept in the middle, between you and Steve, and shared your nightstand with you, hence the cigarette butts and half drunk coffee mugs.

You couldn’t remember every detail of the dream you were having exactly, just snippets of a wide, golden chest smattered with hair and dotted with moles, and bony knuckles as they gripped your skin. The long column of Eddie’s throat, thrown backwards as he made your toes curl, and thick chestnut waves as they dipped between your thighs.

Steeling yourself, you managed to wriggle over onto Steve’s side of the bed and stood, sitting back down with a start when you felt the slick between your thighs.

You’d gone to bed in an old crop top of Eddie’s, more of a full tee on you, and a pair of Steve’s boxers, now no doubt ruined with your arousal. It was starting to spread now you were moving, swirling with sweat in the crease where your thighs met your hips.

You had three options laid out in your head: ignore how pent-up you were (not happening), take care of it yourself (was never as good as when you were with either of your partners), or find one of the aforementioned partners, and convince them to help you out. Considering you’d never had to convince either Eddie or Steve into bed, both of them very willing, it seemed like a no brainer.

The slide of your thighs felt a bit gross as you slinked downstairs, finding Steve sat at the dining room table, surrounded by paperwork. Turns out the thud had been a massive, heavy book being dropped on the floor, and the swearing was exasperation of not finding what he needed within its pages. He had mentioned something about needing to get some paperwork done for the house this week so he could get Hopper to sign as a character reference, and was clearly in the depths of it. He had one hand propping up his head, the other tapping a pen against a notebook, deep in thought. He was wearing the glasses he swore he didn’t need.

You padded across the floor to wrap your arms across his shoulders from behind and nose against his neck. He took one of your hands in his, rubbing circles into your knuckles.

“Hey baby, good nap?” He asked, without really looking up. The rumble of his voice buzzed under the skin against your lips.

“Hm? Yeah, fine” you replied, not listening. You dropped a kiss to the side of Steve’s throat, followed by another, then another. The stretched out collar of the old henley he was wearing left so much golden skin exposed, it was almost rude not to.

Slowly, you made your way around Steve to stand beside him, before you took his chin in your hand, forcing him to look up from the notes he was trying to focus on. Honey coloured eyes only met yours for a moment before you leaned in. He’d grown a bit of stubble recently, and it scratched deliciously against your skin as you kissed him. Both you and Eddie were on a mission to convince him never to go clean-shaven again, beard burn on both your thighs be damned. His big, warm palm cupped your cheek as your lips moved together, comfortable and familiar from the countless times you’d kissed.

You nipped just gently at Steve’s bottom lip, licking into his mouth when it fell open in a gasp, tasting the coffee he’d let go cold on the table in front of him. Feeling the familiar warmth regrowing in your stomach, you remembered why you’d come looking for him in the first place.

“Come upstairs,” you mumbled against his lips. Steve pulled back just enough to speak against your lips.

“I can’t love, I’ve gotta finish this tonight or Hop’s gunna have my ass” he sighed.

“Steve,” you whined, not-so-subtly rubbing your thighs together for even the tiniest amount of friction. He spotted your movement like a hawk.

“Oh, is that it?” He asked with a smirk. “You’ve come down here with an itch to scratch?”

You yanked him in for another searing kiss. “Come and help me with it” you breathed against his lips.

Steve sighed.

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing more I’d rather be doing, I promise.” Steve said between kisses. “But I really do have to finish this.” He removed the hand from your face to push his shirt sleeve up and check his watch. It was simple but classy, silver band with a pearlescent face, a gift from the kids when Steve turned 25.

“Ed’ll be back in twenty minutes, love.” He muttered. “Wanna keep me company until then?”

You hummed happily, stroking over the shell of his ear.

Steve pulled back and took off his glasses, rubbing at his tired eyes. He patted his lap like you were a cat that needed convincing, not that you’d ever need it.

You let yourself get manhandled into Steve’s lap, knees spread wide over his thighs as you faced him. The chair was just wide enough for you to bear some weight either side of his narrow hips. A strong arm wrapped possessively around your back, while yours looped around his neck.

You sort of half heard him going back to what he was doing, occasionally hearing the scratch of a pen, or the tap of a calculator. The simmer in your belly was creeping back.

Running the fingers from one hand through the hair at Steve’s nape, you let the other pull at the collar of his shirt, exposing even more of his throat. You pressed a tiny kiss against one of his millions of moles, eliciting a happy hum from Steve.

The next few kisses planted up and down his neck went much the same way, Steve happy and pliant beneath you, before you pushed your luck- finding a spot near his clavicle to suck between your teeth, pairing the action with an involuntary roll of your hips.

Steve dropped the pen with a huff, you heard it roll off the table and skitter across the parquet floor.

“Sweetheart, I really need to concentrate on this,” he grumbled, hands finding your shoulders to look you in the eye.

You knew you could leave him alone, wait for Eddie to come back and take care of you, or even just force yourself into a cold shower. The hum of the snake coiled in your guts was just too much to ignore.

“Please Stevie.” You flashed your best puppy eyes down at your boyfriend. You knew he was a sucker for what he called your ‘Bambi eyes’. It was the exact same reason he’d fallen for Eddie too, another master of batting his lashes to get what he wanted. Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Promise you’ll be good?” He asked. You’d already won.

Nodding frantically, you let him lift you just slightly from his lap, one wide palm skimming the underside of your thigh, while the other inched higher, pushing his own boxers aside to touch you. You’d never been so grateful for the girth of Steve’s thighs, the leg hole of the boxers wide enough for his whole hand to fit in alongside your thigh. He only stayed like this for a few moments, enough to run his finger tips through your slit, collecting your arousal. You whimpered into his neck as he grazed over your swollen clit.

“I know baby, I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair, leaving a kiss behind your ear. “So fuckin’ eager. All worked up for us, huh? Can’t even wait 20 minutes.”

Apparently now incapable of speech, you just nodded into the crook of Steve’s neck again.

“I’ve got you.” He mumbled again. “I’ll keep you busy until Ed gets home.”

Gently, Steve withdrew his hand from your core. In the little gap between your hips and his, he managed to yank his sweats halfway to his knees. You watched as he gave his half-hard cock a few tugs, before encouraging you back into his lap. Boxers pulled to the side, he nudged at your entrance. You met his lips again in a soft kiss as he edged inside you. The accumulated slick between your folds eased him, without any prep, inch by inch, until you were fully seated again. A sigh escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered closed, finally sated. You’d always enjoyed this, even slept like this a few times with both of your boys. It was a warm feeling you couldn’t describe, just closeness. It was such an intimate thing to share with someone, not even always sexual, just wanting to feel someone everywhere.

Steve wrapped his arm around you again, tucking your head under his chin. “Now you just gotta wait for Ed, honey”

Time passed slowly. Steve went back to what he was doing, glasses back on, while you listened to his heartbeat against your ear. You felt your eyelids droop, your body warm and appeased. The bubbling in your groin was at peace, calm and still in this state, but threatening to heat up again if either of you moved. It could have been 5 minutes or an hour when the rumble of Eddie’s van could be heard pulling into the driveway.

A few moments later, you listened to Eddie’s key in the front door, him toeing off his boots, and setting a guitar case down in the hall. He appeared in the doorway in his socks, hair pulled up into a sweaty bun.

“Afternoon” he spoke as he entered the kitchen. “What have we got here?” Eddie motioned to you in Steve’s lap.

You smiled sleepily up at him.

“Princess here has been awaiting very patiently for you to get home, Eds” Steve replied, not looking up from what he was doing, but rubbing the thumb of his free hand in little circles on your lower back.

“Is that right?” Eddie asked, pottering over to you both and carding his hand through Steve’s thick hair, ignoring you for the time being.

Steve looked up, putting the pen down. “Oh yeah, came down here all desperate, I think she had a dream about some metalhead that got her all worked up- he sounded like a complete loser”

“He is, you’re right.” Eddie leant down to meet Steve for a kiss. “I assume you’ve taken care of our sweet girl then, Stevie? Considering you’re sat at the dinner table with your pants down” Eddie asked with a grin.

You squirmed a bit in Steve’s lap while the boys talked about you as if you were invisible.

“Well, I’m a little tied up at the moment, but I’ve kept her nice and warm until you came home” Steve stole another kiss from Eddie’s lips before the older boy stood to finally give you some attention.

“Oh darling, all worked up for us?” He asked. You nodded against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wanna come upstairs with me?” Eddie asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck yes” You nodded again, jostling your head with Steve’s chin in the process.

“Come here then, love” Eddie leant you a hand to get up from Steve’s lap and you took it. You hissed as Steve slipped out of you, still not quite fully hard, and Eddie’s eyes widened as he watched. He pulled you tight to his chest when you finally stood, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, followed by a big wet raspberry to your cheek.

“Ew Eddie-“ you laughed, squirming in his hold and pushing at his shoulders, only making him grin wider. He leaned down towards Steve.

“And you, big boy, come here” he leered, leaning closer and closer. Steve spluttered, pushing Eddie away with both hands.

“No way, I don’t want to catch whatever’s wrong with you” he groaned. “Go upstairs both of you, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Eddie took your hand and pulled you towards the stairs.

“Next time you end up like this, call me at practise.” He murmured in your ear. “I swear I’d get here in seconds.”

“Please, Stevie?” You begged, stepping closer.

“Nope,” He said, popping the p. “Sorry, baby, but the last time you ate dessert before lunch, you refused to finish it.”

You groaned, “I swear I’ll eat this time.”

“Mm-mm,” he sounded, shaking his head swiftly.

A beat passed, Steve thinking you had finally given up. Then you hit him with the full package—wide puppy dog eyes, the cutest pout of your lips, head tilted slightly to the side.

He looked back up and you caught the exact moment his heart melted, lasting no more than two seconds. “…Fine.”

You instantly ripped the bag open, letting out a delighted squeak. “But only one!” Steve rushed to say, pretending to ignore the way you had already scooped a handful.

Once you discovered your secret tactic you wouldn’t let it go, especially since Steve was so quick to give in.

The arcade was buzzing with neon lights flashing, kids running around, and Eddie complaining loudly for the fifth time that he couldn’t beat his high score while Robin took pride in showing hers off in comparison.

Steve had left momentarily to retrieve some food for you all, and your eyes fell on the claw machine. Not to mention your bad history with the game—time and time again you’ve tried to win the same prize, only to walk away empty handed.

Once Steve resurfaced in your line of vision, you gasped with an idea, if there was someone who had enough determination to beat the thing, it was your boyfriend.

Eddie and Robin turned as you latched onto Steve’s arm, dragging him towards the machine. “Can you win this prize for me?” You asked sweetly, gesturing towards the bear trapped in the see through box.

“It’s a claw machine,” Steve responded. “It’s rigged, meaning literally designed to keep you from winning.”

“But I really really want it, and I believe in you.” You furrowed your brows, and with barely any effort, presented your best puppy dog eyes at him.

Steve stiffened, trying not to crumble under the weight of your poor expression, but failing miserably. He rubbed his jaw, before dropping his head. “Looks like we’re about to lose all of our quarters.”

Eddie grinned, “Dude—you seriously folded.”

Steve shot him an unimpressed look, fishing change out of his back pocket. “Get a grip on yourself, dingus.” Robin added, letting out a disbelief laugh.

“It’s not my fault, she just does that and I can’t—” Steve weakly explained.

“It’s okay, we get it.” Robin said sympathetically. “You’re just incredibly whipped for your girl.” She nodded.

Steve didn’t even respond, because he didn’t need to, having already realized that for himself ages ago.

“Time to show this claw how it’s done.” He squinted, beginning to maneuver the handle around carefully.

They played in your head like a broken record, over and over, and over again. From the moment you woke up and saw his soft sleepy face, to the moment he kissed you goodnight. It was deafening.

You punished yourself every day in your mind for being such a coward but you didn’t want to put your heart on the line. Even though, whether you said the words to him or not, they were still very much true.

The longer you waited, the more the doubt set in. Because sure, you hadn’t said it, but neither had he. And Steve was a confident guy – surely if he felt it, he would just say it… right?

Another month went by and you pushed the words down so hard that they were starting to push back. Like they had developed a mind of their own and were trying to claw their way out. But now you didn’t even want to say it, not when you felt like you wouldn’t hear those words reflected back at you.

It took every ounce of self control to keep the lid on your feelings, especially in moments when the filter between your heart and your mouth felt more permeable.

In the morning before the weight of the day set in.

At night as you drifted off, the line of reality and dreams becoming blurred.

Or when you had sex.

Because it didn’t feel like just sex – it felt like making love.

He’d get so deep inside you it felt like he was physically pushing the words out all the way from the pit of your stomach, up out your throat. He’d press his forehead against yours, his mouth over your gaping one, like he could breathe in the words if you let him. And the things that Steve would say to you during did not quell your feelings in the slightest.

I love how you feel around me.

That’s it, that’s my girl.

Love those sounds you make, baby.

It was like he was taunting you with words so close to what you wanted – needed – to hear.

In those moments, you only allowed yourself restrained whimpers as you felt Steve invade every crevasse of your physical body and your spiritual soul, worried what might slip out if you fully let yourself go.

“Steve,” you gasped out one time.

Steve’s hips ground into yours, brushing against your aching nub and gummy walls with each thrust.

“What is it, baby?” He asked not to tease you, but with genuine care and curiosity.

Steve always wanted to make you feel good. It made your heart light up in your chest as you felt heat course through you.

“I–ugh–I lo–“

Your orgasm cut you off, making you moan out something completely unintelligible. You narrowly avoided the embarrassment of confessing your love to Steve during sex. But it was getting harder and harder not to say it each time.

You came back down to earth to see Steve laying next to you with the most radiant smile across his lips. For a split second you thought he might say it. Something in the way his eyes traced your face, lingering on each of your features. His lips parted like he was going to say something.

Then he leaned over, pecked your lips and said; “goodnight.”

One afternoon, Steve was making sandwiches for the two of you. Sunlight streamed in the tiny window above the sink as his broad shoulders took up most of the space of his kitchen. You sat at the counter watching as he carefully assembled whatever weird combination of ingredients he had recently discovered.

“You’re gonna love it,” he assured you.

I love you, you thought.

He sat the plate down in front of you, gave you a soft kiss on your temple, before sitting himself on the stool next to you, his knee brushing yours in a way that felt so natural.

He tucked into his sandwich immediately but you just stared at yours.

It was also in these kind of comfortable domestic moments where you felt it even stronger. When it felt like you had known him for eternity and eternity would never be long enough.

“I know it looks kinda gross, but trust me, you–“

“–Steve, I love you.”

It just came out.

Your tone wasn’t romantic or loving, it was matter of fact, like you were telling him the time. You didn’t even look at him, just kept looking at the sandwich.

“What?” Steve said through his mouthful.

Definitely not the reaction you wanted. You almost wondered if you just thought you said it but what came out was actually complete gibberish.

You whined, collapsing your head into your hands. “I love you,” you said again.

This time it was shakier like you were uncertain. Not of how you felt, but of how he would react.

Nothing came out of Steve’s mouth except for chewing noises.

It felt like hours passed before he finally spoke. “Shit.”

Okay that was definitely worse than the first time.

Steve got up from his stool and started pacing as much as he could in the confined space of the kitchen. You slowly lifted your head from your hands, peeking out from under them to look at him but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“I’m such an idiot,” he said to himself.

You just looked at him confused and panicked.

“Steve–“

“–Are you being serious?” He finally turned to you.

Your eyes went wide, a choked laugh of disbelief exited your throat before you could stop it.

“What kind of question is that?” You shot back at him, your voice stern but your eyes started welling up.

“You’re in love with me?” Steve said like it was a question. His eyes were glassy also but his brows were drawn together like curtains he was trying to hide behind.

You took a deep breath before you answered. “Yes.”

“Since when?”

You groaned in annoyance, again with the questions. You didn’t want to escalate an already tense situation so you decided to just answer, then maybe he’d stop and at least let you down easy the rest of the way.

“Probably since the first time we kissed.” You felt embarrassed admitting just how long you’d let Steve live in your heart while you were just a guest in his.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he ran his palms over his face.

“Okay, look,” you said, sliding off the stool. Its legs scraped along the tiles gratingly. “I’m, uh, I’m just gonna go.” Your eyes never left your feet.

“Hey, no, no, no. Wait!” Steve’s hand reached out to grab your forearm.

Every wrinkle of your brain told you to rip it away from him, but every beat of your heart told you to stay.

Against your better judgement, you listened to your heart and turned back to him. You could hardly see his features through the tears in your eyes.

“I have fucked this up so bad, just–“ he took a deep breath, “give me a second.”

You did, you stood there looking at him, just letting him hold your beating heart in his hands, waiting for him to rip it apart.

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders and gazed deep into your eyes like he was looking for something in them.

“Do you mean it? Everything? That you’ve been in love with me this whole time?”

“Yes.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“Like, love, love?”

“God damnit, Steve.” You shook his hands off you. “How many times are you going to make me say it! Yes, I love you, okay? But right now I feel like I wanna fucking kill yo–“

Steve lurched forward, his hands enveloped the sides of your face as he pressed his lips to yours. You stumbled back in shock. You couldn’t even kiss back, you were too stunned, confused, and you were still crying.

Steve pulled back after a moment, he wiped a tear that fell from your eye with his thumb and you hated how much you instinctively leaned into his touch.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice soft but certain.

“What?”

Much like Steve’s reaction before, you were slightly caught off guard by his confession.

He leant his forehead against yours. “I am so sorry I freaked out, this is so not how I wanted this to go.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you said as you stepped back from him. “What the hell was that about?”

It was your turn to ask the questions. Not quite ready to move on from the ordeal Steve put you through for the last few minutes.

He sighed, his head hung low towards the floor. “I wanted to be sure you really meant it,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“Well I’ve heard those words before and they didn’t mean shit.”

You knew about his past relationships, knew he had been hurt before, but you had no idea he still carried that weight around so heavily. As much as that made your chest tighten, you were hurt that Steve had let it shift on to you.

“Steve, do not take your insecurities out on me.”

Steve looked up when he heard the crack in your voice.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He closed the gap between you again, reaching carefully for your hand in case you pulled away – you didn't. “I didn’t mean to I– I was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you didn’t love me like I love you or that you’d say it and then…” Steve’s voice trailed off, like he was finding it hard to truly articulate the worries swirling around his head.

“Hey…” you reached a soft hand up to his cheek. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

Steve smiled at how you somehow could decipher the mess in his mind, but it quickly dropped into a frown.

“You say that now, but–“

“–Steve,” you interrupted. “The time we’ve had together,” you started, bringing your other hand up to cradle his face and force his eyes to lock to yours. “Has been the most amazing time of my whole life. God, I can’t even remember what it was like before I loved you, and I don’t want to imagine what it would be like after.”

That soft smile was back on Steve’s trembling lips.

“I don’t want there to be an after,” he said.

“There doesn’t have to be.”

You leant into each other like magnets, pressing your foreheads together.

Steve took a few deep breaths to center himself, feeling your presence anchor him. “Can we try this again?”

You giggled, “sure.”

You stepped away from Steve and composed yourself as much as you could, but the smile plastered on your face took over. You took his hand in yours and held it tight to your chest, right over your heart.

You opened your mouth to speak but Steve beat you to it this time.

“My sweet girl,” he tucked your hair behind your ear with his free hand, “I love you, so much.”

The moment made you instantly forget the panic that you felt just a minute ago.

“I love you too.”

As you said it this time, your voice was unwavering. There was no anxiety laced through it, just pure, reciprocated love.

When Steve crashed his lips to yours again, you didn’t miss a beat before kissing him back. His strong hands cradled your face as you ran yours all the way up from his elbows to the hair that fell over the nape of his neck. You were both smiling into the kiss as Steve walked you back to the kitchen counter. As soon as it dug into your back you gasped, opening your mouth, which Steve took as an opportunity to brush his tongue past your lips. His hands fell down to your hips to press you tightly against him.

“I love you,” Steve said between heated kisses, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You giggled agaisnt his lips as he kept up his loving words. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

Steve broke away to look deep into your eyes. “Yeah I do. I’ve got all these ‘I love you’s built up inside me, I’ve gotta get them out.”

He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter but you were constantly tugging him towards your lips by the hair, he struggled to get you up. Steve’s hands flattened out over your thighs as he stood between your legs. His palms spread warmth over the exposed skin that your shorts didn't reach. You stroked your hands through his hair as the kiss intensified. Deep breaths into each other's mouths, little whines of satisfaction and wanting more. You reluctantly pulled back, Steve’s mouth tried to chase yours but you held his face between your hands.

There was one more question you had to ask. “When did you know?”

Steve was a little frazzled from your kisses and didn't quite pick up what you were saying at first.

So you elaborated, “I told you when I fell in love with you, now you have to tell me.”

Steve’s eyes lit up like he could see the memory replaying in his mind. “Do you remember when I picked you up for our first date?”

“Yeah, I recall,” you said, smiling uncontrollably wide.

“Do you remember tripping on the porch step?”

“Oh my God!” You brought your hands up to cover your face. “I was so embarrassed! I couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole night.”

Steve gently moved your hands out the way and kept them in his as he continued, “it was then.”

You looked at him with slight disbelief but mostly with complete awe.

“I just felt something when you grabbed my arm and I held you to stop you from falling face first into the gravel.” Steve chuckled and you mirrored the infectious sound. “I guess it was really me that fell, ‘cause I fell in love with you right there and then.”

“You mean,” you started speaking but had to pause for a second as you felt your mind, and heart, processing what Steve just said. “We’ve both been totally in love with each other since our first date and neither of us said anything?”

“Looks that way,” Steve shrugged.

“Wow, we are such idiots.”

“I think I prefer the term ‘hopeless romantics’.”

Steve’s hands snaked around your back, rubbing you through the soft fabric of your cotton t-shirt that was actually his.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him as you both pressed hard into each other. Steve leant slowly back in to kiss you, but you spoke before he could get there.

“Wait, you knew you were in love with me when you picked me up, but you waited all the way until you dropped me home to just kiss me?”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman. Isn’t that one of the things you love about me?”

“One of many.”

“Tell me more.”

Steve’s lips connected with yours again in a long, hot press of his supple lips.

“Well, I really love that,” you said.

“What about this…”

Steve gave the same treatment to your neck, just below your jaw. You felt the heat of his mouth radiate through you.

“Oh yeah, love that.”

“And this?”

Steve’s hips circled over yours and you felt the subtle hardness in his jeans press into your core.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a content sigh left your lips.

“Yeah, you love that,” Steve said on your behalf.

You matched his rhythm as you ground your hips against him. The denim of his crotch, rough over the thin material of your shorts.

“God, do you know the amount of times I had to stop myself from screaming ‘I love you’ during sex,” Steve said into your ear, his voice lower than before.

“Fuck, me too.”

You both rubbed agaisnt each other harder at the realisation that you had been holding back, and that you didn’t have to anymore.

“I love you, I’m gonna tell you all the fucking time, baby.”

You whined, whether from his words or the way pressure was building in your core, you didn't know, but it felt so good.

“Ugh, Steve, I love you too. Don’t ever stop saying it.”

Your hands roughly travelled up under Steve’s shirt and he took it as a signal that you wanted it off. You were both still desperately grinding on each other like you couldn’t even wait to get your clothes off to feel each other.

Steve then made quick work of your shirt, throwing it to join his in a pile on the tiled floor.

“I want you,” he murmured agaisnt your mouth before opening it wide over yours, making you do the same.

“Show me how much you love me, Stevie.”

The feeling of his hot hands running up your back to the clasp of your bra sent electricity all the way to your fingers and toes.

You two were so in your own world that you must not have heard the sound of keys jiggling in the lock of the front door to the small apartment.

“Woah!”

You both froze as you heard Robin’s distinctive voice enter the room. The front door opened straight into the living room, the small kitchen in full view. It must have been quite a sight to behold. You and Steve, both shirtless, hands grabbing, hips moving.

“Robin!” Steve yelled, using his bare torso to cover yours.

“You guys know we have bedrooms here, right?” She said, not sounding too fazed by what she walked in on. She had caught the two of you in far more compromising positions.

“Sorry Robin,” you said, although your voice held little remorse. “We got a bit excited.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Robin gestured towards Steve’s very obvious hard on in his jeans.

“Shit,” he muttered turning back to you to try and hide it.

“We just, uh, love each other a lot,” you told her, wanting to share the moment with the person who was witness to yours and Steve’s relationship as it bloomed.

“Wait, he finally said it?” Robin asked with a delighted look on her face.

“Well, she said it and then I was a total dickhead about it–“ Steve responded.

“–Total dickhead,” you added.

“But yeah, we said it.” Steve pecked your lips. “I have been telling Robin how crazy I am about you since that first date,” he said to you, his face close to yours like you were the only two people in the room.

“Really?” You asked him.

“Oh yeah, he’s been completely insufferable,” Robin confirmed, reminding you she was in fact still there.

“Aw,” you cooed at Steve.

You cupped his face and brought his lips to yours again, the rest of the world fading around you as you kissed him hungrily.

“Okay,” Robin clapped her hands together but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the two of you.

She turned around but could unfortunately still very much hear the sound of your lips smacking together.

“As happy as I am for you guys, I really don’t want to be in the building for whatever is about to, or is currently happening. So, why don’t I make myself scarce for, like, half an hour–“

“–An hour.” Steve broke away from you for a split second to correct her.

“Wow, okay, sure, whatever.” Robin walked back to the front door, grabbing her keys and opening it. “Just please, promise me you won’t do it there, that’s where we eat.”

“Promise,” you assured her, Steve’s lips now attacking your neck.

“Later, love birds!”

The door clicked shut and Steve let out a deep moan like he had been holding it in.

“Steve… C’mom, let’s take this to the bedroom.”

“No, here’s good.”

“I promised Robin,“ you whined reluctantly as you pushed his chest slightly away from you.

”I didn’t,” Steve smirked.

“She’s right, we eat here.” You gestured towards the kitchen island you sat atop. Steve’s half eaten sandwich to your left and your untouched one to your right.

A mischievous grin spread across Steve’s face.

“In that case,” he tugged at the waistband of your shorts, you in no way protested as he pulled them down and off your legs. “I better do this.”

Steve lowered himself to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. He placed a soft kiss to one of your knees before planting his large hands on the inside of your thighs and opening you up more.

As Steve’s head closed in on your core, you grabbed his hair, your other hand behind you on the cool worktop, allowing you to tilt your pelvis out for him. Nothing in your body told him you wanted him to stop, even if you were still hesitant with your words.

“Robin could walk back in.”

Steve placed a kiss to the damp patch in your underwear and held his face there as he hummed against you, the subtle vibrations flowing right through you.

“She won’t be back for an hour,” he mumbled, not quite able to move away from the part of you he was so close to tasting. “And I plan on spending that whole hour showing you just how much I love you.”

Steve’s hands moved up to pull your panties from your hips, down your thighs and off to join the pile of clothing that was building up. You were now completely naked in Steve’s kitchen, exposed to him in such a way that if it was anyone else you might feel shy. But Steve moaned just at the sight of you spread out for him. He was quickly back on you with his head between your legs, his hands on your thighs. You with your hands in his hair, pulling him closer against you. His mouth was hot, wet, desperate – just like you.

Something about knowing Steve loved you as he tasted you made it feel so much more euphoric, like you could feel the words on his tongue. It really didn’t take long for Steve to get you close to completely unravelling. Now that you didn’t fear the words escaping, you were much more vocal.

“God, Steve, ugh, that feels so good, you’re so good to me.”

And that seemed to make Steve even more ravenous.

“Want you to say it when you come, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ve wanted to for so long–ugh, fuck, I’m so close just like that Stevie, yes!

He sucked on your sensitive nub, every so often dropping his tounge to your hole, teasing it and tasting how he was making you feel.

“Steve… ah! I’m gonna come–ugh–I love you so much, so, so much.”

Steve mumbled, “I love you too”, against you as you came. Not that you could really make out what he was saying, but you got the idea.

He kissed your folds, along the inside of your thighs, before getting back up to face you at the same level.

“I do think I’m gonna need the bed for this next part,” he said with his mouth glistening.

“Oh really?”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed as he nuzzled his nose agaisnt yours. “I’m going to make slow, deep, passionate love to you.” He kissed you to share the taste of you. “I just wanna drown in you.”

Any air you had regained in your lungs seemed to leave it at his words.

“Steve.” You spoke his name like it was the only word left in your vocabulary.

He smiled against your lips as he lifted you off the counter and into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him all the way to the bedroom.

When Robin returned, just over an hour later, she peaked throguh the front door hesitantly. She breathed a sigh of relief as she found nothing but the empty living room and kitchen. That was until she saw the pile of clothes on the kitchen tiles, your underwear at the top.

“These freaks,” she whispered to herself as she realised you definitely didn’t keep your promise.

She then heard a loud, ‘fuck’, come from Steve’s room, followed by a down right pornographic moan that was obviously you.

“Nope,” Robin said out loud to the empty room.

Once again, she grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

“I really need to move out,” she muttered as she clicked the door shut, leaving the chorus of moans and expletives behind.

A/N: as if I got to over 400 followers before I got a chance to thank you guys for 300??? You lot are crazy I love it <3

Taglist: @ribeiroteresa97 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @delightfuldreamer09

Family Video is loud in the way it always is now—walkies crackling, tapes slamming back into plastic cases, Robin talking at a speed that feels physically impossible. You lean against the counter, twisting the strap of your little bag around your fingers, watching Steve do that thing where he tries to be everywhere at once.

“Steve,” Dustin’s voice squawks through the walkie, “tell Robin the cables are not color-coded correctly.”

“They absolutely are,” Robin yells back without looking up.

Steve winces, presses the walkie to his chest, and mouths sorry at you.

You smile. Automatically. It’s muscle memory at this point.

“Hey,” he finally says, sliding back over to you when there’s a lull that lasts approximately twelve seconds. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just-” You hesitate, then push through it. “Do you wanna do dinner tonight? Like, just us. Maybe at the diner? We haven't hung out in so long”

His face brightens instantly. “Yeah, that sounds-”

“Steve!” Robin snaps. “Keith says if we close late again he’s docking our pay.”

“And I still don’t have a ride!” Dustin adds.

Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. He looks back at you, apologetic already. “Okay, uh- what time were you thinking?”

“Whenever you’re done,” you say, soft. You don’t say if you’re done. You never do.

He checks the clock. Then the door. Then the walkie. “Maybe… eight? No—wait—actually Dustin needs me after, and Robin’s stuck till close, so maybe later? Or—” He trails off, clearly trying to rearrange the universe in his head.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “We can rain check.”

His shoulders drop in relief, even as guilt flickers across his face. “I promise we’ll do it soon. I just need to—”

“I know,” you say. You always know. “You’re busy.”

Steve gives you a crooked smile, the kind that used to mean sneaking out after dark or sharing fries in his car. “You’re the best.”

You nod, stepping back as Robin barrels between you with a stack of tapes. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I know that too.”

As you head for the door, the bell jingles overhead. Steve watches you go, something thoughtful settling behind his eyes—like he’s only just realizing how often you’ve been standing there, waiting for him to have the time, just like you always had since you guys were six years old.

And you walk out into the evening, wondering when soon will finally mean tonight.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

You finally make it past planning.

It feels monumental, honestly.

Steve’s leaning against the counter at Family Video, quieter than usual, twisting a pen between his fingers while Robin reorganizes tapes that are already alphabetized. The store is calm, eerily so, and you’re halfway convinced this is the universe throwing you a bone.

“So,” Steve says, trying to sound casual and failing just a little. “Lunch. Today. No rain check.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure? No walkies exploding? No children in distress?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Dustin’s at school. Robin’s on late shift. I’ve got, like- ” He checks his watch. “An actual two-hour window.”

You grin before you can stop yourself. “Wow. I feel special.”

“You always are,” he says automatically, then freezes like he’s said too much. He clears his throat. “I mean - yeah. You know.”

You don’t tease him. Instead, you say, “There’s that place with the little dance floor. The one with the jukebox.”

He lights up. “The one that plays Sinatra?”

“And Dire Straits,” you add. “It’s stupid.”

Steve smiles anyway. “I like stupid.”

For a second, you let yourself imagine it : music crackling through old speakers, his hand awkward at your waist, both of you laughing because neither of you really knows how to dance but you’d try anyway. You know there’s a chance he’d get distracted, pulled away, caught up in something else.

And you go anyway. You always do.

The bell over the door slams open.

Max barrels in first, eyes wild, ponytail half-falling out. Dustin’s right behind her, breathless, panic written all over his face.

“Steve,” Dustin says, voice cracking. “We need you.”

The air shifts instantly.

Steve straightens, all softness gone, replaced by that familiar alertness. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Eddie,” Max says. “He’s missing. And everyone thinks he-”

Steve doesn’t let her finish. He grabs his jacket without even looking at you. “Okay. Okay. Where?”

Your stomach drops.

“Hey,” you say, quietly. Not demanding. Not stopping him. Just… there.

He turns, realization hitting him like a punch. His eyes flick to the clock. To you. To the future that was supposed to start in about fifteen minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I swear I didn’t know this would-”

“I know,” you say again, because it’s still true. “Go.”

He hesitates, torn, like maybe this time he’ll choose differently.

But Dustin’s shaking. Max looks like she might cry. And Steve has always been the kind of person who runs toward the mess. Who protects his kids.

“Lunch?” he says, hopeful and helpless all at once.

You manage a smile. “Rain check.”

They’re gone in a rush of noise and urgency, the door slamming shut behind them.

You’re left standing in the quiet Family Video, jukebox plans dissolving into nothing, the dance that never happens echoing in your chest.

You’d known there was a chance.

You just didn’t think it would hurt this much : right before everything falls apart.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The car is too loud.

Dustin’s talking a mile a minute from the backseat, Lucas keeps cutting in with logistics, Max is staring out the window like she’s daring the world to look back at her, and Robin’s rattling off theories she hasn’t fully thought through yet. Nancy’s quiet, but it’s the sharp kind of quiet—planning, calculating.

Steve grips the steering wheel harder than necessary.

He’s driven this road a hundred times. Knows every dip and curve. Lovers Lake is burned into his muscle memory, bonfires, cheap beer, dumb laughter, a whole different lifetime. Now it feels like the road is narrowing, pressing in.

And then there’s you.

You’re in the passenger seat, hands folded tight in your lap, jaw set just a little too firmly. You’re listening, really listening, nodding at the right moments, asking the right questions. You’re being useful. Brave. Calm.

Too calm.

Steve knows you better than anyone in this car. Better than he knows himself, sometimes. He grew up with you. Learned your tells back when fear meant scraped knees or missed curfews, not… this.

You blink too much when you’re anxious. Keep your shoulders squared like if you loosen them, something might spill out.

He glances at you again, quick, then back to the road.

She’s scared, he thinks.

And she’s pretending she’s not for us.

The realization hits him harder than any monster ever has.

He wants- stupidly, selfishly - to pull over. To find some quiet little place, cut the engine, let the noise fall away. He can picture it too clearly: you both sitting on the hood, sharing something to drink just to steady your hands, your shoulder brushing his like it’s always done. Like it’s never meant anything more.

And that’s the problem.

Because lately—no, longer than lately—every almost feels like a mistake he keeps making.

He thinks about all the times you’ve waited while he ran headfirst into chaos. How you never asked him to choose. How you just stayed. How that scares him more than anything Hawkins has thrown at them.

Steve swallows.

Don’t, he tells himself. Don’t think it. Don’t ruin it.

He looks at you again. This time you catch him.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, voice just for him, like you’re still kids in the front seat of his car, the rest of the world faded out.

He nods too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

You study him for a second—then, gently, you reach over and rest your hand on his forearm. Just a grounding touch. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that anyone else would notice.

It wrecks him.

His heart stutters, words crowding his throat, dangerous and tender and true. The kind of words you don’t get to take back. The kind that could change everything when everything is already about to break.

He opens his mouth.

Then Dustin says something frantic from the backseat, and the moment shatters.

Steve keeps driving.

Keeps his eyes on the road.

Keeps the stupid, beautiful, terrifying words locked safely inside his chest : right where they can’t hurt you. Not yet.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The water is colder than Steve expects.

It knocks the breath out of him as soon as he hits the surface, shock slicing through adrenaline. He swims hard anyway, arms burning as he cuts toward the gate, boots dragging him down. Above, the sky is wrong—bruise-dark, cracked with that familiar, awful red.

He doesn’t think. That’s how he survives.

Until something slams into him from the side.

The demobat shrieks, claws tangling in his chest, wings beating into his face. Steve goes under, choking, the world reduced to thrashing limbs and noise and pain. It latches on, sharp, brutal, and he can’t get leverage, can’t breathe, can’t-

Then the weight is gone.

Air explodes back into his lungs as hands grab his shoulders, hauling him up. You land beside him, soaked and wild-eyed, fury written clear across your face.

“Steve - move!”

You don’t hesitate. You yank the bat off him with both hands, momentum carrying you back as it screeches and snaps. You shove it off of him, eyes flittering toward the gate, putting yourself between him and it like it’s instinct, like it’s always been.

“Go!” you yell.

Something in Steve breaks open.

He sees you swing - desperate, untrained, fearless. Sees the bat lunge again. Sees red flash as it catches him once more, pain flaring sharp and hot, but he barely registers it because-

You’re still there.

Still fighting. Still choosing him.

He roars, something feral tearing out of his chest, and lunges back in to the fight. The world narrows to survival- hands, teeth, the upside down, noise. When it’s over, when the bat finally goes still, Steve is shaking so badly he can’t tell if it’s cold or shock or the afterburn of terror.

He stumbles towards you.

You get to him first.

Your arms wrap around him, tight and grounding, like you’re holding him together by sheer force of will. His knees threaten to give out, and you brace him without thinking, forehead pressed to his shoulder, breath coming fast.

“I’ve got you,” you say, voice wrecked but steady. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And that’s when he realizes it.

Not in a dramatic way. Not like lightning.

It’s quiet. Solid. Unmovable.

Even with blood in his mouth, even with pain radiating through his side, even with the Upside Down screaming around them—this feels right. You holding him. Him letting you. The panic easing only when your arms are there.

And though it’s just a line, he thinks distantly, for me, it’s true.

He clutches the back of your jacket, grounding himself in you like a lifeline.

It has never felt so right before.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

Eddie’s van smells like metal and sweat and fear, but it’s solid. Real. When you tumble through the portal and hit the floor hard, the world rights itself just enough for your hands to start shaking.

You don’t think you've regained cosmic consciousness until you’re in the Wheeler basement.

The others scatter—voices overlapping, plans forming, adrenaline still buzzing—but you steer Steve toward the couch without a word. He lets you. That alone feels heavy with meaning.

“Sit,” you say gently, already grabbing the first aid kit.

He sinks down, hissing as the movement pulls at his side. There’s dried blood on his shirt, darker now, almost black. Seeing it makes something cold settle in your chest.

You kneel in front of him.

Steve watches you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he looks away.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically.

You shoot him a look. “You got bitten by a bat from another dimension.”

“…fair.”

You clean the wound slowly, carefully, like this is something sacred. Your fingers are steady now, practiced. You’ve always been good in emergencies—good at holding it together when everyone else falls apart.

Steve notices everything.

The way you bite the inside of your cheek when you concentrate. The way you blow lightly against the skin before pressing the gauze down, like it might soften the pain. The way your touch lingers half a second longer than necessary.

He’s thought about this moment a thousand times—late at night, lying awake, rehearsing what he’d say if it were just the two of you. Clever lines. Brave ones. Ones that would finally make the meaning come true.

I love you.

I always have.

Please don’t leave.

But now that you’re here, now that it’s quiet and real and you’re kneeling between his knees with blood on your hands because of him—every word feels too fragile to survive being spoken.

You finish wrapping the bandage and sit back on your heels.

For a second, neither of you moves.

The basement hums softly around you. Muffled voices upstairs. The distant sound of a car passing. Normal life, intruding gently.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you say quietly.

Steve exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah,” he admits. “Me too.”

Your eyes meet his.

Something hangs there, unspoken, heavy, aching. He can feel it in his chest, pressing up against his ribs, begging to be let out. He almost says it. He almost ruins everything by saying something stupid and beautiful and true.

Instead—

You lean forward and pull him into you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… sure.

Steve freezes for half a second before his arms come around you, tight and instinctive, like his body knows this is where it’s supposed to be. He tucks his face into your shoulder, breathing you in, grounding himself in the fact that you’re warm and real and here.

You hold him like you’re afraid if you don’t, he’ll slip through your fingers.

It’s the most intimate thing he’s ever felt.

No words. No witnesses. Just the two of you, pressed together in the quiet, both of you thinking the same thing—

Not yet.

But soon.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The RV hums beneath them, heavy with weapons and nerves and too many people pretending they aren’t terrified.

Steve’s driving. Nancy’s in the passenger seat, shotgun resting between her knees, eyes forward but mind clearly somewhere else. The road stretches out in front of them, dark and uncertain, and for once no one’s filling the silence.

Steve clears his throat.

“I used to think,” he says, staring at the road, “that I wanted… I don’t know. The big stuff. Parties. Being important.”

Nancy glances at him. Says nothing. Lets him keep going.

“But now?” He exhales. “I think I just want a house. Kids. Loud ones. 6 little nuggets. Like, too loud. A dog. Dinner at the same time every night.”

He laughs under his breath, a little embarrassed. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Nancy says softly.

He nods, but his eyes drift : not to her.

To you.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, Max’s head resting in your lap. One of your hands is carding gently through her hair, slow and steady, like you’re anchoring her to the present. Kate Bush still. blasting in her ears. Max’s eyes are closed, face drawn but calmer than she’s been all day.

Lucas sits close, tense but watching you like you’re a promise. Dustin’s rambling nervously, Erica firing back with sharp remarks that barely hide her fear, and you answer them all. Quiet reassurances. Small smiles. Steady touch. Even Eddie seems calmer with you around.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you murmur, thumb brushing Max’s temple. “I’ve got you.”

Steve’s chest tightens.

That, he thinks. That’s it.

Not the words. Not the dream. This.

You don’t even know he’s watching, and somehow that makes it worse. You’re not performing kindness. You’re just… being you. The way you always have been. The way you were with scraped knees and broken hearts and now with monsters and grief and children who shouldn’t have to be this brave. Who lean on you and you open your arms wide enough to temporarily swallow up the darkness.

Nancy follows his gaze.

Oh.

She sees it then, the way his eyes soften, the way his grip on the steering wheel loosens just a little, like looking at you makes the world manageable again.

“Steve,” she says quietly.

He blinks, refocuses. “Yeah. Sorry.”

There’s a beat. Then he says, casual like it just occurred to him, “Hey, do you mind switching with her for for a bit? I think… she might feel better up here.”

Nancy looks at him for a long second. She always knew you'd be good for him.

Then she nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

She stands, carefully stepping back through the RV. Lucas shifts, Dustin scoots, Erica grumbles, and suddenly Nancy’s sitting on the floor with them, Max still cradled safely, nothing really changing except,

You look up.

“Oh!” You glance toward the front. “You need me to—?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, too quickly. Then softer. “If you don’t mind.”

You don’t mind.

You ease Max’s head into Lucas’s lap, give her one last gentle stroke, then make your way forward. The space feels smaller when you slide into the passenger seat beside him. Quieter. Charged.

Steve keeps his eyes on the road. You buckle in.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then you say, gently, “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just—” He risks a glance at you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You smile, small and real. “Me too.”

Steve swallows, heart thudding, hands steady now for the first time all day.

The RV keeps moving forward.

And for once, so does he.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The RV rolls on, headlights cutting through the dark. Outside, the sky has gone that strange Hawkins shade, stars dimmed, clouds tinged red like the world’s holding its breath. Inside, the noise has softened. The kids’ voices are lower now. Max is quiet. The engine hums steady beneath everything.

You’re close enough that Steve can smell your perfume—familiar, grounding, threading straight through his chest. It hits him all at once, sharp and overwhelming, like now. Like this is the moment he’s been waiting for without ever admitting it.

He exhales.

“If we make it through this,” he says, voice low, careful, “I really need to talk to you.”

You turn to him. Not teasing. Not brushing it off. Eyes soft with something too intimate to name.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Yeah. Me too.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Heavy with years.

Steve lets out a small laugh, eyes still on the road. “Do you remember that time we played hide and seek in the old Smith house?”

You blink, surprised, and then you smile despite yourself. “The abandoned one?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You climbed that stupid bookshelf.”

“It was a great hiding spot,” you protest.

“You fell,” he reminds you, gentler now. “Split your knee open. There was blood everywhere.”

You shrug. “I was fine.”

“You were not fine,” he says immediately, heat flaring in his voice the same way it always has when it comes to you. “I thought you’d broken something. I started yelling for my mom like an idiot.”

You laugh quietly. “You carried me all the way home. Wouldn’t even let me walk.”

Steve swallows. “I remember thinking- ” He stops himself, shakes his head. “Never mind.”

You wait.

“I remember thinking I’d never let that happen again,” he finishes. “Like it was my job. Even then.”

The road stretches on. The stars burn faint and red above them. The night feels impossibly blue, deep and endless.

You look at him the way you’ve always looked at him : like he’s your home. “We’ve always taken care of each other,” you say. “This is just… a bigger version of that.”

Steve’s chest aches.

Because that’s the thing. He’s practiced this moment a thousand times in his head—waiting for the evening to get late, for it to be just the two of you, for the timing to be perfect.

And it is.

God, it is.

The words sit right there, bright and terrifying and true. He almost says them. Almost ruins everything by saying something stupid and beautiful and irreversible.

He grips the steering wheel instead.

“I just—” he starts, then stops, breath hitching. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You reach over and rest your hand on his arm, thumb brushing lightly against his sleeve. “You won’t,” you say, certain. “Not us.”

Steve nods, blinking hard, heart pounding.

Not yet, he tells himself. But soon.

The RV keeps moving through the dark : years of history riding quietly between you, waiting for the moment he finally lets the words out.

The road keeps unfurling ahead of him, dark and endless, the RV’s headlights carving a narrow truth through it. Steve drives like he always does when he’s thinking too hard, steady, careful, knuckles pale on the wheel.

You’re quiet beside him now, not because there’s nothing to say, but because it feels like anything spoken wrong might break the shape of the moment.

“You remember,” he says after a while, voice softer than before, “that summer after we turned 7?”

You smile faintly. “Which disaster?”

He huffs. “The pool one. When I thought I was gonna drown.”

“You panicked,” you say, fond. “Flailing everywhere.”

“I was dying,” he insists, then sighs. “And you jumped in without even thinking.”

You shrug. “You were yelling my name. From that massive pool you have.”

Steve swallows. He remembers the way you’d surfaced beside him, hair plastered to your face, hands firm on his shoulders. The way your voice cut through the water, calm and certain, telling him to breathe. How afterward you sat at the edge of the pool, feet dangling, laughing like it was nothing - like you hadn’t just steadied his entire world.

“I’ve always felt like,” he says slowly, choosing each word, “whenever I lose my footing… you’re already there.”

You turn toward him then. Really look at him.

“And you’ve always run toward me,” you say. “Even when you shouldn’t have.”

The memory of scraped knees. Of you crying in his backseat after your first real heartbreak. Of late-night phone calls that never needed a reason. Of him standing in front of you, again and again, like the world could be negotiated with if he just stood firm enough.

“I don’t think I ever learned how not to,” he admits.

The RV rattles softly. Somewhere behind you, someone shifts in their sleep.

“I used to think,” you say, voice barely above the hum of the engine, “that we’d just… always be like this. Side by side. And that that was enough.”

Steve’s chest tightens. “And now?”

You hesitate. He hates that - hates that he’s the reason you hesitate.

“Now I think,” you say, carefully, “that pretending it hasn’t meant more might be the thing that hurts the most.”

He risks a glance at you.

Your face is lit by passing streetlight, eyes reflective, unguarded. The stars outside glow red and distant, like witnesses. The night feels impossibly intimate, like it’s leaning in to listen.

Steve’s heart is loud in his ears.

“I’ve loved you in a lot of quiet ways,” he says before he can stop himself. Then he laughs under his breath, breathless. “See? This is why I practice. Because I never say it right.”

You smile, something tender and warm and real. “You’re saying it fine.”

He exhales, relief and terror tangled together.

“I just—” He shakes his head. “I don’t want this to be another thing I was too scared to reach for.”

You don’t answer with words. You just let your shoulder rest more fully against his arm, a gentle weight, a reminder of how long you’ve fit here.

Steve drives on, heart full to the breaking point, knowing - finally knowing - that when he does say the words out loud, they won’t be stupid at all.

They’ll just be true.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

Hawkins doesn’t look like Hawkins anymore.

The school gym smells like antiseptic, dust, and something burned that no one wants to name. Cots line the walls where pep rallies used to happen. Boxes of donated clothes are stacked where lockers once stood. People move around in soft, stunned motions, like they’re afraid the ground might split open again if they step too hard.

Steve drops another box near the entrance and straightens slowly, muscles aching in places he didn’t know could ache. Robin’s arguing with a volunteer about sock sizes. Nancy’s making lists that keep smudging because her hands won’t stop shaking.

And you?

You’re kneeling beside a little girl, helping her tug on a hoodie that’s two sizes too big. You smile at her, reassuring, gentle, like the world didn’t almost end. Like you haven’t spent the last day watching Max lie unconscious in a hospital bed, machines breathing for her.

Steve watches you longer than he means to.

You’ve been holding it together all day. For everyone. For Max’s mom. For Lucas. For strangers who don’t know your name but cling to your voice like its hope, like it’s proof things might be okay.

He waits until you stand and turn, arms full of blankets, before he moves.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You look exhausted. Still, your face softens when you see him. “Hey.”

He doesn’t know how to ask. He just gestures with his head toward the empty hallway off the gym, where the noise dulls into something manageable.

You follow him without a word.

The hallway is dim, lit by emergency lights that buzz faintly. There’s a cracked trophy case at the end—Hawkins High, frozen in time. Steve stops there, leaning back against the wall like his legs have finally decided they’re done.

You hesitate for half a second.

Then you step into him.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. You just… fit. Like magnets finding their pull. His arms come around you instinctively, one hand pressing into the small of your back, the other cradling your neck. You bury your face into his chest, breathing him in like you’ve been holding your breath for days.

Steve closes his eyes.

The world quiets.

Your hands clutch the back of his shirt, fingers curling tight like you’re afraid if you loosen your grip, reality will rush back in. He rests his chin against your hair, heart pounding slow and steady now, grounding both of you.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he murmurs.

Your breath shudders against him.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just… didn’t know where else to put it.”

He holds you tighter, like this is the answer. Like this is where it’s always gone.

You don’t cry, not really. It’s more like the weight finally redistributes, spreads evenly between the two of you instead of crushing you alone. Steve presses a kiss to the top of your head without thinking, reverent and sure.

Outside, Hawkins is broken. Max is still unconscious. Vecna isn’t truly gone. Nothing is fixed.

But here

in this narrow hallway, between cracked walls and flickering lights—

you merge into each other in the quiet, undeniable way of people who have survived something together.

And Steve knows, with a certainty that doesn’t scare him anymore:

Whatever comes next, you won’t face it apart.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

The Harrington house is quiet, almost painfully so. Outside, the night stretches like a canvas, dark and infinite, the faint red glow of the stars bleeding through clouds that seem too heavy to hold themselves up. Everything feels suspended like the world is waiting for someone to finally say what’s been buried too long.

Steve sits on the edge of the couch, elbows braced on his knees, fingers interlaced tightly. His shirt is wrinkled, damp from the shower he took without thinking, hair sticking up in ways that make him look smaller, more vulnerable than he’s allowed anyone to see. Every muscle in his body hums with exhaustion, the kind that comes after running, after fighting, after losing and almost losing everyone you care about.

You come in quietly, the weight of the day heavy on your shoulders, hands smudged from bandages and disinfectant, hair mussed. Even in the chaos of survival, you are the same person you’ve always been, steady, grounding, impossibly alive. The air between you carries your perfume, soft and intoxicating, threading through his chest and making his heart pound like it’s trying to escape.

Steve looks up at you, and suddenly every memory, the scraped knees of childhood, the first time he carried you home crying from a hide-and-seek fall, the long nights of whispered secrets, of shared laughter, of silent longing, comes flooding back. All the stolen glances, the moments where he nearly said it, the moments where he knew you wanted him but were pining for someone else, the years he spent pretending to like Nancy because it was easier than admitting that everything he wanted was always you…

He swallows hard, the words lodged in his throat for so long, aching to be freed.

“I… I’ve been thinking,” he begins, voice low, tight. “Not just today… but all of it. Everything we’ve been through. Everything I’ve—” He cuts himself off, throat raw. “Everything I’ve wanted to say but… didn’t. I can’t do that anymore.”

You kneel beside him, carefully, like approaching something fragile. Your shoulder presses against his, a tentative weight that feels like home. “Steve,” you murmur, voice catching, “what is it?”

He closes his eyes for a second, remembering every time he’s looked at you and wanted to take you in his arms, every time he’s watched you stand beside him, strong and unafraid, wishing he could tell you it was always you he wanted. All those years of heartbreak, the helplessness of watching you while he fell for someone else, the ache of unspoken feelings, of nights lying awake imagining a world where he could say it without fear—everything converges in this moment.

“You,” he finally whispers. “It’s always been you. I—God, I’ve loved you for years. I wanted to say it so many times. I wanted to tell you when we were kids, when we were teenagers… every time you got hurt, every time I thought I could fix it if only I was brave enough to tell you… I’ve waited too long. I—”

His voice breaks, and he shakes his head. “I don’t care about timing anymore. I don’t care if it’s messy, if it’s stupid, if the world’s still upside down. I just… I love you. Always have. Always will.”

You feel it like a physical weight in your chest—the years of longing, the nights you spent pining quietly, pretending to want someone else because you thought it was safer than wanting him back, the heartbreak of watching him flirt with Nancy, all of it threading into this single, unbearable truth. Your eyes sting. Your hands shake. And you laugh softly, breathless, tears threatening, because after all this time, the words are finally here, and he’s finally saying them to you.

“You… you love me?” you whisper, voice cracking, almost afraid to speak, almost afraid that saying it will break the spell. “After all this time… you—”

He leans closer, forehead pressing to yours, breathing you in like you’ve been air and he’s been drowning. “I always loved you,” he murmurs. “I just… didn’t know how to stop waiting. Didn’t know if it was my place. But now… now I’m not waiting. I can’t. I won’t. You’re it. You’ve always been it.”

Your hands find his face, trembling, cupping him like he’s fragile, like he’s been waiting decades for this. And the walls you’ve both built, the years of fear and longing, collapse into each other as you lean in, lips brushing in a kiss that’s not hesitant, not tentative, but fierce and tender and desperate all at once.

Everything comes rushing at you—the relief, the joy, the heartbreak of years finally reconciled, the happiness you never let yourself have until now. The weight of Hawkins, the monsters, the chaos, the fights, the nights spent apart and almost apart—all of it rolls into this single, perfect, blazing moment.

Steve’s arms tighten around you, as if he’s never letting go. You cling to him, heart pounding, breath mingling, feeling every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every moment of quiet longing finally come alive.

“I love you,” you whisper finally, and the words are both confession and celebration, and you can’t stop the tears or the laugh that follows, trembling in his arms.

“I know,” he breathes back, voice raw and trembling, and for once, it’s enough.

The stars are red outside. The night is impossibly blue. But inside, in Steve’s arms, the world is finally right.

And all those years—the heartbreak, the pining, the waiting—suddenly feel worth it.

Steve leans closer, foreheads brushing, breaths mingling. The world shrinks to the two of you, quiet hum of the heater, faint creak of the floorboards, the distant, soft buzz of Hawkins settling into itself after the chaos. Nothing exists outside this room. Nothing exists outside this moment.

“I love you,” he breathes, as if saying it aloud makes the words real enough to survive the universe.

You laugh softly, tears pricking, trembling as you reach up, fingers tangling in his hair, thumb brushing over the line of his cheek. “I love you too,” you murmur, voice catching on every syllable.

And then—

He’s kissing you.

Slow. Unhurried. Deliberate. Every second drenched in years of longing, heartbreak, and unspoken devotion. His lips mold to yours like coming home after being lost in the dark, like finally breathing after holding it in for decades. Your hands tighten around him, one on his chest, the other in his hair, pulling him impossibly close.

It’s a little messy. It’s not desperate. It’s fierce. It’s tender. It’s laughter and relief and tears and trembling all at once. You taste him, finally, after years of wanting, and it’s everything you imagined, and somehow more.

He kisses you back with the same ferocity, the same reverence, like he’s trying to make up for every almost, every hesitation, every moment you’ve ever waited for him to choose you. And you melt into him, the world outside dissolving into the quiet certainty of finally, finally having each other.

His hand slides from the back of your head down your spine, pressing you flush against him. You let out a breathless laugh against his lips, shaky and raw, and he hums into it, a sound that’s all relief and worship and love.

Minutes, or maybe hours, pass in this sacred silence. Time stretches thin, then thick, folding around the two of you. Every heartbeat, every brush of skin, every stolen breath is electric. This is it: the culmination of every heartbreak, every whispered longing, every aching pause.

When you finally pull back, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, eyes shining with tears and laughter, Steve murmurs, voice hoarse and full, “I’ve wanted this… forever.”

You smile against him, tears sliding down your cheeks. “Me too,” you whisper. “Forever.”

And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, everything—every danger, every loss, every waiting, every heartbreak—is washed away in the quiet, shivering bliss of finally, truly, undeniably being together.

The world outside is still blue and bruised and chaotic. But here. Here in his arms, with his lips still brushing yours, with the warmth of his chest against yours, the night finally, finally feels like home.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

steve was half-laying on you as robin droned on about her situationship with vickie, repeating things you’d heard a million times. you tried to be a supportive friend, nodding along like you could relate. but, you couldn’t. steve was perfect, and you were marrying him.

not that they noticed or assumed.

“she doesn’t trust me,” robin sighed, running a hand through her hair as she shifted in the armchair, practically sitting on it sideways now from how much she’d moved around. “she’s being a little overbearing. and i get it - i spend a lot of time here, with you guys, and with the kids. but, i make time for her!”

“you’re always with her,” nancy said, knitting her brows in confusion.

jonathan and steve were entirely uninterested, both just slumped against their girls and staring at the ceiling or wall with peanut butter boppers in their hands. every so often, jonathan would silently mouth something to steve and they would snicker together, earning swift smacks from their girls before you went back to venting with robin.

“and if you’re not it’s for good reason,” you added with a hum, adjusting as steve laid himself completely over your lap and huffed like a child, tired of this conversation that he’d already heard at work a million times. “she knows she’s always invited over here too.”

“i told her that, but i think she’s intimidated to be honest,” robin sighed, flopping even more dramatically into her chair as her hand covered her face. “which is dumb.”

you exchanged a look with nancy, brows knitted.

“why?” she asked.

“well, not so much you two,” robin answered, waving to her and jonathan as your face screwed up in confusion and slight offense. her hand moved to gesture to you and steve. “you two.”

steve frowned. “what? why?”

“because!” she said like it was obvious, gesturing up and down to where he was comfortably laid across your lap, you fingers carding gently through his hair. “you’re you. steve the hair harrington and the badass woman who turned him into a domestic mush.”

you almost wanted to smile at that, but you were still hung up on vickie not wanting to come over. “we don’t make her feel welcome? robin, invite her over and-“

“no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “no chance. if she sees how perfect your home life is too, she’ll be on my ass even more.”

steve smirked, exchanging a sly look with jonathan and mumbling, “i thought you liked that.”

all three of you girls glared at him, you smacking him across the back of his head as he just chuckled, squeezing your knee.

“we’re not perfect,” you told her, shaking your head. “for example, steve makes stupid comments and i’m forced to hit him and take away his dessert privileges.”

“hey!” he objected instantly, to which you just laughed and winked at him. he calmed, settling into your thighs again with a smug smile.

“see?” robin sighed dramatically. “perfect.”

you shook your head again. “we’re not perfect. even you guys have seen some of our arguments.”

jonathan laughed. “oh, yeah. like when steve got mad at you for going into his nightstand because you almost found-“

nancy smacked a hand over his mouth, robin's eyes widening as jonathan quickly shut up. they all watched you and steve, steve just turning his face into your thighs to conceal his amused smile and you feigning ignorance.

you knitted your brows as you tucked your left hand underneath steve's shoulder as casually as possible, looking to nancy and jonathan.

"i almost found what?" you egged, nodding once. "what did i almost find, jon?"

"nothing, really," nancy said for him, smiling encouragingly. "he was just going to joke about playboys, and i know you wouldn't think it was funny."

"right," you hummed, obviously unconvinced. "he was thinking about playboys."

robin cut in, her voice too anxious and eager as she laughed awkwardly, "of course he was. he's a guy. hell, even i think about playboys."

you nodded, looking to robin with a slight uncomfortable grimace. "what an interesting thing to say."

"no, i just mean-"

"he wasn't thinking of anything in particular?" you said before she could spiral, raising your brows at jonathan, who was struggling for a coverup. steve pushed himself up then, sitting at your side and taking your hand in his.

they were all at a loss, looking at steve apologetically before you raised your left hand.

"nothing like this?" you asked, grinning as steve let out a light laugh.

the gasps you got were your most favorite sound ever, nancy immediately standing up to take a look at it. you giggled, holding it out to her as robin stared at steve with wide eyes.

"you did it?" she asked in awe. "you asked her?"

"she said yes?" jonathan asked next, laughing as steve flipped him off.

"i said yes," you hummed, accepting a hug as nancy offered it.

"oh, i'm so excited for you guys!" she exclaimed as she returned to jonathan's side. "when are you thinking the wedding will be?"

you smiled, settling into steve's side as he tugged you back to lean into the cushions. "preferably after we're finished with this whole military quarantine," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"but, then your parents will come back," robin pointed out, brows knitting. "are you going to live with your parents as a married couple?"

"the basement is big enough," nancy said, shrugging.

admittedly, it was very normal for young married couples to live in their parents' basements until they had enough money for their own places. but, given that you and steve had basically been doing exactly for the entire extent of the quarantine, that didn't really apply.

"no, we'll find a place of our own," you told them. "some place that's really ours."

robin glanced around the room, a small, sad frown tugging at her lips. "this place is yours. i couldn't imagine this place not being yours."

"then, don't," steve said dryly, shrugging. "we have no idea how long we'll be stuck here, and then afterwards, we have no idea where we'll all end up. just let it be good now."

well, if you could frame a quote from steve, that would be it.

you glanced at him, a small smile forming on your lips as you nodded.

"yeah," you agreed. "just let it be good now. i like that."

the five of you sat in that thought for a few moments, gentle smiles on your lips as steve tugged you in to place a kiss on the top of your head.

and then, of course, that simple bliss was ruined by the children you all loved and somewhat adored.

"guys!"

lucas and dustin came running up the stairs, their footsteps loud and heavy as mike, will, and el trailed behind them at a much more normal pace. lucas sped into the room first.

"how hard would it be to convince you to order us pizza?" he asked, eyes finding yours on instinct before he suddenly faltered. he knitted his brows, looking around the room. "why does it feel like we just walked into something?"

"yeah," dustin agreed, nose scrunching as he looked at steve. "are you getting emotional? what's happening?"

"nothing," you chirped, sitting forward with a small smile. "i'll buy you guys pizza if you can answer me one question."

lucas grinned, glad the awkward tension was dissolved and excited at the pizza challenge. "ask it."

"what's different about me today?" you asked, smiling knowingly as you folded your hands in front of you, ring glittering in the sunlight streaming through the window.

they all stepped forward, brows knitting as they looked you over. you met el's eyes as she spotted the ring, a slow smile pulling at her lips as she opted to let the others figure it out first. the same happened to will as he moved to sit with nancy and jonathan, grinning to himself.

the first verbal sign you got wasn't half as enthusiastic as you would've expected. dustin gasped harshly, a low groan slipping out next as his eyes flicked between you and steve. mike's eyes widened as he realized where dustin's head was. "i swear, if you're pregnant-"

"oh my word, henderson," you sighed, head falling in your hands.

"we should just stop trying to surprise you with things," steve said with a frown. "stop assuming she's pregnant."

"stop putting things out there in a way that we can assume she's pregnant!" the boy answered.

steve went to rebuttal, but lucas' gasp cut him off.

he shot forward, pointing at you and grinning widely. "look!" he grabbed your hand, forcing you to pull your head up, and showed it to the other boys. "they're engaged!" he looked to you. "you said yes!"

dustin lit up, his eyes on steve. "you did it! you asked! she said yes!"

"you're engaged!" lucas yelled again as you nodded, laughing. he crouched to hug you and you smiled gently, squeezing him back as his arms wound tight around your middle. he murmured into your shoulder, eyes shut and voice a little tight, yet soft, "i'm so happy for you. this is, like, the only good thing to happen in a long time."

you ran a hand over his back, squeezing him gently. "thank you, lucas."

dustin and steve were doing their dumb little handshake, which you were actually glad to see since they hadn't done it in a long time, as you stood to give him a more full hug. when you released him, will and el came to you in an instant, mike joining purely because he didn't know what else to do.

"we're all very happy for you guys," robin said, smiling as she watched the boys tackle steve in a hug.

nancy patted jonathan's arm with a knowing smile, el fawning over your ring and murmuring, "i've never seen something so pretty. how did he get it?"

"murray, i guess," you said. "he did good, huh?"

"it looks great on her, hm?" steve said as he broke out of the boys' grasps, reaching for your hand with a grin. he held it up, showcasing the ring as you and el giggled, robin laughing in her chair. "my fiancé looks drop dead gorgeous in her ring."

a bright flash had you turning to jonathan, nancy sitting on the arm of the couch next to him with a bright smile as he pulled his camera back down. he shrugged. "it's a nice moment."

"aw, jonny's sentimental!" you cooed, giggling as he rolled his eyes.

"not a chance," he said.

"he always has been," will told you with a grin, jonathan smacking him in return.

lucas came to your side again, his smile too wide for your little heart to handle. "erica is gonna be so mad she wasn't here for this." he paused, smile softening into something half sad and half hopeful. "max is gonna be so excited when she hears..."

instantly, the room went solemn, the mention of your friend weighing heavy.

you wrapped your arm around lucas, hugging him with a small smile. "she's gonna love it. and when we get married, she'll be a bridesmaid," you glanced to el, nancy, and robin, "same with you three," you looked back to lucas with that fond smile, "and she'll look so pretty in her dress, and we'll all have the best time. yeah?"

he nodded, looking to you with a hard, quivering smile as he breathed out an agreement. "yeah."

"yeah, alright," you said, squeezing him once more before stepping towards the hallway. you glanced back at all of them. "now, you did answer my question correctly, so what kind of pizza do you want?"

they all lit up as lucas hung back with steve, calling out which toppings they want and following you to the phone in an effort to convince you to buy sodas too.

steve glanced sideways at the boy, offering him a gentle smile and a clap on the shoulder. "she'll wake up soon," he promised quietly. "and then in a couple years i can show you where i got that ring."

"was it expensive?" lucas asked with a grimace.

steve snorted. "you think we can afford expensive? she'd be pissed at me if i bought her an expensive ring than getting a smaller one that's just as pretty. no, we'll find you a good one for a good price. i've got you."

that thought seemed to brighten his mood a bit and he nodded. "i'll take you up on that. in a couple years, of course."

"well, yeah," steve said, scoffing. "we would never let you get married in high school. that's stupid." lucas laughed, agreeing before he let steve push him towards the kitchen so they could input their opinions on pizza. "c'mon, kid."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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hehe more reader and lucas content coming soon bc you guys noticed i have a favorite and since steve gets dustin you get lucas ok YAY thanks for reading!!

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You giggle while Steve mumbles something that sounds like an agreement. Silence falls again. You twist to look out the big glass windows. Out in the parking lot, there’s not a single sign of life to be seen.

“Steve,” you say again, this time prodding him in the bicep with the toe of your sneaker.

Steve sighs again. You didn’t realise it was humanly possible to make a sigh sound so sweet, so patient, but he makes it work somehow. He finishes what he’s doing and straightens up with a groan, rolling his shoulders as he comes face to face with you.

“What, honey?” He looks you in the eye, and you’re struck by how handsome he is. He pushes his hair back with one hand and you watch his bicep unabashedly. “Let me guess, you’re bored?”

You shake your head. You were, but now you’ve got a better idea. “No. I want a kiss.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “A kiss.”

You nod. “Please?”

Steve just looks at you for a moment. You think he’s deciding whether to give you what you want or not, given the fact that you’ve been pestering him all morning. But both of you know he’s never been one to deny you what you want.

He shrugs. “M’kay. Whatever you want, babe.”

You smile, pleased, and tilt your chin up for a kiss. Steve doesn’t let you wait. He takes your chin in his hand and gently angles you so he can press his mouth to yours. He kisses you softly, lips warm and patient. You’re greedier, curling your fingers into his polo and taking your time tasting the flavour of him. When he pulls away he’s laughing.

“What’s so funny?” You ask primly.

He pokes you in the side, grinning lopsidedly. “You’re greedy. Don’t you know that sort of behaviour is inappropriate for the work place?”

You huff. “Stop being so handsome then.”

Steve gives you a suave sort of grin. But you don’t miss the blush creeping up from under his collar. “No can do, sweetheart,” he says.

He disappears beneath the counter again for a few seconds, then reemerges with a cardboard box in his arms.

“Wanna help me shelve the new stock?” He asks. “If we do it fast enough, we’ll have time to go get milkshakes on my break. You still want milkshakes, right?”

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. He was probably stuck at work late, or Robin had roped him into some unnecessary crisis, or he had finally crashed after a long stretch of pretending life in Hawkins could be normal again. 

You left a voicemail anyway telling him to call you back when he got the chance. Except he did not.

The next morning came and went without a word. He did not show up at Family Video. He did not swing by your house orsneak through your window with a grin and an excuse already prepared. He did not even call to say goodnight.

By the second day, the quiet had begun to crawl under your skin.

You called Robin first, trying to keep your voice casual, like you weren’t counting the hours since you’d last heard him breathe on the other end of the line. 

Robin hadn’t seen him and neither had Dustin, who sounded more relaxed than worried and assured you Steve probably just needed space. Nancy hadn’t heard from him either, which finally made your stomach drop.

Forty eight hours passed with nothing. No calls, no messages, no sign of Steve at all. By then, the worry had settled deep in a way you could not shake. Hawkins had taught you too well what silence could mean. Fights turned ugly. People got hurt. Gates opened where they were never meant to, and monsters followed. 

That was when you stopped pacing, grabbed your jacket and keys, and left. The drive blurred past in a haze, every red light stretching your nerves thinner as you headed straight for his house.

Steve’s house looked the same when you pulled up, painfully ordinary in the late afternoon light. His car sat in the driveway, exactly where it always did. The sight of it sent a rush of relief through you, followed immediately by something sharper and more frightening.

If he was here, then why hadn’t he answered you?

You didn’t bother knocking. The front door was unlocked, just like always. The house was quiet in a way that made your chest ache, the air stale and heavy, as if it hadn’t been disturbed in days.

“Steve?” you called, your voice already tight with fear.

No answer.

You stepped inside anyway, your heart racing as you moved further into the house, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.

There is usually music playing somewhere, or the television running in the background, or Steve himself calling out when he hears the door. Now there is nothing. No lights on. No footsteps. Just the dull thud of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Your hand closes around the bat leaning against the wall by instinct more than logic. You hate how natural it feels, how easily fear slips into your grip. 

You call his name once, softly, then again a little louder, but the house does not answer you back. The stairs creak under your feet as you climb them, your breath shallow, your mind racing through every worst case scenario you tried so hard not to think about on the drive over.

Steve’s door is half closed.

You push it open only to find him in bed.

The sight of him hits you so suddenly you almost forget to breathe. Steve is buried beneath a mound of blankets, hair a complete mess, pillows shoved wherever they fit. For one terrifying second you think he is asleep too deeply, until he shifts. A pair of tired brown eyes peek out at you.

“Baby,” he says hoarsely, blinking like he is trying to focus. “What are you doing here?”

He does not get another word out before his face scrunches up and he turns away, sneezing once, twice, then again in quick succession, loud and miserable.

“Bless you,” you say immediately.

He sniffs, rubs at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, and squints up at you like the light itself is offending him.

You sit on the edge of the bed and pull the blankets back just enough to look at him properly. He looks ridiculous and adorable and very clearly sick. Your hand goes to his forehead, then to his cheek, cool skin contrasting with the heat you can feel underneath.

“Steve,” you say softly. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were feeling ill?”

His eyes soften immediately when he looks at you, even now. “Didn’t wanna worry you,” he says, though it comes out more like, didn’t wanna worr yew because of his stuffed nose.

You stare at him for a beat, then reach out and press the back of your hand gently to his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” you murmur, palm pressing gently to his forehead.

Steve barely reacts, only letting out a miserable little sound as he sinks deeper into the mattress. You shift closer without thinking, worry tightening in your chest as you take him in properly. 

“Steve,” you say quietly, coaxing rather than scolding, “you can’t just… rot in bed like this.”

His face scrunches immediately, nose red and shiny, lips pulling into that pout that would look ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it’s infuriatingly cute. Endearing in a way that makes you want to kiss it and shake him at the same time.

“I’m not rottin’,” he mumbles thickly, voice clogged and slow. “I’m… restin’. ‘S cold and I’m sick. This is how people—” he sniffs hard, “—people die alone.”

You huff a quiet laugh despite yourself. “You have a fever and the sniffles. You’re not dying.”

He cracks one watery eye open to look at you. “That’s what they all say.”

You sigh, fingers already tugging the blanket down. “You need to get up and have a warm bath and actual food. Then you can get back in bed like a dying sick person.”

He opens his mouth to argue and sneezes instead three times in a row. “Bless you,” you say automatically between each sneeze.

You smile, even as the knot in your chest tightens. “That’s the fifth time in ten minutes, baby.”

“Not my fault,” he mutters, pushing himself upright with clear effort. “M’body’s turnin’ on me.”

“Which is why you gotta get out of bed and let me take care of you.”

“Don’t wanna.” He gets all stubborn as he pushes the blanket up.

You pull the blanket away and reach for the hem of his sweater and gently tug. “Come on, arms up.”

“If I take this off, I’m gonna freeze.”

“You’ll survive the walk to the bathroom,” you say dryly.

He pouts as you pull the sweater over his head, hair sticking up even worse than before. The sight makes your chest ache in the softest way. His nose is red, his eyes glassy, lashes clumped together slightly from sneezing so much.

“God,” you murmur without thinking, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He flinches slightly.

You pull back, confused, until you see the way he is looking at you now, worried instead of sleepy. “Hey,” he says quietly, hands coming up to your sides. “I don’t want you getting sick from kissing me.”

You soften, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Steve, I’ve already been worried sick for two days. If I catch the flu, it’s probably happening anyway.”

He exhales, then pulls you closer instead, arms wrapping around you tight and warm. You laugh quietly as he buries his face against your shoulder.

“What do you want, hmm?” you ask, teasing gently, fingers combing through his hair.

He sighs, voice small and earnest. “I want love and affection.”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m hugging you right now.”

He shakes his head, stubborn even like this. “Not enough.”

You laugh again, kissing his cheek this time, then his temple. “Okay. Deal. You go take a bath. I’ll make you something to eat and change the sheets. Then you get back in bed and I’ll give you all the love and affection in the world.”

He considers that for a moment, then nods solemnly. “Okay.”

You guide him toward the bathroom, hand firm at his back. He shuffles his feet the whole way, dramatically miserable, pausing in the doorway like he might simply collapse there instead.

“I’m going to freeze,” he insists.

“You will be in warm water.”

“And then I’ll get out and freeze again.”

“I will have towels ready.”

“And then I’ll die.”

You roll your eyes. “Steve.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then softens, shoulders sagging as he steps into the bathroom. “You’re being really, really bossy,” he says.

You turn the water on for him, testing the temperature until it is comfortably warm. “Sit,” you tell him, pointing at the edge of the tub.

He obeys without complaint, watching you with open affection as you move around the room like this is second nature. When you straighten, he reaches out and hooks a finger through your sleeve, stopping you.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You look at him. “Yeah?”

He swallows, gaze dropping before he looks back up at you. “Thanks for coming,” he murmurs, voice rough and a little clogged. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just… didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Your heart twists. You reach out, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Next time you’re sick,” you say softly, with a small smile meant only for him, “you call me. I don’t care if you sound ridiculous or weak. I want to know and I want to be there for you.”

He smiles faintly. “Deal.”

You squeeze his hand once before leaving him there, steam already beginning to fill the room. As you step away, you head for the kitchen, already thinking about the soup you’re gonna make for him.

You return to the bedroom with the bowl balanced between your palms, steam rising in soft curls that blur the room at the edges. The house is hushed in that suspended, late afternoon stillness, and for the first time since you arrived, the tightness in your chest finally loosens and you’re not worried anymore.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed where you left him. He looks freshly showered, hair still a little damp and curling at the ends, pushed back in a way that makes him look younger somehow. 

He has changed into one of his hoodies, oversized and soft, and a pair of worn sweatpants. What really gets you, though, are the socks. Two thick pairs pulled up almost to his calves like he is bracing for the arctic.

He is watching you with an attention that makes you slow without meaning to. Not hazy or unfocused like before, but steady and present, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely laced together as his eyes track you across the room like he is afraid you might vanish if he looks away. 

You set the bowl down on the nightstand beside the bed and glance back at him, quieter now. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His mouth tilts into a smile that is still a little crooked from congestion, his voice coming out warm and stuffed. “Nothig,” he says, sniffing. “I just… really love you.”

Your heart does that stupid, immediate thing it always does with him. You step closer, standing between his knees, and he tips his head back to look up at you, hands automatically settling at your hips like that is where they belong.

“I love you too, Steve,” you say, leaning down just enough to brush your nose against his.

His grin spreads, way too pleased with himself for someone with sneezes and sniffles. “Sooo,” he drawls, leaning back like he is pitching a very serious idea, “is this the part where I get my love and affection?”

You laugh quietly. “Aren’t I giving you plenty right now?”

He shakes his head, dramatic as ever. “Nope.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding like he has thought this through very carefully. “I had something… more specific in mind.”

You narrow your eyes, already suspicious. “Which is?”

He smirks, or at least attempts to. “I think we should have sex.”

You narrow your eyes. “Steve, you're sick and—.”

“—Okay, rude because I’m not that sick,” he interrupts, sniffing. “I am mildly compromised. Big difference.” He leans forward a little. “Also, I have not fucked my girlfriend in fifty one hours.”

You blink. “You counted.”

“Obviouly,” he says, offended. "And this little guy really missed you.” He gestures to his crotch.

You cut him off before he can spiral any further, reaching for the bowl and the spoon with a patience that is starting to fray. 

“Okay. That’s enough,” you say, sitting beside him and angling the bowl into your hands. “Open your mouth.”

He immediately leans back, eyes widening like you have just threatened him. “No.”

You blink. “I swear to God if you do not eat it, I will shove this–.”

He immediately takes the spoon and swallows a bite.

“So,” he says slowly, thoughtfully as he chews the vegetables. “Does this mean after I eat we’re gonna have sex?”

“No, Steve,” you say, very calmly, as you scoop up another spoonful. “It means you eat your soup and get better.”

“But babyyyy—”

You shove the spoon into his mouth before he can finish, eyebrows lifting in warning.

He swallows, eyes flicking up to you again, still soft despite the pout tugging at his mouth. “…I love you,” he says, like it might change your mind.

You smile despite yourself and lift the spoon again. “I know. Now eat.”

The thing nobody mentions about quarantine is the amount of sex you'll be having! Mainly because everyone was more focused on the military presence, the 'earthquake' that had split Hawkins in four and the the fact all of this had happened in your small town of Hawkins, Indiana.

But you'd been dealing with monsters, scary labs, rifts in the world and such for years that it became a dull noise in the back. Like a radio playing your least favourite song all the time, you learnt to drown it out.

You and Steve had learnt to make the best of it, together.

You'd never fucked so much in your life. Not when you were in high school, nor when you got out of it and you were sure Steve was the same. You simply just had so much time on your hands that sex was an enjoyable way to spend it. And the both of you made an agreement over a few beers (also smuggled in) that it was right. You both just worked so well. Knowing each other in the bed room could help outside to.

When you weren't planning crawls, or how to kill Vecna or at your silly little jobs at the radio tower, you were at Steve's house. It was made all the more easier with the fact his parents left Hawkins as soon as the ground rumbled. You effectively moved in with Steve with the amount you spent having sex or just talking.

You were naked on his bed, sheets rumpled and pillows on the floor from your past night of activities. You were watching Steve, just as bare, search desperately around his room for condoms.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

You groaned, head thrown back. "There's none, is there?"

"We can't have run out, there was a delivery a month ago," he said, knowing he'd been one of the first to the shops to get some boxes.

"Maybe there are others in Hawkins actually having sex!" you weren't all too surprised you'd ran out. You'd been at it almost every day, more than once a day.

Between stocking up on guns, grenades and bullets, you just hadn't been keeping stock of the condoms. Mistakes happen but when your mistakes were the one thing keeping Steve away from you, it felt like the end of the world.

Steve was desperate, heading out to his ensuite to search the cupboards and maybe peel up some floor boards while he was at it.

You laid on your back, already spent from the two orgasms you'd got from grinding on Steve's thigh and having his tongue in your pussy. But it was nothing like his cock driving inside of you, going so deep your whole body moved with his thrusts as you felt him in your stomach-

Shit, the thought of him had your fingers itching down to your core. You got yourself comfortable, slowly drawing circles along your clit.

"Empty!" Steve yelled from the bathroom. He walked out, groaning to himself before he spotted you and his expression fell. "Oh baby, baby, baby, I promise, gonna take such good care of you."

He fell to his knees like he was at the alter- the alter was you. He pulled your wrist away and kissed over your folds, flicking your clit once with his tongue.

Steve looked up at you from between your open thighs. Your finger lazily drew circles on your sternum. "We could, always go without."

"Steve, we can't," you said.

"I'll pull out in time, I promise."

You rolled your eyes playfully.

Slowly, at an agonising pace, Steve crept up your body, kissing over your stomach until he was leaning over you. You could feel the heat of your pussy drawing him in.

"I'll pull out, I'll be so good, I promise."

Steve may have been the one promising but you both knew there was a high chance he wouldn't. He struggled to control himself when he was wrapped, let alone without it. If condoms were hard to come by in this lock down, plan B was harder. Raising a kid in this environment? Impossible.

The two of you weren't even official! Exclusive to each other, yes but the titles hadn't been confirmed.

He leant over you, nudging your nose with his.

You smiled, all love and tender care. Your hand stilled over the beating of his heart. "We can't, honey."

Steve didn't flinch, he didn't react. There wasn't so much as a pout. Steve smiled and kissed you slow, laying his body against yours but careful to shift so not even his tip was grazing you.

He went back down your body, down the path he created, pausing at your stomach. He nipped at the skin and ran his tongue over the red mark he was slowly leaving.

You laughed, covering your face in your hands. If he continued on you might just have changed your mind.

Sensing that, Steve moved back, standing at the edge of the bed. His cock stirred to attention, still high on his stomach, ghosting the hairs that led to his happy trail.

He grabbed your legs and tugged you to the end of the bed. "For now, I guess I'll just have to make you cum other ways." He fell back down and flattened his tongue on you.

And Steve had many ways of making you cum.

The delivery arrived three weeks later. Which meant it had bene three weeks since the last time Steve had thrust inside of you- slow, fast, standing up, lying down, cowgirl, on the bed. Any way Steve and you had not been doing it. Instead it was hands, tongues, watching and learning each other in ways you hadn't before.

But you were both itching for it.

"What is wrong with you?" asked Robin, nudging her elbow with yours as you stood among the group ready to get your special delivery. "Seriously, you got ants in your pants or something?"

You looked at her. "I'll have you know I've got nothing in my pants."

Steve glanced at you from the other end of the line, smirking. Strictly speaking it was true, you'd had nothing in your pants for three weeks!

But you wouldn't tell Robin that. One) because she'd plug her fingers in her ears and dance away, insisting she was not listening and two) because she didn't know you and Steve were together. Nobody did.

Except El. Somehow she'd figured it out and you really didn't want to know if she'd been snooping around in your heads.

Nancy stood with Jonathon and Mike on the other side of you, Lucas joining up the end next to Steve.

Finally, Murray appeared, opening the end of his truck to the wonders inside. 'Santa Claus' you liked to call him.

"Well, well, well, the Calvary," he greeted, beard trimmed and glasses cleaned. Unlike him really. He started to chuck down sacks of gifts.

He unloaded crates... boxes, Nancy and Jonathan taking them. "Bullets... shelves... seriously you could take out half of Russia with this stuff, shoot wisely."

"Always do," said Nancy.

Murray pulled out bags of leafy greens. "Salad? Salad? Anyone order salad?" he looked from you to Steve, rather pointedly. Nobody claimed them.

You'd hoped he'd been discreet with the condoms but you hoped you wouldn't have to fish through spinach and lettuce to find them.

"Well good thing you didn't because- grenade!" like it was a playball, Murray threw a grenade into your hands. You caught it, carefully. "Grenade salad, ha ha!"

Any other day you might have gone along with it.

You threw it to Jonathon who was less graceful in catching it.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, rocking on his heels and continuously glancing back down the row to you.

"Mor Gatorade for El.... Ego's for El.... batteries and-"

Murray whipped around, throwing at least five boxes at once of condoms to Steve.

He had no time to even catch them all as he fumbled with one, the rest falling at his feet.

"Oh my god," Lucas chuckled.

"Protection!" said Murray, jumping down from the truck. "Five boxes of twenty-four pack condoms."

Your face went up in a blaze of red as you stared dumb-founded. Usually Murray just hid them and gave them to Steve or put them out in the shops but gave them a tip off to when they'd be there. Never did he just announce to everyone that Steve was fucking!

"God, Steve," said Nancy as Steve rushed to grab them from the floor.

Robin laughed.

You cleared your throat. "Yeah, god, Steve."

Steve looked to you, helplessly.

"Oh no," said Murray, a mischief's glint in his eyes. His fingers went accusingly to Steve and to you. It was a like a spotlight raining down. "These two have been at it like bunnies for months!"

Steve spluttered and your jaw hung open.

"Wait- what?" said Mike.

"How'd you even know?" you gasped.

Murray was seemingly pleased with himself. You'd never even said. "Oh come on, the both of you requesting condoms? The fact you never stand together in the line and please, you're wearing his shirt."

You looked down and- you were. You hadn't even realised. You tug your jacket over it.

"If you're gonna try and be discreet about it, try harder," Murray advised.

"None of them had it figured out!" said Steve, gesturing down the line. A box slipped from his hands.

Lucas was smirking, Jonathon seemed confused, Mike was trying to figure out how.

"Wait, so you two-" said Nancy, standing in front of the both of you. It wasn't anger in her eyes, after all she had no claim for it. Her and Steve had been broken up for years and there was nothing there anymore.

Robin was giddy, grinning like it was all she'd asked for on Christmas. "I knew it!"

You turned to Steve. "You told her?"

"What- no!"

Robin turned and smacked him in the chest with excitement. "I knew it was her panties in your car, I knew it!"

"Oh my god." This was mortifying. If you ever wanted anyone to know you would have told them, sat them down in groups and broke it down. Not this way with your sex life being made public before they even knew it was serious.

"For how long?" asked Nancy.

"Well I found them three weeks ago but I'm pretty sure they were there the night before-"

Nancy's eyes screwed shut. "Not the panties, Robin."

"Can we all stop saying panties?" asked Steve with a blush at his cheeks.

"I meant how long has this been going on?"

The both of you hesitated but you both knew how long it has been going on. The date was marked in your head, the day everything in the world became bearable with Steve at your side.

"Like... six months," said Steve.

"Six months?" erupted Jonathon.

"I mean- wh- how?" asked Nancy.

Steve held up his hands- and the box of condoms. "Okay, really what is with all these questions?" he walked over to you, throwing his arm over your shoulder and dangling the box under you to your annoyance. "We're two consenting adults having fun, you're acting as if it's a crime."

His hip nudged yours and you snatched the box from his hands. It was absurd.

"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Robin.

"Because it's nobodies business but ours."

Jonathon shrugged. "It just weird. You've been sneaking around this whole time."

You lifted your shoulders in defence. "We haven't hurt anyone."

"Yeah but," said Robin, breaking off and looking back from Steve's car to the WSQK. "Where have you been doing it?"

Steve chuckled awkwardly. She'd just found two of the numerous frequent places.

"Oh, spare me!" yelled Murray, gaining everyone's attention again. "This teenage- soap opera digest is riveting but I have a truck load of goods that need un-loading for the army men steal all your presents so hurry up!"

Rather grumpily and clearly caring about the secrets shared, they all clamoured onto the van, taking what Murray gave them.

All but Steve who took your hand, pulling you over to the WSQK.

"Steve, what are you-"

"Shh, come on," he said, pulling you close into his body as you rushed around the building to the back.

You laughed as he flattened you to the wall in the shade, checking the others weren't missing you already. Your grabbed a hold of his jacket. "What are you doing?"

He looked at you, as if shocked that you hadn't worked it out yet. He held up the box of condoms. "You think I'm gonna let these go for a waste a minute more."

His pants were coming down quick.