夜の愚痴

Your head snapped up, blinking innocently. “Nothing happened.”

“Bull.” He didn’t buy it for a moment, you couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at your lips. “See,” Steve muttered. “Now c’mon, tell me.”

You busied yourself by playing around with the charm bracelets stacked on your wrist. “It’s stupid.” You shrugged.

“So? I’ve had people say a lot of stupid shit, it doesn’t phase me.” Steve didn’t miss a beat.

“Someone just…” you sighed. “They told me I talk too much.” You avoided his gaze.

Steve stared for a moment. “Thats all?” He asked.

“I mean—” You laughed awkwardly. “Maybe they’re right. I can get kind of excited and I ramble and I don’t always know when to stop talking and—”

“Who said that?” His voice cut through yours so sharply you instantly froze.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“Give me their name.” He remained steadfast.

You looked at him with wide eyes, sputtering out your words. “It doesn’t matter.” You shook your head.

“It matters to me, they hurt your feelings.” Steve’s jaw tensed for the briefest moment, so fleeting you’d have missed it if you blinked. “Whoever said that can keep their mouth shut.”

A surprised laugh escaped you, though there was no humor behind his expression. “I’m serious.” His brows pulled together into that familiar permanent scowl he always wore. “What kind of asshole tells someone to stop talking?”

Your heart skipped, Steve rubbed the back of his neck like he was annoyed he even had to explain it. “You know what’s annoying?” His voice softened only slightly.

You sniffled, giving him a small smile, the first you’ve worn all day. “What?”

“You being quiet.” He explained, your breath catching as his gaze flickered around the room before returning back to you. “I mean…” he frowned, like the words physically hurt to say. “You fill the room.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but Steve, being completely oblivious to the secret crush you harbored on him, kept going. “You tell me random facts I didn’t ask for, you constantly interrupt yourself because you remembered something even more important.”

You let out a mortified groan, not knowing that’s how he saw you. “And somehow,” he rolled his eyes. “It became my favorite part of the day.”

Everything inside you stopped, he sighed heavily, trying to act like it didn’t bother him as much as it did. “So if some idiot thinks you talk too much,” he scoffed. “They can take it up with me instead.”

You couldn’t look at him anymore, only nodding slowly. Steve frowned, “why are you so red?” He tilted his head at you.

“I-I’m not,” you denied shakily.

Steve leaned a little closer, only making your case even worse. “Are you sick?” He questioned.

You covered your face with both hands, mumbling out weakly. “No.”

He sighed dramatically, “great, now I have two problems.”

You peaked between your fingers, blinking at him. “Two problems?” You repeated.

Steve pointed outwards. “One idiot who made you sad,” then he pointed at you. “And you refusing to smile at me.”

Your heart melted so quickly you were surprised it was still beating at all.

Steve crossed his arms again, narrowing his eyes at you. “So,” he nudged your shoulder. “Can I have my sunshine back now?”

You laughed, passing him another bowl. “Poor us, slaving away as usual.”

“Our team work is incredible.” Steve declared dramatically.

You laughed again, shaking your head as you reached into the sink for another glass. Steve watched you for a second longer than he meant to, the way you smiled to yourself, how you tucked a loose strand behind your ear every time it got in the way, scrunching your nose slightly when you focused.

The thought escaped him before he could pause it. “You know, you’re really pretty.” He said quietly.

Your hand stopped halfway to the faucet, blinking up at him. “What?”

Oh no, had he offended you? He just wanted you to know how pretty you were, even in the least moments you expected.

“I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I said you’re really pretty.”

Your brain promptly stopped working, a heated blush rushed to your face that made your ears burn. “Oh,” you said breathlessly.

“Yeah.” Steve gave you a small smile.

The kitchen suddenly felt more cramped than it had a minute ago, you stared at each other in silence, your mouth parted.

You needed an escape, anything to ensure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself right here in front of the pretty boy Steve Harrington. “I…” You took an unconscious step backwards.

“I think Nancy needs me.” You glanced back to the door, when she had in fact not called you at all.

“Oh, Nancy?” Steve raised a brow, but you only nodded rapidly.

Before Steve could question it further, you were already turning on your heel, and speed walking out of the kitchen.

He stared at the empty spot you had been standing in, with a look of utter confusion clouding his features. “…Huh,” he blinked.

The second time you ran away, was because Steve had made the mistake of holding your hand.

The annual Fourth of July Hawkins fair was, in your opinion, the worst place to have a crush. There were too many people crowding the area, which meant too many occurrences for you to accidentally bump into Steve.

He kept smiling at you in a way that made your stomach do flips, and unfortunately for your rapid beating heart, he hadn’t left your side all night.

“I’m pretty sure I could beat all those rigged carnival games, in the end it just comes down to probability.” Dustin announced through a mouthful of caramel apple.

Lucas snorted. “You have a better chance at finding a date than that.”

The group continued bricking as you wandered deeper into the fairgrounds, weaving between families and children darting from one side to the other.

The smell of kettle corn drifted through the warm summer air, music from the carousel echoed in the distance. Someone brushed past your shoulder, then another, leaving you having trouble to keep up.

“Guys, wait up!” Mike called from somewhere you couldn’t see ahead.

The rest of the party slipped through a gap in the crowd before it disappeared again. You hesitated for half a second, searching for a way through the sea of people, suddenly you felt warm fingers wrap gently around your hand.

“C’mon.” Steve called, glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Don’t wanna lose you.”

He gave your hand the tiniest tug, and you felt your heart completely stop. “Oh,” was all you could manage, but Steve didn’t seem to notice.

He simply lead you through the crowd, occasionally pausing to make sure you were still with him. The worst part, was how your hand fit perfectly in his, palm even softer than you’d imagined, his thumb brushing against yours as he adjusted his grip.

You were fairly certain you were dreaming. When the crowd finally thinned again, he still didn’t let go, your eyes darted down to your conjoined hands, then back up to him.

He was laughing at something Robin had said, not even realizing he was still touching you. The thought made your breathing slow, then quicken rapidly. You lasted less than thirty seconds before blurting. “I need a pretzel!”

Steve looked over, his brows furrowed. “I’ll—uh—meet you guys in a second!” He couldn’t even get a word out, and you were already gone.

“I wonder why she keeps running away?” He shook his head.

The third time you ran away was after your first kiss.

Steve had finally sucked up the courage to ask you, there wasn’t any pressure, or awkward expectations, only the two of you figuring things out.

He had taken you to a movie drive-in, where the two of you spent more time whispering to each other on the hood of car rather than watching the actual movie.

“I had fun tonight.” Steve muttered as he killed the engine, stopping in front of your house.

“So did I.” You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, instead of reaching for the door, you two stayed exactly where you were.

You glanced down at your hands folded in your lap. “What?” You laughed nervously when you caught him staring.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, but it was all too clear it was something.

“What are you thinking about?” You pressed softly, the curiosity getting the better of you.

Steve’s brown eyes twinkled in the pale moonlight. “You.”

Your breath caught, becoming very alert to the way he was subtly leaning closer. Steve stopped just an inch before your face, taking the opportunity, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed yours like he was afraid of scaring you away, the kiss short and sweet.

He pulled back, searching your face. “Was that okay?” He whispered.

You stared at him, your first kiss. Your first actual kiss with the boy who made you terribly shy, with Steve.

Your mind short circuited. “Yep,” you nodded way too enthusiastically.

“Just yep?” Steve laughed, his hand cupping your jaw, sending you further into your demise.

“Uh huh.” Your chest pounded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. “I should—go.”

You reached for the door handle, Steve smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Mhm,” your throat closed up, he watched you through the windshield as you desperately fumbled around with your keys, then immediately slammed the door shut behind you.

The front curtain twitched, and you had completely forgotten he was still outside. The second your eyes met through the window, you let out a tiny squeak and closed the curtain shut again.

“She’s adorable.” Steve laughed to himself.

The fourth time you tried to run away, was because Steve told you he loved you.

The two of you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, sharing a blanket as you listened to the soft patters of the rain contentedly.

He looked down at your knees touching, then took a deep silent breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You turned to face him. “What is it?”

His warm brown eyes met yours, already crinkling at the corners with affection. “I love you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, that had been the last thing you expected to leave his mouth. Steve was always good with showing his feelings, and even better at catching you off guard.

He watched your eyes flicker towards the bathroom, a grin slowly spread across his face when he pinched down on your sides. “Oh no you don’t.”

“What?” You asked nervously.

“I know that look, it means you’re about to run away from me.” Steve caged you in.

“Steve…” you sighed, face aflame.

“You’re not running away from me this time.” He shook his head adamantly.

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest embarrassed he had finally caught you.

“I can’t help it—my brain just—”

“I know.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly and kissed the top of your head. “My little rabbit.” He whispered teasingly.

When you glanced up at him, you were shocked to not find a hint of annoyance on his face, only a wide smile. “I love you too.” You replied honestly. “And I’ll try not to run away anymore.”

You have to wipe the look off your face. I mean, whose voice sounds like that? All kind and dripping with sweetness. You don’t trust Clark Kent as far as you could throw him and God knows you weren’t moving that well-toned body of his, how much did he work out and that bone structure, I mean– “What, Clark?” You know you sound snippy because he looks like a kicked puppy. Well, actually, he always looks like that around you. 

Clark’s glasses sit on the edge of his nose, he pushes them up as he speaks, “Oh, um, sorry to bother you.” His desk chair scoots over from his desk over to yours. A common occurrence. Jimmy and Lois would share a glance over it, you’re sure. “I was just wondering if you’d read over my latest piece. The new one about Superman.” He’s got that look on his face. Is he trying to impress you or shove it in your face? Everyone would kill for an interview with Superman, but of course, Clark Kent is the only one to secure them. 

You roll your eyes. You can’t help it. “Clark, I’m sure it’s great. I’m sure it’ll be on the front page like the last four articles you wrote about him.” You turn your attention back to your computer, not wanting to continue the conversation. 

“Oh, really? You think so?” It typically takes a few more sassy replies from you to get him to retreat back to his desk, but not this time. This was Clark Kent who only ever takes your words at face value. Clark Kent who can’t seem to pick up on the fact you’re annoyed with him, always. Clark Kent who won’t stop till every person at the Daily Planet at least tolerates him. 

“You bet, Clarkie.” Your voice is laced with faux sweetness, but Clark turns away with a smile on his face, his posture straighter than before, desk chair wheels sliding back the way he came from.

Clark would annoy you more if it wasn’t for the little way your heart flipped when he came through the door every morning. But that part of you was never your brain talking, hell, it probably wasn’t even your heart. You swore off the men of Metropolis a long time ago. Relationships were always too complicated and men more so. You have been hurt too many times. They all started off strong. Kind, gentlemen-like, and a little too good to be true. More likely than not, Clark Kent was the same. He wanted one thing and once he got it? No more doors opened before you had a chance to look up. No more take-out containers appearing during the nights when you had to make a deadline. Not to mention you worked together. You couldn’t handle ruining the one place you actually loved. And for what? Clark Kent? Even if it was real, he is too sweet. He probably helps old ladies cross the street and the only thing you ever knew was tumultuous relationships. 

You would throw your hands against the desk if you didn’t want to draw so much attention to yourself. He always had a way of worming himself into your brain. He didn’t even have to try very hard. His smile lit up rooms. He was so tall and broad yet he tried to shrink so as not to take up so much space. You could kill him, you think. 

It was clear to Lois and Jimmy that Clark has a crush on you. It was the most obvious thing on the planet. Clark was nice. The whole act you assumed was for the purpose of getting things out of others was simply how he was. He was a gentleman from Kansas, always taught to do the right thing from Ma and Pa. But it was different with you. He was even more nervous than usual. Clark went out of his way to make sure you were comfortable, that you were seen. If you rubbed at your temples too much, an Advil would appear on your desk. If you yawn a little more than usual, a cup of coffee prepared just the way you like. He never needed the credit for it either. Just did it because he knew it was the right thing to do for someone you admired.

You picked up on it. You weren’t blind. “I mean, he does that for everyone, doesn’t he?” You had asked Lois last week. 

Her eyebrows raised. “I mean, no. If I ask, sure, Clark is happy to get me a cup of coffee from the break room. For you? He’ll go to that place down the street.” She had a knowing look on her face. More often than not, you had been going back to Clark as a topic of conversation. In the past, you brushed him off. 

You sighed, picking at the skin around your fingers. “Well, if anything, he just wants to get in my pants.” You had seen it before. Hell, the last intern the Daily Planet hired had tried it too, but once he realized you weren’t interested, the pleasantries had stopped. That hasn’t happened with Clark, not yet anyway. “Right?” You looked at Lois again. 

“Sure and settle down with you in Kansas somewhere and give you a handful of kids and wait on your hand and foot or whatever floats your boat.” She shrugged. She wasn’t going to waste more of her breath trying to convince you that Clark was one of the good ones. You had to figure that out on your own and your mind was surely set on staying away. And she sure as hell wasn’t gonna go out of her way to vet him for you, at least not for a little while longer. I mean, she had her $50 bucks put on the fact it would take longer than six months for you guys to go on a date. Jimmy on the other hand was convinced it would take less than six months. She was right on the cusp of winning, you just had to hold out a little while longer. Lois can't let Jimmy Olsen win a bet. “But, really, you’re probably right. I mean no man is that perfect.” She emphasized, glancing over at Clark. 

That was a week ago. Now, your restraint seems to be thinning more and more every day that you catch a glimpse of him in that white button down, his glasses hanging close to the tip of his nose. You had managed to finish the day off still mildly annoyed at him, though. I mean, push up your glasses for God's sake.

Clark, on the other hand is making eye contact with Jimmy, shaking his head vehemently as Jimmy gestures over to you, mouthing, “Come on, man. Ask her out!” Clark is nervous. He didn’t want to ruin anything between you, but it was getting harder for him to ignore the ache in his chest. He glances over at your desk, noticing that you're packing your bag for the night. Oh gosh, is he about to do this? 

Jimmy throws a fist up in the air signaling triumph as Clark scrambles out of his chair, stuttering over his words, “Oh, hey, wait, let me grab that for you.” He reaches your desk, scooping your bag over his shoulder as he smiles. “You know, we, uh, walk the same way.” 

You shrug. “Okay.” It was a long day. He was strong and capable. He could carry your bag a few blocks. He’s quick to grab the door before you can, push the elevator button, and follow you to the street. 

“How was your day?” He asks, genuinely curious. He’s only stalling a little on asking you on a date. I mean, would you say yes? Were you set on being friends? Friendly co-workers? He knew he wanted more than that and Ma always said it was better to just take a chance. 

“Honestly? It kind of sucked. Perry was on my ass, sending me email after email when I sent in my draft for Sunday. I just– I worry I’m not always picking up the slack. Like, that I’m not good enough to be here.” You sigh, glancing up at Clark as you walk. Where the hell did that come from? But you knew. Clark was always easy to talk to. He had a way about him that sort of eased the ache in your chest. 

The frown on his face is genuine. “Oh, come on, you know that’s not true.” His brows are furrowed, his grip tightening on your bag. “You’re one of the best writers I know.” He clears his throat, his admiration as clear as day. “Plus, Perry was just in one of his moods. It had nothing to do with you. In fact, it might’ve been my fault.” He’s sheepish when he says it. 

Your mouth drops open. “What? Clark Kent, golden boy? Perry upset with you?” You bump into his side as you walk, teasing him. Conversation flows easy between Clark and you. As much as you hated to admit it at times. 

Your building looms in the distance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get a taste of Clark Kent. It had been awhile since you had any romantic prospects. Maybe it didn’t have to be so life or death for you. Maybe it could just be fun. It could even be nice after the day you had. 

Your footsteps slow down as you reach the front door of your building, your body turning to face Clark. His eyes stare down into your own. He swallows. Does he know what you’re about to ask?

“Do you want to come up?” 

“Can I take you out on a date?”

You both stutter over your next sentences. “Oh– Well.” 

“Yes.” You say at the same time, a matching grin on both of your faces. 

—- 

What were you doing? Maybe you didn’t quite think this through, you think as your front door clicks shut. 

“Oh, you can just, uh,” You grab your bag from Clark’s shoulder, dumping it off on your coffee table as you take in the state of your apartment. It wasn’t that bad. After taking a quick inventory, you turn back to Clark, finding him with a goofy smile on his face. As much as you wish it wasn’t, it was contagious. “Stop smiling like that.” You can’t help the way a smile tugs at your own lips looking at him. 

His fingers push the bridge of his glasses up his nose, a chuckle falling from his lips. He’s got a blush dusting his cheeks, has he always been this cute? “I just can’t believe you said yes to a date. I mean, and now I’m in your apartment and it’s just–” 

You close the space you made, stopping his rambling as you stare up at his face. I mean you invited him up for a reason, right? You might as well take the chance while you have him here. You could do this despite your heart wanting to jump out of your chest and into his. You stand on your tip-toes, leaning into him. “Come on, Clark, kiss me.” Here you were, taking the chance. God, that stupid button up and your stupid feelings. 

He really doesn’t have to be told twice. Clark’s hand comes up to cup the side of your face, leaning in and connecting your lips together. Oh, fuck. Your lips move in sync, your eyes closing as you melt into his touch. He is so big, so tall, and all consuming as he deepens the kiss. His nose nudges against your own as he tries to get as close as possible to you. A small groan escapes his lips as he pushes your bodies together, a hand on the small of your back. “I, uh, ‘msorry.” He mumbles against your lips before pulling back and resting his forehead against yours. Clark, ever the gentleman, worrying he’s taken it too far. “I’ve wanted to do that forever, didn’t know if you’d ever ask.” 

A small laugh escapes your lips, already feeling drunk from the feeling of his lips against yours. “Not sure I was ever going to ask.” You peck his lips, sliding your hands across his chest. “But maybe I finally lost my senses.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He can’t wipe the smile off his face as his hands glide over your shoulders to slide down to hold at your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” His hands give your hips a gentle squeeze before he sees your nod and dives back in and this time, it feels even more consuming than the last. Your hands can’t stop exploring the expanse of his chest, his back, the hardness of him, his biceps and the softness too, the way his biceps flex when his arms move to pull you closer. Your hand finds his as you continue to kiss. You pull away from his lips as you begin to tug him towards the couch. 

Clark is quick to sit down and pull you onto him. He isn’t sure how he waited this long to kiss you, to touch you. The world before seems foreign to him now. Have you always been this soft? This beautiful? His hands are moving over your body, squeezing your plush hips in his hands as his lips work down your neck. “I still want to take you out, okay?” He reassures you. His fingers tease at the edge of your shirt, pushing it up an inch just to get a taste of your skin. His fingertips tickle at the bare skin of your tummy; it makes you shiver. You can barely think. “I, uh, I’ve wanted to ask you out for so long.” Every word is punctuated with a kiss as he moves all over your neck, your throat, back to your face: your lips, your cheeks, nuzzling you now that he’s allowed to. “Is this okay?” His fingers are skating at the edge of your shirt, the heat they leave in their wake is enough to make you shiver. You nod. 

Clark shakes his head, fingers desperately gripping at your waist again. “No, I need to hear you say it.” His forehead is pressed against yours, wondering how the hell he ended up here. Maybe he’s dreaming. “Please.” 

You nod again, “Yes, please. Touch me.” Your thighs are straddling his lap as your hips subconsciously grind down against him as you give him your answer. He’s hard underneath you. You swallow. Sure, you knew what you invited him up here for, but you didn’t expect the way heat pooled in your stomach, the way his lips felt against yours. It was electric. You didn’t think you had wanted someone so bad from a kiss before. Didn’t think you’d ever want Clark Kent like this. Clark Kent with his curls disheveled from your hands, his pupils blown out underneath his glasses, the few buttons of his shirt undone, the expanse of his chest peeking out from underneath. You could come from that sight alone.

Clark’s hands tease underneath your shirt, squeezing and touching over all the skin he can reach before he’s pushing a hand underneath your bra and taking your mouth with his again. He can’t help the groan that escapes as he grinds up against you, the feeling of your bare skin making him come undone. “Ah– I,” Clark’s head falls back against the couch as you press down against him, creating a pace against the hard-on in his pants. “I, I don’t do this, usually.” He wants to elaborate, wants to tell you he really does prefer a first date because he wants to earn this, earn you, but he can’t get much else out as he watches you on top of him. 

“Uh-huh.” You're lost in the feeling of dry humping with him, throat tight. Your pussy aches every time his clothed cock rubs just right. You can only imagine how big, how girthy he is if he feels this way through his pants. Your hands are gripping at his shoulders as you rut against him, his hands still kneading your breasts. 

His hands are pulling your top over your head, undoing your bra so he can get at more of your skin with his hands and his mouth. He takes extra care to make sure no piece of your skin goes untouched.

“Come on, Clarkie, please.” You beg, the usual teasing nickname slipping out without a thought, wanting to feel his hands where you really need them. It seems to work as his large hand slips underneath your pants, fingers swiping down to feel your heat through your underwear. He can feel the wetness seeping through your panties. His fingers tease, paying attention to your clit, giving it an experimental rub through the cloth to see your reaction. Your hips buck, losing whatever rhythm they might have had as you cry out. It’s been awhile and you’re so sensitive, you go to explain just as his fingers shove the cloth aside and touch with no barrier. “Ah, oh, fuck.” Your hips stutter again, his fingers slipping toward your entrance. 

“Oh, wow, honey.” He breathes out, mouth kissing at your chest as his fingers tease at your slick entrance. His fingers swipe through your folds before sinking in a single finger. He barely has to push in before you sink down onto it fully without a second thought. You’re so wet, a second finger slides in as easily as the first, he can feel the way your pussy throbs at the intrusion. “Feel good?” He cuts through your foggy mind, his fingers sloppily moving in and out as his mouth returns to claim yours. You give a slight nod, lost in the feeling. “You still gonna let me take you out?” His thumb joins in, lightly rubbing at your clit. 

“Yes, you can take me out on a stupid date.” You push your lips harder against his, moving your hips against his hand, the sound of his fingers fucking into your slick heat fills the room. The feeling in your stomach tightens, close to release. Of course you’ll go out with him especially if his fingers feel this good. Oh gosh, if his fingers feel like this, what will his cock feel like? 

Clark’s fingers keep nudging at your clit, his fingers inside of you feeling over that spongy part, petting, coaxing. He is keeping a steady rhythm as he tunes into the sound of your breathing, the steady thump of your heart. Every time he senses a slight stutter, he keeps the steady rhythm going. His eyes rake over your body, his other hand holding your hips in place the more they want to rut against him. He can’t focus like that. His cock is throbbing in his pants, but he thinks he could cum just watching you like this. With his senses so in tune with yours. “You gonna come, baby?” A kiss presses to your neck, “You gonna come on my fingers?” You choke on your words, your pussy tightening with the feeling in your stomach. It’s about to snap every time he speaks. “Let me see it,” He begs, somehow his voice sounds nearly as wrecked as you feel, “Please.” Clark’s voice cracks, holding you to his chest just as the band in your stomach snaps. You fall forward, gripping at his clothed chest. 

“Ah, ah, ah, fuck, Clark.” You gasp, his fingers slowing down their assault, but working you through your orgasm till your body twitches and your hand shoves at his wrist, “Ha, Clark, quit.” You breathe, hiding your face in his neck. His fingers slowly leave your panties, not too fast. He can tell how sensitive you’re feeling. He wants to laugh, but only from the sense of happiness building in his chest. 

“Good?” His voice is hoarse, deeper than usual. One hand slides to your back, rubbing small circles. 

You nod sleepily. “God. Great, Clark.” Your voice is breathless. Even after your orgasm, you aren’t unaware of his cock still pressing into your clothed core. You aren’t unaware of how big it feels. You aren’t unaware of the ache still in your pussy, needing him to really fill it. You’re still sensitive, but your body is still curious as your core makes another swipe over his lap, testing, teasing.

His hands are quick to grab at your waist, holding you still. “Ah, ah, I–.” He laughs, head dropping back to the couch as he stares up at your face, glasses crooked. A small, knowing grin adorns your face. God, did you get prettier? “I, uh–” He glances at the clock on your wall. He had plans. Superman duties. And he really does want to take you out first. His cock twitches. You can see the inner battle on his face. Was this Kansas boy serious? He really did want to take you out? “I have to go and I really do want to take you out first.” He’s sheepish as he says it, a light blush dusting his cheeks. As if it’s something to be embarrassed about. As if he didn’t make your heart squeeze and give you the best orgasm you’ve had in months. 

“You mean it?” You tease, your lips press a small kiss to the side of his mouth. 

Clark nods, those matching grins adorning your faces again. “I mean it.” 

— 

6:00 PM. Saturday. 

The click of shoes against hard wood. Again. Again. Pacing. A glance at the clock. A glance at the calendar. 

6:30 PM. Saturday. 

A sigh, shoes dropping to the hard wood. You slump on the couch, glancing at the last texts you exchanged with Clark this morning. 

pick you up at 6 pm on the dot :) 

Clark was rarely late and when he was, he made up for it. You try to remember that. 

7:00PM. Saturday. 

You fight the urge to text him. Is he okay? Surely he wouldn’t stand you up. That would be silly.

7:30PM. Saturday.

Would it? 

9:20PM. Saturday.

No, not silly. No text and a no show. You want to text Lois, ask if she wants to go out to the bar. I mean, you got ready and for what? But your heart actually breaks a little. A little told you so to yourself. I mean, he couldn’t even close the deal so what did he really get out of it? You grumble, sinking into the couch. Stupid feelings and stupid chances. How are you supposed to face him on Monday? Maybe that’s on him. Maybe he can deal with the death glares you stare into the back of his head now. Did he do this on purpose? Did he know you really did not want to fall for his stupid little act and somehow got you to anyway? 

“Ugh.” You throw your phone onto the cushion beside you, heading falling back just as a knock startles you in the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

You’re quick to rise from your spot on the couch, even quicker to rip the door open. You can’t even speak before Clark is apologizing. “I am so, so, so, sorry.” His eyes meet yours as soon as you open the door, the kicked puppy look is on full blast. “Please, don’t shut the door.” He begs, one hand extending to you, the other holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“Are you serious, Clark?” You want to scream, but your voice is low. Lethal. 

His eyes plead with you. “I got caught up in, in, — I mean, have you seen the news? I was on the other side of the city and there was an attack, I mean it was just like the one from a few months ago, you remember the one, right?” He’s rambling, he knows it. He means it. He wouldn’t have missed your date unless he had good reason. It’s not like he has to tell you his secret, not after one missed date. “There was this huge explosion and all the transit had to stop, and, you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He saves himself the embarrassment and stops talking as you pull out your phone and see the news. 

Okay, so you spent 3 hours sulking around the house without checking the news. Is that on you or him? And God, Clark probably stuck around to help cats out of trees and old ladies under rubble. You’re almost sure of it. “Oh.” You say dumbly, looking back up at him before your eyes narrow. “No text? Not even one?”

He shrugs, that sheepish look on his face as he holds up his phone, the screen black. “No battery.” 

You roll your eyes, tugging him into your apartment. “Okay, fine. You’re forgiven.” You point a finger at him, poking at his chest. “For now.” 

— 

So you reschedule for next weekend. This time, there’s even less pressure on it. You had planned a dinner and movie at your place. There were too many deadlines lately at work this week and you hadn’t wanted to go out. Clark agrees with the promise that he’ll take you out somewhere really nice once work isn’t as stressful. Not even a first date down and he’s already planning the other ones. Quite sure of himself, you think, as you finish getting ready. 

You had already ordered the pizza and he was due to be at your apartment in about 15 minutes. 

It’s starting to feel like a repeat of your first plans when 30 minutes go by and the pizza begins to grow cold on the table. You played it safe this time too and let the news play while you waited. Just in case.

You want to cry when another hour goes by. How did you let yourself get your hopes again? You sit on the couch and let it happen. There’s no use pretending that your heart wasn’t feeling the way it was. You liked Clark. Like really liked him. You liked the stupid way he wrote your name on the coffee cups with the stupid smiley faces and you liked the way his eyes searched for you in the morning at work, you liked the way he texted you his stupid thoughts and dumb fun facts. He was genuine and goofy. Like stupidly so. But he was also opinionated and never afraid to stand up for what was right. You liked the way his hands would linger on your back when he held the door open for you, you liked the way he started sneaking kisses on the elevator at work. 

You hope he shows up at the door still. You hate yourself for it, too. There was a reason you didn’t want to get your hopes up about Clark Kent because you would be stupidly in love if you did. 

You fall asleep on the couch crying yourself to sleep. No fist knocking against wood wakes you up. 

The sun rises another day. 

– 

Can we talk?

You want to throw your phone across the room. Can we talk? Really? He wants to stand you up and thinks you can’t take the hint? Now he wants to break it off in person? I mean, what was there to even break off? You’ve only been seeing each other for a week, if you can even call it that. There was no date. Just secret kisses, secret touches in the elevator and the copy room and the stairwell and– you groan, unsure of what to even say. Did you owe it to yourself to see him again? To tell him off? 

ok. u can come over in an hour 

– 

Maybe you’ve shot yourself in the foot. As Clark sits across from you on the couch, you lose all the fight you once had. You’re just sad. Because Clark Kent is perfect in nearly every way except he can’t show up to a date on time to save his life. 

He’s nervous. You have no idea why he’s nervous considering he already did the hard part and stood you up twice. No better way to tell a girl that you’re not really interested. “I, um–” He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. 

How do you tell the girl you like that you're Superman? Clark wishes he could bring out his phone, bring up the notes app he had jotted ideas down on. The words came easier to him in writing. There was no easy way to get this out. Clark Kent had no excuse for missing his dates with you. Superman did. How does he separate the two? How did he ever believe he could? How selfish could he be? There was a reason he didn’t date. But it was different when it came to you. He felt like he could be himself, as much as himself as he could be without really telling you about Superman. Did this have to be so convoluted? He trusted you. He knew you had integrity. He knew this wouldn’t change a thing, but bring more understanding between the two of you. He knew if he told you, this could really happen. Everything might fall into place. 

The real selfish thing was not allowing Clark Kent to love. He owed it to himself to let love in. What else was there? The most human thing of all. 

“This isn’t easy for me.” He clears his throat finally looking up at you. He wants to reach across the couch, take your hand in his, pour his heart out. But he doesn’t deserve that. Not yet. “I, uh, don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

You roll your eyes. “Just spit it out, Clark.” There’s a venom in your voice that breaks his heart, “I expected this. I mean, really? I should’ve known it was all an act.”

Clark frowns. “That’s really what you think of me?” His emotions seem to be getting the best of him. He knows you don’t mean it. You’re hurt. He’s hurt you.

“I mean, really? How else do you explain this?” You move your hands around the air between the two of you. “You wanted a little secret, office romance or whatever. I don’t know!” You’re exasperated. “You don’t want the, like, real thing.” You frown. “It’s fine. Just stop dragging it out.” You can feel the tears sting at your eyes. 

“That’s not at all what this means to me.” He looks at his hands, wrings them together. “You- I, –” He runs a hand over his face. “You remember when I missed the first date we had?” Clark makes eye contact with you again, watches you nod, watches the first tear drop. “I wasn’t just caught in the middle of all of that, I mean, I was. But not in the way you think.” He swallows, brings his hands up to his face. “I was– I am–” He rips the glasses off his face, watching recognition dawn on your face. 

“Clark.” You are at a loss for words. “I mean, what?” Your hands reach forward to grip his face in yours, thumbs sliding across his cheeks. He’s your Clark, but he’s Superman. The man from work who had driven you up the wall from how perfect he had this act down. The man who was respectful to a fault. The man whose values were worn on his chest and his heart on his sleeve. The man you knew as Clark Kent makes so much sense now like two pieces of a puzzle finally creating the full picture. 

Clark laughs, unsure of himself. Unsure of how to be these two things to you at once. “I’m sorry. I swear, I’m usually on time. Just two really ill timed alien monsters attacking and you know, it’s kinda–” You cut him off with a kiss. 

“Thank you for telling me.” You shake your head still unsure of if you’re seeing things right. “I can’t imagine.” You're still holding his face in your hands, in awe, watching in real time as these two personalities come to meet in the middle, meet in the man before you. How do you blame a guy for missing a couple dates when he’s saving the world? Especially when he makes it up to you in so many other ways. “I can’t imagine what you have to carry on your own.” You frown, hands sliding from his face to his chest. You imagine the suit as your fingers run over his chest, the beacon of hope that those colors carry, the hope he has to carry for the world. 

Clark can’t keep his hands from you anymore as he moves one to cup your cheek. “You’re not mad?” He smiles, “You can still be mad.” He reassures, pushing your hair to tuck behind your ear. “There is nothing in the world that can truly keep me from you, not anymore.” His lips are close to connecting with yours and those words alone have you closing the distance. 

There is so much between you. The sadness you were feeling washes away into something entirely different. Deeper, stronger. Admiration, longing, a trust that settles in your bones. “Don’t make me wait again, Clark.” You tease, “Superman.” Your words are laced with the emotions you’re feeling, dripping with something you can’t quite name.

Clark eases you down onto the couch, his lips still capturing your own as his fingers explore your body. They run along your thighs, your legs, reveling in the fact that you’re still here, that you know him. That you still want him. “I mean it. I’m gonna do my best with you. I promise. As long as you’ll let me.” And his words have a different meaning. You share him with the world, but know him more intimately than the world ever could. 

Your body arches into his touch, his fingers dancing along your skin. He tugs off your shirt, his own following as he gets to know your body, slowly, surely. “I’m not going anywhere, Clark.” Your voice is breathless as his fingers slip in between your bodies, under your pants, a familiar ache in your bones as his fingers gather up your slick and make circles around your clit. You can feel him pressing against your inner thigh. Your own hands explore down his chest till they’re running over the outline of his cock through his pants, your breath hitches as you feel how big he is. At the same time, he’s pushing two fingers into you, slowly easing them in and out, searching for that soft spot deep inside you, the spongy spot that has you cooing. 

He’s quick to draw an orgasm from you once he gets your pants off, peppering kisses over your face, your torso as he works you through it. “I got you, come on, let me have it.” He’s kissing over your neck as you come down, “So pretty.” He praises, his other hand running up and down your side. 

“Clark.” His head is tucked into your neck. “Clark.” You're laughing, his fingers tickling the skin of your thighs. He’s still hard, you can feel him pressing against your naked core, but he makes no effort to address it. “Are you gonna fuck me, Clark?” You whine, pushing back up into him. 

His lips return to yours briefly before he’s looking down at you. “You’re sure?” 

“I think there’s nothing that I want more right now.” You give him a push of your hips to make a point. 

Clark groans into your mouth, nodding. “Okay, okay.” He sits up, slowly unbuckling his pants and pushing them down with his boxers. His cock springs free. 

Oh. 

Oh.

He’s bigger than you could’ve imagined. Longer than you felt. Thicker than you felt. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his cock. It’s almost embarrassing. Clark’s hand is rubbing the back of his head, looking at the way you’re ogling him. “I, uh–” You swallow, “Is that even gonna fit?” Your eyes flit up to his own before looking back down. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him working his way into you. “I mean, Clark–” Your laugh is breathless. 

Clark is leaning back over you, his fingers finding your wetness again, pooling even more than before from your orgasm and the sight of his cock. “She’s wet enough to take it.” He mumbles, fingers gathering your wetness before he’s smearing it onto his cock and spreading the pre-cum that has gathered from his leaking, red tip. He pumps his cock a couple times in his fist, his other hand squeezing at your waist. “You trust me, don’t you?” Clark purrs with a few lingering kisses against your neck. You nod, at a loss for words as the tip of his cock pushes through your folds, nudging at your clit. The feeling makes you jolt. Clark’s eyes are locked on the sight of his cock glistening with your juices, rubbing along the length of your slit, teasing, testing, eyes glancing up at your face to gauge your reaction. 

You whine, hips stuttering against his own, needing him to fill the ache between your legs with the length of him. “I told you not to make me wait again.” You hiccup, bottom lip jutting out. 

Clark hisses as his tip nudges at your entrance, your hips seeking where you want him most. His tip catches at the soft ring of flesh, sinking in as your hips continue to tease him. It’s easier than you thought, a soft squelch filling the living room as he gives you the first inch. Your slick lets him in easily as your pussy begins clenching around him. “How’s that feel, sweetheart?” His cock stills in you, not pushing in until you adjust to the thickness of him. You’re nodding, unable to speak from how good it feels. “Use your words.” He urges, voice steady despite how wrecked he feels, his hand sliding down your body, thumb finding your clit. 

“Yeah, yes, Clark.” You choke out.

“Good.” He answers, pushing in the rest of the way as your pussy gives way. It’s snug and your pussy clenches around his cock. He can feel your walls stretch, accommodating his size. When he reaches the hilt, he groans out, “I knew you had it in you.” His thumb is still toying with your clit as he begins to move in and out. He’s slow with it at first, letting you adjust to the feeling of his cock fully sheathed inside you. “You’re taking me so well.” It’s constant praise as he’s shoving his cock in and out, the lewd sounds filling the space; his balls hitting your ass he picks up the pace.

“Clark, I– Oh, fuck.” You’re drunk from the fullness of him. You live and breathe Clark Kent. If you thought his kisses were all consuming, there’s nothing compared to the feeling of his dick splitting you in half, his lips capturing yours in a kiss as his pace picks up. His thumb rubbing small circles at just the right pace, the right pressure. It’s better than you could’ve imagined. Your throat is tight, your entire body clenching from the pleasure of it, just waiting to snap. 

“Come on, baby.” He’s urging you, cock pushing as far as he can, his body snug against your own as he ruts into your pussy, grinding his length deep within you. He’s losing his resolve. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold onto his semblance of sanity here. How long he can keep his strength in check as his fingers squeeze onto your waist. It stings, but only adds to the pleasure.

The only thing you can feel is Clark. His fingers on your waist, squeezing, his thumb toying with your clit, his cock shoving in, his mouth kissing along your throat. “Come with me.” He’s begging, voice cracking, but you can’t tell. Too lost in the feeling of him, your fingers clawing at his back, legs wrapped around his waist, clutching him as close as he can humanely get. You have no idea how badly he needs this, lives for this.

It snaps. “Oh, Clark.” Your thighs tighten around him, the tightness in your body evaporating as you come, body shivering as he works you through it. He’s following behind you, his cock coating the inside of your pussy with his spend. His hips grind into yours, working his cum deeper and deeper into you as you both cling onto each other, his cock kissing your cervix as he comes down. Both breathless, both completely spent. There was no way you were getting Clark Kent out of your bones, out of your head. You’re thinking it’ll only be easier to forgive him if every apology is like this. 

His arms are on either side of your face as he peppers kisses across your skin. “Okay?” Clark is softening inside of you, the rest of him visibly melting at the sight of you, he’s not sure if he can handle seeing you like this, so pliant in his hands, so in love. “I’m gonna move, sweetheart.” A soft sound fills the room as his cock slides from inside you. His body is moving from a top of yours and your hands grip at his biceps, a pleading look in your eyes. 

“Don’t go, Clarkie.” Your voice is small, almost sad. You’re not sure you can ever give him up.

Clark shakes his head, gathering up your body against his. It’s effortless on his part. “Don’t plan on it.” He promises. The rest of the day is for you. The rest of the night is for making up for the mistakes he’s already made. And oh, Clark Kent always makes up for his mistakes. He would make sure he earned every single piece of you, every day. That is the only way he knew how to do it. He only knew how to live by being all in and completely dedicated. 

The upside down is back, 3 students have died, Eddie was the lead suspect who you were currently in the process of hiding and now Max had just narrowly escaped a murder attempt from 'Vecna'.

Once Nancy and Robin met up with you all after the incident with Max at the graveyard, everyone decided it was best to recalibrate back at the Wheelers house.

You tried to convince the others to stop at yours on the way- so you, Steve and Dustin could change. You also offered the others clothes and showers and food there too in hopes of them getting onboard with the slight detour.

Luckily, they all agreed.

Everyone pilled into your house, Robin and Lucas going straight for the kitchen, Max settling on the sofa with Nancy and you rushing up to have a quick shower, Steve following behind, Dustin turning into his own room.

Your mom was gone, at the store probably, but it meant you didn't have to explain everything and everyone to her thank god.

You promised to not be long, as the others would need to use the bathroom too, but they were all having a laugh if they thought you could go any longer without a shower and change of clothes.

You were stripping before you'd even got into the bathroom, turning it on and stepping in allowing hot steam to circle you in the small space.

You made quick work at your hair, knowing you were just going to tie it up anyway, and you were almost done with body wash when you heard the door open.

"Shit- I'll be like two minutes"

"Just me princess"

"oh- what do you want?"

"Nuthin.."

You knew exactly what he wanted, and you got confirmation when you heard the shower door open, steps behind you, and the door close again.

You didn't turn round, still facing the stream washing off the rest of the strawberry scented soap from your skin.

"mm smells so good"

Steve's hands landed on your hips, pulling you back into him so he could lean down and kiss at your neck. He walked you forward slightly, so you were both under the warm water as he pulled your hips even closer so your ass pushed up against his very obvious hard on.

"Steve.."

"What?" He said innocently as if he wasn't quite literally grinding into your ass from behind, face buried in your neck kissing and nipping at the damp skin.

"Not the best time.. is it Steve?"

"Please.. I-"

His words cut off, replaced by a soft whine as you moved back against him.

Maybe it wasn't a great time, and no you didn't have this in mind when you suggested stopping but now? Who were you to say no to Steve, especially as he'd asked so nicely and sounded so pretty begging into your neck.

"We'll need to be quick"

"Yes princess, I can.. please just-"

You cut him off by turning around and attacking his lips with yours, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss.

He responded instantly, pushing you up against the cold wall beside you, making you gasp as he grabbed one of your legs and pulled it up to rest over his hip, clearly taking back all control now he has the green light.

His mouth was still on yours as his other hand slid down your body and into your wet folds, making you moan into the kiss, giving his tongue the perfect opportunity to explore more of your mouth.

His middle finger teased your aching hole for a moment before diving into your wet heat. As he stretches you out ready for him, he swallows loud moans and cries from your mouth. You whimpered as his hand left you feeling empty but he assured you it was soon to be replaced with something a lot more fulfilling.

He pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, he looked down as he grabbed his length, lining it up and pushing slowly into you. You both drew a sharp breath as you watched him disappear deep into you, holding still for a moment letting you adjust before pulling almost fully out then thrusting straight back in again.

You let out a choaked moan at this sudden movement, arching your back so your chest pushed against his. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard leaving rich purple marks on the skin as his hips kept up a brutal pace below.

"Fuuuck- Steve-"

Your hands were griped tight on his large biceps, nails digging into the skin leaving their own marks, the pain of the scratches only urging Steve on.

The bubbling heat in your lower stomach was creating quickly but your leg that was holding all your weight was starting to become increasingly unstable.

Steve pulled back to notice you struggle and without changing his rhythm, pushed you harder against the wall and swiftly picked your other leg up. You wrapped your legs tight around his waist, securing you and forcing him deeper as you did, and your arms flew around his neck.

He'd pushed you up slightly, your head above his now, the new angle allowing his cock impossibly deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids every time.

"Fuck princess- so good- 'm so close"

You leant your head down, pulling Steve into a deep loving kiss, one of your hands leaving his neck and sliding down between your two bodies to reach your clit to circle the sensitive nerves.

You moaned loud into Steve mouth as you got closer to your climax. The feeling of him repeatedly fucking you at the perfect angle mixed with the tight movements on your small bundle of nerves and his tongue licking against yours.

"Fuck- Steve- I'm- Gonna-"

"cum for me baby girl, cum all over my cock"

That does it. Your orgasm comes crashing over you, you clench hard on Steve, pushing him over the edge. Steve stills, burying his cock deep inside you, you felt him spilling into you, painting your walls white as you bite down on his shoulder crying out as he rides out both your orgasms.

"Fuuuuck-"

His movements finally slow and he kisses your forehead as he pulls out, setting your weak legs on the floor of the shower. He doesn't let go, holding on tight as you let the shower wash away the signs of sex lingering on your skin

"did so well princess, so good for me"

You respond with one last kiss before remembering where you guys were.

"Shit. Cmon, I told them all I wouldn't be too long"

You shut off the shower and take his hand, guiding him out into the bathroom and hand him a spare towel after covering yourself in your own. As you squeeze out some of the water from your hair into the shower you hear a knock at the door.

Both of you freeze, worried about who was on the other side, how long they'd been there, if they heard. Out of all the people in the house you hoped it would be Robin as that would definitely be the least awkward.

"Uh- I'll be just a second"

"Oh it's okay, just was checking if someone was in here before I tried to walk in"

It was Nancy. Fuck.

You turn to Steve who's face is slowly turning red, his ex girlfriend, your oldest friend, is standing outside of the door to the place where you just loudly fucked, all while the world is like ending too.

"Think she heard us?" You whispered.

"Well she sounded normal so?"

"Think she's still there?"

"Most likely"

"What do we do?"

The idea of having to both walk out the bathroom at the same time, past Nancy, with a slight limp and many new un-hideable hickeys / scratches, was short of mortifying.

"Just- walk out, and you know, don't look at her- head held high" Steve moved his hand to the bottom of your chin as he spoke, lifting it to face him as he nodded uncertainly.

You nodded back slowly before taking his hand in one of yours and opening the bathroom door with the other. As you anticipated you were met with Nancy right outside who went to say something but hesitated then retreated at the sight of both of you.

She didn't say anything as you passed but she obviously realised what you guys had been up to, and when your eyes met hers the smile she gave you said it all. You gave a weak, embarrassed smile back, Steve keeping his gaze firm on the back of your head as he trailed behind you and into the safety of your room.

As he stepped into your room he shut and locked the door behind him, the sound causing you to spin around from your drawers. You met his gaze and the mischievous look in his eyes told you he wasn't quite done with you.

You both stepped closer at the same time, meeting in the middle of your room with a deep kiss, picking straight back up where you left off in the bathroom. His hands pawed at your ass over the fabric of your towel as your hands ran through the damp hair on his chest.

Unfortunately, a loud banging on your door ripped you both from your moment before it got too far as you walked over and unlock the door. This time it was Robin who was standing there, already half way through asking you to borrow clothes.

You open the door to let her in, guiding her to the chest of drawers where Steve is currently knelt down, fishing through his drawer at the bottom for clothes.

"Wait Steve when did you shower?" Robin had noticed his wet hair and towel skirt.

"Oh, just now" he said matter of factly.

"But [y/n] didn't you just shower-"

"Oh uh yeah- uh"

"Oh don't tell me you guys-" she cut off her words as she moved your hair back off your neck revealing the obvious truth.

“ew you guys there literally people dying?!”

The room erupted into defensive pleas and laughter as you picked out clothes for yourself and Robin.

She took herself back out to change leaving you and Steve alone again, who was already reaching out for you.

"Steve-"

"No I know, not the time"

"Yeah.."

His lips met yours again in a deep but not as intense kiss before he pulled away turning his attention to the pile of clothes you'd gotten out for yourself, taking them piece by piece and helping you get dressed.

Robin and Nancy had clearly discussed what you guys had done, the awkwardness becoming apparent with everyone when the both of you finally emerged from upstairs and Robin burst straight into laughter.

You look down to her, almost snapping your neck with it's haste. You follow her eyeline, her grabby, extended hand aiding the direction of your own gaze. You then spot an image of a baby on the pink box in front — the picture the reason for such a comment, not that your two year old is secretly an astute genius. 

"It is a baby, you're right Mands," you smile down at her, meeting the same pair of eyes that she shares with her dad. 

"Baby," she repeats, eyes pulling away to look at the box in your basket on the floor. 

"Yeah, a baby," you nod, smile faltering. 

You can only hope that you can distract her with something else before it becomes a word she'll inevitably obsess over. You turn away from the rows of tests only to be met with more babies on the other side of the aisle, shelves of baby formula and bottles now obtaining Mandy's focus. 

"More baby."

"Alright, this isn't—oh my gosh, okay let's— oh my god, let's get out of here," you adjust Mandy on your hip and reach for the basket on the ground. You hold it out to your other side, shielding the contents from her very eager focus. You gasp playfully, catching her attention — a means to divert her attention. "Do you know what mummy wants?" you wait a beat and walk out of the aisle, creating distance. "Ice cream."

Her eyes light up. "Ace cream!"

You smile. "Yeah, ace cream," you playfully mimic the mispronunciation.

With Mandy seemingly, temporarily distracted, you make your way to the checkout — eager to get out of the shop, andspend the cash your husband left you which had been burning a hole in your pocket.

When you mustered up enough courage to use this said test a couple days later, the results inevitably came back with news you found most daunting. You and your husband had always expressed the wish for two children, and while this was something you wanted, it didn't make it less scary. 

The one person that would ease you, was your absent husband, but he's not here. And with him on the other side of the world, you felt more alone than ever. You knew that he'd have the words to comfort, but this wasn't exactly the kind of news you share on a crackly pixelated video call. It's the kind of thing you share in person, carefully and honestly.

You had debated calling him, deliberated with yourself all week to let the news slip on your nightly phone calls — but you couldn't do that to him, not when you know that he misses you so. 

And so you decided to wait, wait out the clock until he returns home to you all. With his arrival growing closer and closer, you had gone over countless situations, extensive phrases to break the news to him.

Your phone beeps in your hand, your screen displaying the live feed of the front gates; of Tangerine's car pulling up to the intercom.

"Hi, my love," he greets into the speaker and then punches in the pin to open the grand, metal gates.

You place your phone down on the arm of the sofa and turn to Mandy on the carpet in front of you, her new toy baby laid out as she pretends to change its nappy. 

"Daddy's home, darling," you make a playful face and gasp — tapping on your knees so as to elicit a positive, excited reaction from her. "Let's go say 'hi'."

Mandy grabs her baby by the foot and waddles out the living room, rushing to the foyer to greet him. You follow after your daughter, chasing after her. Just as you reach the handle, the door swings open — Tangerine on the other side, grin bright as you each welcome him back with smiles that mirrored his own. 

She jumps up Tangerine's leg, greeting him. "Daddy."

"Hiya, poppet," he smiles and picks her up, holding her at his side so he can reach you. 

You join him at his opposing side, wrapping your arms around him so as to get closer. He kisses you, once, twice and then thrice. 

"Missed you," he speaks to your lips and pulls away.

"Where's your brother?" you ask, only just realising the lone twin that stands in your doorway.

"Getting the bags."

"Baby," Mandy babbles, holding out her baby to show off.

Though your husbands eyes remain locked on you, on your face that tenses most questionably in response to what was just said. Your eyes unknowingly grow wide. 

That meant something, he was sure of it.

"New baby," she repeats, holding her toy out to get a reaction she lacked the first time. 

"Is that a new baby?" his eyes flicker to his daughter. "Did mummy get that for you?" his gaze darts back to you. 

It's almost like he was trying to suss you out — figure you out from your responses alone. He decides that what he was already was doing the trick: adjusting his tone to Mandy's ears, but direct each question to your own.

"Is there a new baby in this house?" he speaks to his daughter.

She elevates her toy to further show off, though his eyes drift off to you — gaze softening when he watches you hesitate to nod. You hold his eye contact for a moment.

"Is there really?" he asks quietly, eager to get some kind of confirmation. 

You nod slowly. "Yeah," you reply with a whisper. "I'm sorry… I didn't know how to tell you."

"No," he itches in to kiss you. "No, this was perfect," he presses a kiss to your cheek and then to his daughter at his other side. "This was perfect."

Steve was around for your awkward teenage phase, the braces, the acne, the raging hormones and mood swings. Steve was around for her various crushes and heartbreaks, more celebrities than actual people you knew.

To be fair, you were around for Steve’s awkward phase too, his voice finally breaking, the growth of his mini moustache, the string of girlfriends he somehow accumulated despite being a scrawny prepubescent teen.

You both grew out of the awkward stages- you grew boobs and your skin cleared up. Steve became a womaniser and grew fantastic hair- he was extremely attractive, you couldn’t deny that.

Anytime he was talking about his latest ‘awful’ date story, you’d zone out and melt into his distracting eyes, trying to memorise the gold flecks in the chocolate brown lakes. Steve would throw a grape at you.

“Are you even listening?” He’d smirk and you’d nod, stammering as you tried to lie before he’d move on and continue.

But Steve was just as bad. If he was ever at your house and you were doing your hair or makeup and singing along to whatever new “crappy music” you were obsessed with Steve would wait until you were distracted and stare at you in the mirror, falling into the looking glass where you and him were together.

They didn’t go unnoticed, either way.

When you left Hawkins for college in New York, you were saying goodbye with a gift and a note that read “I noticed those looks, Stevie…” Little did you know, Steve would keep that note in his wallet until this very day.

You could never ‘forget’ Steve but you tried to move on from him, you were never together so you’d think it’d be easier but nope.

Maybe two years after you left, your roommate invited your friend group and her boyfriend who brought the one man who haunted you every single day. You turned and saw the hair before you saw that all too familiar face with those eyes and new freckles.

Your wine glass nearly dropped from your hands as your breath hitched in your chest. He was somehow more muscular.

“Holy shit.” His eyes raked over you and your body before he picked you up, hugging you tightly and twirling you around. “Long time no see.”

After that day, you tried to avoid group hangouts as much as possible. Steve was the reason you hadn’t had a boyfriend since Hawkins, any guy you were seeing usually went nowhere after one or two dates. The one you’d dreamt about for years.

You had a similar effect. Steve could only do one night stands because his heart belonged to someone else and he couldn’t give it to any other girl.

After a month of avoiding group hangouts, your roommate, Cassie, walked into your room. You sat at your vanity table working on your laptop. You looked up to see her rummaging through your closet, chucking clothes onto your bed.

“Look, whatever has been stopping you from going out with us is over, I don’t want to hear it. You are going out.”

Before you could protest, she chucked a dress that you’d never worn before at you and walked out. “You’ve got thirty minutes!”

You put the sequin dress on and slip some heels on. You do your hair and makeup before walking into the kitchen.

“See, when you’ve got that body you have to show it off.” Cassie smirked and handed you two shots. You wanna ask who would be there tonight but you swallow that thought and down the shots.

You both walk to the club and see your group outside the club and then saw Cassie’s boyfriend and Joe standing by the wall, smoking a cigarette.

You took the cigarette from his lips. “Thought you gave this up, Stevie…” You teased him, stumping out the cigarette. Damn, those shots Cassie gave you must’ve been Felix Felicis.

“Fuck off.” He shoved your shoulder before smirking and walking inside with you.

Smoke covered the floor, lights flashed, music booming as we walked to a booth and Cassie went to the bar. Steve sat directly across from me and our feet brushed against each other as we tapped along to the music or I crossed my legs.

After my fourth drink I was tapping my glass to the music and Steve stood up. “C’mon.” His words slightly slurred as he extended his hand. You didn’t ask. You never had to.

He walked you to the dance floor, your back to his chest as you moved in sync, his hands guiding your hips to the rhythm.

“Y’know you’re the only one who gets to call me Stevie…” He whispered into your ear and felt his lips brush your earrings, sending shivers down your spine.

You turned to face him. “You had to come back didn’t you? You had to make my life harder…” You whispered over the music.

“Well, you left me in Hawkins with a note that I needed you to explain.” He smirked, two fingers under your chin so that you look up at him, meeting his dark eyes. He leaned down, his breath fanning your face and lips ghosting over yours.

You leaned you and met his lips. You put your hands on the back of his neck and his hand cradled the back of your neck as you melted into him, his tongue brushing yours as he focused on your top lip. He tasted like spearmint, cigarettes and beer, his scent invading your senses.

The sounds coming from the pair of you were borderline animalistic in the middle of the dance floor. He pulled back and you caught your breath, your lipstick staying on his puffy lips. You leaned into his body and felt the bulge in his pants.

“What’s this then, Stevie?” You purred, running your hands over his body.

“Years of waiting.” He said and grabbed your hand, walking you to the bathroom, pushing you inside and locking the door. He set you on the counter and stepped between your legs, hands trailing up your thighs, kissing your neck causing whimpers to fall from your lips.

His hands were inches from where you needed him but then he pulled them away when your breath hitched.

“Tell me what you need, angel…” He whispered.

You let out a soft moan and he smirked. “You want my fingers, baby?”

You nodded but he shock his head and gripped your chin. “Words.”

“Yes, Stevie.” You nodded and he kissed your jaw.

“Good girl.” He said and pulled down your panties, running a finger through your folds and then pushing two fingers in your entrance, pumping as you gripped his bicep, moaning. He added a third and curled them, scissoring them inside you and rubbing your clit with his thumb. “That’s it, good girl, come undone around my fingers, give me it, oh, you’re my good girl.” He kissed your face as you came around his fingers.

He pulled out his fingers and it drew a whimper from your lips at their absence but then he sucked his fingers clean. “Sweeter than I could’ve imagined.” He growled and then kissed you deeply as he unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans, pulling down his boxers as you looked down to his length, fuck, he was huge.

He picked you up and bent you over the sink. “Hold onto something.” Pushing the skirt off your dress up.

You gripped the sink and he pushed himself inside, waiting until he was fully inside and you adjusted to his size before he moved slowly. “Fuck, so beautiful. Feels so good, pussy made f’me.” He kissed the back of your neck as he made a make shift ponytail, pulling your against his chest.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how deep I am, feel how deep my love is.” He gripped your hands and put them over the little bulge in your belly with each thrust.

Your moans and whimpers tangled together before a booming knock was planted on the door.

“Gotta be quiet, princess, shh.” He covered your mouth with his hand and then sped up. Your back arched as you moaned into his hand, his moans flooded your ears.

“Come undone with me.” He said, voice low as his thrusts grew sloppier. The coil in your stomach undid itself and you saw stars as you moaned around him, legs feeling like jelly when you felt him finish in you.

Once you were dressed again, you gripped his bicep as he helped you walk to the booth and you were giggling and flushed. He stood at the table, your head on his chest.

“I’m gonna take her home, she’s a bit out of it.” Steve said, fixing your hair.

“Hmm, yeah sure…” Cassie smirked. “Oh, Steve, if you need it, Tylenol is in the top bathroom drawer.” She winked before you and Steve walked out.

Steve had never imagined himself having to live with a roommate, especially a woman that wasn’t his significant other, but coaching and teaching sex-ed to a bunch of middle schoolers didn’t pay shit, and he couldn’t stand living with his parents anymore. So when one of the few people besides him out of the rag-tag group of people he called friends that had stayed in Hawkins mentions something about getting a place together he figures– why not? 

He’d known you for years, had experienced too many near death experiences with you, and he also knew you were looking for any excuse to get out of the damn near slum of an apartment you were living in then. So, on a bright sunny Saturday morning in April the two of you sign the lease for what has now been your home for a little over a year. 

Living with each other was a lot easier than either of you thought it was going to be. Shared chore lists, weekly movie nights, eating dinner together, learning each other’s little quirks– it was all very domestic.

So domestic that sometimes your lines of reality and fantasy blurred and sometimes you’d have to remind yourself that Steve was not your boyfriend and just your best friend. Which usually happened a couple times a month when he’d casually mention that he had a date and so you’d be the good roommate you are and let him have his alone time and then the following week you’d just so happen to have a date also. 

Which is how you’ve ended up with Eric breathing heavily into your ear as he pounds into you with such a hurry that you think maybe he wants this to be over with faster than you do. Your bedframe repeatedly hits the wall as you count the ceiling tiles above you and it’s not until you hear him groan something along the lines of i’m cumming that you let out a fake gasp and then he’s rolling off of you without as much as a second glance. 

He says he’ll call you tomorrow. 

You know he more than likely won’t and that’s more than fine with you. 

Steve strolls through the door near midnight, figuring thats plenty enough time for you two to do whatever, and for the guy to leave without there being any awkward introductions. Thankfully he’s right and he’s greeted with you sitting on the couch, freshly showered and in your pajamas, with what he can only assume is your leftovers from dinner in your lap. 

He plops down onto the couch beside you with a sigh and you immediately shove the styrofoam container of lasagna towards him. “Want some? It’s from Enzo’s.” 

“Enzo’s?” Steve questions, eyebrows raised in surprise. “He must have really wanted to impress you,” he states, grabbing the fork and shoving a piece in his mouth without a second thought. “Did it work?” 

“No,” you reply, taking the fork back from him and splitting what’s left down the middle for the two of you to share. “Should have ended the date after dinner was over.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he knows what you’re alluding to, and he just nods understandingly at you as he takes his turn with the fork. The two of you didn’t necessarily talk about your sex lives, it was implied when either of you had mentioned going on a date and that you needed the apartment to yourself, but neither of you sat here and talked in detail about the latest orgasm you’d had, but if Steve had any inkling, he was pretty sure the guys you brought home weren’t giving you any. 

The thing about your unspoken agreement with Steve about dates and bringing people home was that it wasn’t fool proof. Sometimes the two of you would go out without any expectations of bringing someone home. Then one thing leads to another and suddenly there’s someone trailing in behind either of you and the sound of a bedroom door slamming. It didn’t happen often enough to where it would be an issue, but it happened enough that Steve, while he wasn’t trying to be a creep, was being observant and had seemed to notice the lack of noise from you. 

He’d quickly put on music when he’d hear the sound of your drunken giggles echoing down the hall and then a much deeper voice accompanying yours, but the times when you come home long after he’d gone to bed and you end up waking him up with your loud footsteps and hushes to the mystery man– those times he shamelessly listens.

It seems to be the same variation of sounds and actions every time– the guy trying to be all suave with you, your headboard hitting the wall in rapid succession for a short amount of time, some curses from the guy, and then the sound of the front door slamming shut. Not a single peep out of you the whole time and at first Steve thinks you’re just being considerate, that you’d made the decision to bring someone home while he was here so you’re just being extra quiet, but he also knows that sometimes no matter how hard you try, staying quiet during sex is sometimes impossible.

He figures you’re bound to slip up after a while and he’ll hear a moan or a little dirty talk bleed through the walls, but it never does, except for that one guy you brought home that would not stop with the dirty talk and kept asking you who’s pussy this was. Needless to say Steve ended up putting on music that night. 

And not to toot his own horn, but he knew what it sounded like when a woman was experiencing pleasure, and from what he could tell those guys weren’t getting you off. While he can’t account for the times he isn’t in the apartment, he can tell from your demeanor when he comes home that those times aren’t particularly stellar either. 

Your less than blissed out state as you sit next to him on the couch, sharing your leftover lasagna with him, it proves his point. 

But Steve doesn’t say anything about your lack of post sex glow and how these guys should make it their priority to make you feel good. He doesn’t want to overstep, doesn’t want to cross any lines and potentially make things weird between the two of you, even if he’s a little more concerned with how other guys are treating you in bed than he should be. 

Instead he takes the last bite of his portion of the lasagna and extends an olive branch, an out if you ever needed it, because again he cares about you more than he should. 

“You know if you’re on a date and he’s weird or making you uncomfortable or even if you just want to come home– you can call me. No questions asked, I'll come get you. I’m almost always at Eddie’s or at Slinky’s having a beer.” 

You give him a soft smile, trying to ignore the way his words make your heart do a traitorous thing, like the idea of him being willing to drive across town to come and take you home doesn’t make whatever you feel towards him that much more complicated. 

“Thanks Steve,” you reply, eyes focused on the little bit of lasagna left instead of him. 

“Of course,” he responds, slowly standing up from the couch. “Think I’m gonna go to bed,” his eyes traipse over you, waiting for you to look up at him, and when you finally do he smiles in that endearing way that makes your chest ache. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

You hear his bedroom door close and you’re left sitting on the couch with the now empty takeout container in your lap wondering how much longer you can go on with this act. How much longer can you continue to bring home these guys that don’t know your clit from your nipple and act like the man you actually want isn’t thirty feet away. 

You always get in your head like this afterwards, especially when Steve comes home and you’re absolutely buzzing on the inside with want, but the one thing you want– you can’t have. 

The couch creaks under you as you get up and make the decision to leave the takeout container on the coffee table, claiming you’ll take care of it in the morning. As you pad down the hall and past Steve’s room you hear his muffled voice behind his door and you’re not meaning to eavesdrop, but the sickeningly sweet tone that bleeds out under the door has you frozen in place. 

“Yeah, yeah– I know it’s late and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get you out of my mind.” 

“Your number was burning a hole in my pocket from the moment you gave it to me tonight. I couldn't wait to hear your voice again.” 

“I had a really good time tonight and I’d like to see you again if you’re up for it?” 

“Yeah? Great. How about dinner next Friday?” 

“Can’t wait. I’ll call you later with the details.” 

That all too familiar sinking sensation settles deep in your gut and before Steve can figure out you were listening you dart across the hall and into your room. The door slams shut behind you with no regard for the pictures on your wall and before you know it you’re burying your face into your pillow. He’d met someone while he was out tonight and you know you have absolutely no room to talk, no leg to stand on when it came to however you were feeling, you’d been on a date tonight, brought a guy home and had sex, if you could call it that. 

Steve was allowed to do whatever he wanted to, and you knew that, it’s just that you don’t think you can handle another failed date on your end to fill that ache in your heart. 

The next morning you take the initiative to call Eric before he doesn’t and the second date is set for Saturday. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A couple weeks later you manage to score a day off during the week, which meant you had the apartment to yourself.

Steve had thought it was weird how eager you were to send him off to work this morning, in fact majority of the time when you manage to get a day off during the week you’re begging him to play hooky and spend the day with you, but this morning you were nearly pushing him out the door.

He tried not to think too much of it, maybe you just wanted some alone time, or maybe you were inviting Eric over. He had spent the night the last time you went out, which Steve thought was strange, considering you never let guys sleep over, but the mid breakfast meeting between the two men had been interesting to say the least. 

As you walked into the kitchen that morning you found Steve sitting at the little table eating his food with your plate across from him– eggs made just how you like, orange juice in your favorite cup, and toast still hot to the touch. It wasn’t an unusual sight by any means, but what was unusual was you having company in the morning. So he doesn’t even think to make sure you’re alone when he hears you enter the kitchen, eyes not even looking up from his plate, before he blurts out – was he any better this time?

Eric awkwardly clears his throat from behind you and Steve looks up wide-eyed and slightly embarrassed. Before Steve can even begin to spit out an apology Eric mumbles I should get going and it’s an awkward thirty seconds as he gathers his jacket from your room and walks out the front door, because you don’t even try to get him to stay and Steve continues eating his eggs, now content with the departure of the man from your shared apartment. 

Steve figured after that debacle there was no way Eric would be back around, but if he knew Steve wasn’t going to be there today, well there was a chance, and it bothers Steve more than he’d like to admit. Either way though, Steve was going to find out what was going on back at home, because by the time second period rolled around he realized he’d forgotten his change of clothes for baseball practice tonight. There was no way he was going to be out there on that field in slacks and tie, especially when in true Indiana fashion, summer had arrived early and it was sweltering already in May. He’d just run home on his lunch break and grab some clothes and be right back– no big deal. 

He’d even called you before he left to give you a heads up that he was coming home soon, but there was no answer, and so he thinks that maybe his little spiral over Eric potentially being there was for nothing and you probably were out shopping. 

When his pickup truck pulls into his unofficially assigned parking spot at home and your black sedan is in its usual spot next to his– his mind conjures up a million different reasons as to why you hadn’t answered the phone earlier. None of them are good and frankly majority of them involve Eric and he chooses to ignore the alarms going off in his head about how he shouldn’t care this much about you fucking another guy. 

His eyes do a quick sweep of the parking lot, he doesn’t know what Eric drives, so he really doesn’t even know what he’s looking for, but Steve feels like he has crazy intuition and he’s expecting the vehicle to glow like a fucking beacon the second his eyes land on it. 

The search is of course futile. 

His wristwatch lets him know he only has twenty minutes left until he needs to be back at the school and with the hope of not walking through the front door to find Eric balls deep in you– Steve reluctantly gets out of the truck and walks towards apartment 4B. 

For the first time ever in his life– Steve knocks on his own front door. Not because he’s forgotten his key, but because he’s afraid of what might be going down on the other side of this couple inches of wood.. He gives it a minute and when there’s no response or the sound of two people scrambling to get dressed, he shoves his key in the lock and slowly opens the door. 

The living room comes into view as the door fully swings open and to Steve’s surprise it’s exactly as he remembers it when he left this morning– your favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, his glasses that he claims he doesn’t need on the coffee table, and some of the various VHS tapes that Steve had nabbed back from his Family Video days in a pile on the side table. 

The apartment is eerily quiet save for the hum of the refrigerator and Steve comes to the conclusion that one of your friends has come and picked you up, because when you’re home it’s obvious. There’s always music playing or the TV is loudly playing some show you aren’t even watching– your presence is always known and right now all that lingers is reminders of you. 

He doesn’t think much more of it as he wanders down the hall and towards his room, but the sound that bounces off your four walls and through your door has Steve stunned and his feet cemented to the floor. 

“Oh my god!” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

From the moment you woke up this morning you’d been buzzing with anticipation, finally having the apartment to yourself in god knows how long, the new toy you’d picked up the other day burning a hole in your bedside drawer, and the fact that you haven’t had a good orgasm in ages– it had you wound tighter than a drum. 

It didn’t help that you’d slightly been edging yourself all morning, refusing to touch yourself, but constantly thinking about how good it was going to feel once you did. You could have jumped right into your bed and shoved your hand down your pants as soon as Steve left this morning, but this was more fun, and you knew the payoff for waiting would be worth it. 

It’s not until you find yourself squeezing your thighs together as you fold laundry that you finally cave. 

You grab your new vibrator from the drawer and get comfy on your bed as your heart nearly beats out of your chest from how worked up you are without even touching yourself yet. You’re still in your pajamas, a big t-shirt and shorts, but you keep them on to tease yourself just a little longer. The feeling of your fingertips tracing antagonizingly slow circles around your nipples through your thin t-shirt has a steady warmth spreading through your body and the ache between your plush thighs that much stronger. 

While your left hand still gives your nipples the attention they so desperately crave, your right travels down past your navel and in between your thighs. Your sleep shorts are thin and perhaps you hadn’t put any underwear on last night when you went to bed and maybe the ragged seam had been rubbing up against your clit all morning and maybe you did it on purpose so that when you finally caved just the slightest touch to yourself would have you gasping. 

Which is exactly what happens when your index and middle finger press down against your clothed core and the seam of your shorts rubs against that sensitive bundle of nerves. It feels so good and god you want nothing more than to just go crazy and bring yourself over the edge, but you’ve been so patient, and you’ve got all day to play with yourself. 

So why ruin the fun so prematurely? 

You start slow, the pads of your fingers rubbing small circles over the fabric while your other hand, that is now slipped under your shirt, pinches and gently tugs at your nipples, the both of them working in tandem. The warmth that radiates through you is intoxicating and it doesn’t shock you to feel the cotton of your shorts dampening in record time. You’d been working yourself up all morning and when your hand finally trails under the waistband of your shorts it’s a little obscene just how wet you are. 

Your shorts quickly get discarded, haphazardly thrown onto your floor, and then your shirt gets bunched up just enough to expose your tits to the cool air. The anticipation is burning through you like a wildfire and the only way to smother it is to make yourself come. 

Which is something you planned on doing– multiple times. 

Soft moans slip past your lips as your fingers rub tight little circles on your clit and as your eyes flutter closed your mind wanders to the one thing that you know will only amplify your pleasure.

Steve. 

You’d imagined one too many times, what it would be like to be the girl moaning underneath him, how it would feel to have his big warm hands caressing your body, to have him showering you in compliments and praises. 

Your fingers trail through your folds and down to your sopping wet cunt, circling the sensitive skin around your entrance with such a slow tortuous pace that it tears a whimper from you, hips bucking forward for something more. You know your fingers aren’t going to give you what you need, but you sink your index and middle finger in anyways, searching for that pleasure that you’ve never been able to give yourself. 

If only you had Steve’s long and thick fingers inside you right now, he’d surely have you grabbing at the sheets as he curled them just right, reaching that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. It wasn’t like you had much experience when it came to getting pleasure from your g-spot, considering the only person to ever find it was the girl you hooked up with last October, but you had confidence that Steve would have no issue. 

Just the idea of Steve pumping his fingers inside your tight cunt, stretching you out as he adds a third, it has you mewling. The squelching sounds of your own fingers pistoning into you fills the room and you could only imagine the dirty comment Steve would make about it. You knew he had a way with his words in the bedroom, you’d shamelessly listen through the walls on those nights when he’d bring home a girl on a whim, and you’d stored away those words for times like these. 

God, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you pretty girl?

You’re soaking my cock baby. 

Gonna make a mess all over my sheets aren’t you? 

But even with Steve’s dirty talk echoing around in your head, your fingers of course aren’t enough to bring you over the edge, and you’re hurriedly reaching for your vibrator, slick fingers fumbling with the button before it comes to life in your palm. 

The second you press it to your swollen clit it seems as if electricity shoots through you, pleasure coursing through every vein in your body, and you’ve never been more thankful to be home alone as you lose all composure. 

“Oh my god!” 

Your eyes are screwed shut, head thrown back against your pillow, and the prettiest sounds continue to slip past your lips as you increase the intensity level on the toy. 

It doesn’t take long at all for that all too familiar feeling to creep up on you, for the warmth that’s started low in your belly to spread throughout your body. When you take your vibrator off your clit and slowly trail it up your body all the way to your nipples and circle each of them with it you swear you lose all ability to breath for a second. 

Your chest heaves as you trail it back down your body and back to the sensitive pearl between your spread legs, increasing the intensity once again, which makes your chest heave even more. You’re teetering on the edge, the coil in your tummy on the verge of snapping, and all you can think about is Steve. 

How it sounded when he’d brought home Amanda a couple weeks ago– which is what had caused Eric to happen– how she’d moaned out his name laced with such pleasure that it made you squeeze your thighs together while you laid in bed. How she’d told him don’t stop and how she unapologetically let everyone know how good she was feeling. There was clearly no need for her to fake it. 

God you wanted to know what it was like to be pleased like that, to be taken care of in such a way by someone else that it had you practically incoherent. 

The bad thing was, you wanted that someone to be Steve, who was unfortunately your roommate and best friend. So, having unholy thoughts about him while you masturbated was just going to have to suffice. 

You click the intensity button once again and that is what finally brings you over the edge and turns you into a babbling mess, legs trembling, free hand clutching so tightly onto the sheets that your fingers cramp. 

“Oh my fucking god. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you holler, pressing the toy harder against your clit as you ride out your orgasm, wishing it was Steve giving you it instead of this vibrator. “Please don’t stop, please, please.” 

Something mixed with greed and insanity takes over you and you press the intensity button again causing your leg to twitch and your hips to buck upwards, all while the vibrator is still glued to your clit. Your second orgasm crashes in fast, riding on the coattails of your first one, and it hits hard. 

“Oh fuck. Oh my god. Please Ste-”

You bite down on your fist, eyes rolling to the back of your head, all while muffled sobs fill your room. The vibrator gets tossed somewhere, on your bed or floor you aren’t sure, but your legs collapse out from under you and you lay flat on your bed, ears ringing with aftershocks coursing through you. 

On the other side of the door Steve is beside himself, his cheeks are flushed, and the semi he’s sporting is damn near a full erection at this point. He knew he should have swiftly turned around and left the second he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t, not when he’s imagined what you sounded like for some time now. What it sounded like when you were experiencing pleasure, what it sounded like when you came, and what it sounded like when you said his name. 

Alright so maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but Steve swears it sounded like you were about ready to moan his name, and you very well may have been getting ready to stay stop again, but he shamelessly hopes it was his name, because then he wouldn’t feel as dirty knowing you think about him when you touch yourself just like he does with you. 

God, you sounded so pretty though, and Steve can’t believe that those sounds came out of you. The girl who he wouldn’t even know was having sex unless he heard your headboard and the sound of the guy or you in a nonchalant way mentioning that the sex with whoever was shit. 

His heart is nearly beating out of his chest and his dick is achingly hard as he hears you coming down from what he could tell was two back to back orgasms. The way he can still hear little whimpers coming from you as you probably lay there spent, your inner thighs slick with your arousal, nipples still so sensitive and sore from you tugging on them. 

There were a million dirty thoughts swirling around in his head and he should feel ashamed, should feel like a creep for what he’s thinking, what he listened in on, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t for a long time when it came to you and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that either. 

Steve’s startled out of his horny moral dilemma by the sound of your bed creaking and before he can get caught he’s swiftly darting into his room, grabbing what might be a dirty cut off t-shirt and shorts, and tip-toeing back down the hall and out the door. 

As soon as the driver’s side door of Steve’s truck slams shut (which is the only way to guarantee it’s actually shut after Dustin fucked around with it by swinging on it like he was five and now it’s never been the same since) he let’s out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in as his hands grip the steering wheel with such vigor that his knuckles are stark white. 

He quickly adjusts himself in his slacks, tucking his erection into the waistband of his boxers, and tries to think of anything other than the sound of your pretty little whimpers. His head smacks against the headrest as his cheeks puff up, blowing out yet another deep breath combined with an explicit of some sort. 

Steve takes one last look at the apartment, shoves the key in the ignition, and backs out of his parking space like his whole world hasn’t just flipped upside down. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s nearing seven-thirty by the time Steve trudges in through the front door in his cut off tee and shorts, sweaty and hot, and still thinking about what took place in this said apartment hours earlier. The remainder of the school day had been a slow type of torture he’d not wish upon his worst enemy and then he had to go coach baseball in the sweltering sun like his whole body wasn’t already on fire. 

You had occupied every square inch on his brain since he left the apartment earlier and at times it wasn’t even anything inherently sexual– it was just you. How he loved coming home everyday to you, how you knew what was wrong with him before he did sometimes, how you deserved to be with someone that could take care of you in a multitude of ways. 

And the sight that greets him as he enters your shared home does nothing to eradicate the overwhelming infiltration of you in his mind. You’re standing at the stove, comfy clothes already on, humming along to whatever Fleetwood Mac song is playing on the radio, and the unmistakable smell of his favorite meal wafts towards him. 

You turn around and the sight of Steve standing there startles you, causing you to jump slightly, then let out the prettiest laugh he thinks he’s ever heard, and it makes Steve’s heart do a traitorous thing.

He figured he’d make it all awkward seeing you for the first time after hearing and listening to what you were doing earlier, but it wasn’t the least bit awkward. It was like any other evening, except you were glowing more than usual, smiling at him like he’d personally given you those orgasms earlier and god as unhinged as it sounded he could only imagine what you looked like directly after sex. 

Which now has his dick doing a traitorous thing instead of his heart. 

“Hard practice?” you ask, eyeing how his biceps glisten with sweat and how he’s got his baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face. 

“Yeah, hot as hell out there today,” Steve replies, trying not to notice how you don’t have a bra on, how the window AC unit that you insist on running on full blast has your nipples poking through the thin cotton. 

“Well,” you start, before turning back to the stove to stir the boiling spaghetti noodles. “You’re in luck because dinner is almost ready and I’ve made your favorite. Should be done in a few, the chicken is broiling in the oven. I’m trying to get the cheese a little crispy just how you like.” 

“I’m gonna go take a shower real quick then.” 

You nod, not bothering to turn back to face him as you stir the sauce. “Alright, I’ll holler when it’s done.” 

Steve hurries down the hall towards the bathroom and quickly strips out of his sweaty practice clothes, making sure to put them in the hamper because he’s not a slob, and then gets in the shower before he loses his mind.

The cold water does nothing to smother the fire that’s ignited low in his gut and he can’t believe you making him god damn chicken parmesan has got his dick hard again. 

He really is a simple guy and the domesticality of it all does more for him than he’d like to admit. 

Steve knows he’s got to do something about his not so little problem and so he lets his mind focus solely on you as he wraps his hand around his aching cock. His fingers gently squeeze around his shaft and on the first upstroke his hips embarrassingly buck into his fist with no control as his head tips back against the shower wall. 

He fucks his fist with no abandon and when his thumb glides over his throbbing tip a broken moan slips out of him, bouncing off the tile and hopefully not out to the kitchen. His head is swarming with you and all he can think about is how pretty you sounded earlier, how he’d never expected you to be so loud, and it only makes him want to see how much louder you can get. 

He thinks about how he’d love nothing more than to thank you for making him his favorite dinner later by going down on you. To thank you for taking such good care of him, because you do without even realizing it, and as much as Steve is a provider, the kind of person that takes care of others because it’s who he is. Sometimes he needs to be taken care of too, and you do it so well that Steve doesn’t even realize he’s being taken care of, and to him that deserves a mind blowing orgasm or two. 

His chest heaves and he has to brace himself against the wall with his other hand as he continues to stroke himself, imagining it was your soft hands wrapped around him right now, and not his callused ones. 

You consume him entirely and he finds himself having to bite down on the bicep of his extended arm to muffle the moans and whimpers that want to come alive and live within the four walls of this tiny bathroom. 

He’s close, he can feel that sweet release sneaking up on him fast, and with one last stroke Steve comes so hard that he nearly draws blood from how hard he’s biting down on his arm, your name and profanities muffled against the tanned muscle. He paints the shower wall with his cum, stroking himself to damn near overstimulation, until he finally slumps against the wall behind him.

Exhaustion creeps in fast and he’s still trying to catch his breath when he hears a knock on the door. 

“Steve! Hurry up! Dinner is getting cold.” 

He swallows hard, heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the idea of you listening in on him like he had you, but he can’t let his mind go any further than that, can’t let you wait any longer. So, he rinses his cum off the tile wall and quickly finishes his shower. 

When he joins you a few minutes later at the tiny table in the kitchen, his hair still dripping wet onto the old Hawkins High Phys Ed shirt he threw on, and you immediately tease him about having to reheat his own food, but then grab the plate anyways and toss it into the microwave for thirty seconds. 

it was absolutely risky, but god, you would lie if you said that you didn’t like the thrill.

and steve seemed to like it as well—at least it looked like that when you pulled him through the door, lips moving against his and finding him already hard in his pants.

“you know… it wouldn’t be so hard for me to hold myself back if you’d just loose that damn uniform… because stevie, this is absolutely sexy,” you murmured, giving the tip of his cock a kitten lick.

his hips bucked upwards instinctively, a low groan rumbling through his chest while one hand flew to the back of your head, clenching in the strands.

“jesus christ…” he whispered, pupils dark with lust, “it’s my work outfit. you know i can’t just ‘lose it’.”

that earned him a gentle suck on the head, and you felt him twitching greedily in your hand.

it all started when you came to him about two weeks ago, right after your date dumped you.

he was clearly convinced that an inexperienced girl like you wasn’t good in bed, that’s why he wanted to find someone else—someone with more experience.

shortly, not a virgin.

and so you came to your best friend, since you where twelve years old, asking him to help you get some of that experience.

since then, you made out almost every day.

and god, steve was a mess. he always was.

his eyes were pressed shut, biting down on those plump and pink lips, looking like some sex god who just jumped right out of your dreams.

the only difference: he was your best friend and all of this happened because you only needed him to teach you in things like blowjobs.

but lord, it was the best thing that ever happened to you.

“fuck! you’re…” steve grunted, more precum spilling out and coating your lips. “you’re learning so fast, princess.”

you decided to go further then. by now, you knew what drove him crazy.

so you took him slowly, swallowing on the way down until his head hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

steve’s hand gripped the arm of the chair he was sitting on, knuckles turning white while he other hand stayed in your hair, guiding you gently.

“oh shit, baby. just like that,” he choked out, his hips thrusting up, further into the heat but you stopped him by wrapping your hand around his base—the only part you couldn’t take.

the squeeze made him twitch against your tongue and you hummed, eyes beginning to water from the intensity of holding back more gags.

“you’re taking it so well…” you hear the praise and it made you press your thighs together. “such a good girl.”

then, his control snapped.

he bucked his hips upwards again, hitting the back of your throat again and you gagged, one single tear dropping down as your fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his hairy thighs.

“just like that… good girl…” he chanted out, his hips setting a steady rhythm, fucking up into your mouth.

you took steady breaths through your nose, relaxing your jaw, giving him the space he needed to get off.

he made you choke on him, tears streaming down your face and saliva dripping from your chin, making everything messy.

after a while, you swallowed again, his cock pulsing, signaling you he was close.

now it was you, starting to bob your head. up and down, letting him slip out, suckling on the tip before taking him all the way in again.

“baby, baby, i’m gonna—fuuuck—i’m gonna cum. you need to—“

you knew what he wanted to say. he always did. but you never pulled away.

thick ropes of his cum shot out, spilling down your throat and all over your lips and face when you pulled away.

it was messy, but god, it was absolutely perfect.

steve’s head lolled to the side, his cock still twitching as he came down from that intense high, his gaze on you without daring to look away.

you licked your lips clean from his semen, grinning when he let out a gasp. “you just… did it again,” he murmured, reaching out, his thumb brushing some drops of his cum away from your chin.

“licking my cum like it’s some kind of candy. my dirty little slut, hm?” he teased, but you knew better.

he meant every single word.

2026 whispersoflost

The inside of the Winnebago feels too small for everything that’s happened.

Too quiet, but somehow still too loud at the same time.

Every rattle of the road hums through the walls, through the floor, through your bones as the van pushes forward through Hawkins—back on the right side now, but nothing about it feels right anymore. Not after everything. Not after tonight.

You’re laid out across the back bench, barely aware of how you got there. Every part of you aches—deep, heavy, bone-tired pain that settles into your limbs and refuses to leave. Your side burns where the bites tore through, your ribs protesting every shallow breath you take, your body still running on whatever adrenaline hasn’t fully drained yet.

But it’s fading.

Steve is right there.

He hasn’t left you.

Not once.

He’s sitting beside you, half-turned toward you even as the van moves, one arm braced behind your shoulders to keep you steady with every bump in the road, the other resting lightly over your hand like he’s afraid if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll slip away.

His thumb keeps brushing over your knuckles.

Over and over.

Grounding.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, voice low, rough around the edges but steady where it counts. Close enough that you can feel it more than hear it. “You’re okay… we’re almost there, alright? Just—stay with me.”

You don’t know if you respond.

You try to.

Your fingers twitch faintly under his, your head shifting just enough that it brushes against his shoulder, but even that feels like too much effort.

The rest of the van is… quiet.

Not peaceful.

Just… broken.

Nancy is driving, hands tight on the wheel, eyes locked on the road ahead like if she looks anywhere else, everything might fall apart again. She hasn’t said a word in minutes—maybe longer—but you can see it in the way her shoulders are set, the way she doesn’t slow even when the road gets rough.

Lucas is a few feet away, sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the cabinet as he cradles Max in his arms.

She’s still.

Too still.

Her head rests against his chest, her limbs slack, her face pale in a way that makes your stomach twist even through the haze of pain. His hand stays locked around hers, his other arm wrapped tightly around her like if he just holds on hard enough, she won’t slip away.

He hasn’t spoken either.

Not once.

Dustin sits across from them, his leg stretched out awkwardly, hastily splinted, his hands resting uselessly in his lap.

He’s not crying.

That’s almost worse.

He’s just… staring.

At nothing.

At everything.

Like the world hasn’t caught up to him yet, like the moment hasn’t landed fully, like if he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe too hard—maybe it won’t be real.

No one knows what to say.

There’s nothing left to say.

The only sound inside the van is the road, the engine, and Steve’s voice—quiet, constant, meant only for you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, leaning a little closer when your breathing stutters. His hand shifts, careful as it cups the side of your face for just a second before dropping back to yours. “You’re okay… I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And he means it.

You know he does.

The Winnebago hits a rough patch of road, the whole van jolting slightly, and Steve’s grip tightens instinctively, his arm steadying you before the movement can jostle you too much.

You let out a small breath, your eyes slipping closed for a second—

Then—

“Nancy…”

Robin’s voice cuts in from the front, quieter than usual, edged with something you don’t quite catch at first.

Nancy doesn’t respond.

“Hey—Nance…”

There’s something in her tone this time that pulls at you, even through the fog, and your eyes flutter open slightly.

The van slows.

Not much.

Just enough.

“…What is that?” Robin breathes.

Steve shifts slightly beside you, his attention lifting toward the windshield, his hand tightening around yours without thinking.

You feel it before you fully see it.

The change.

The air.

Something wrong.

“Hawkins—” Nancy starts, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve leans forward just slightly, his gaze catching on whatever’s ahead—

And then—

“Holy shit…”

You force your eyes open.

Just enough to see past the front seats, through the windshield—

And your stomach drops.

The ground is split open.

Not cracks.

Not damage.

Rips.

Massive, jagged tears carved through the earth like something clawed its way up from beneath it. They stretch across the road, across the town, glowing deep red from within—like veins of something alive, something bleeding through.

Smoke curls from the edges.

The light pulses.

Wrong.

Everything about it is wrong.

You push yourself up instinctively, your body reacting before your brain can catch up—

Steve’s hand is on you immediately.

“Hey—hey, no—don’t—” he says quickly, firm but gentle as he steadies you, guiding you back down before you can strain anything further. “Don’t move, okay? It’s nothing—you’re okay—just stay down—”

“It’s not nothing, Steve—” Robin mutters under her breath, eyes still fixed out the window.

Nancy doesn’t slow.

She can’t.

The roads are barely holding together as it is.

Cars are scattered. Some abandoned. Some half-crushed where the earth has split beneath them. Sirens wail in the distance—loud, constant, overlapping in a way that makes it hard to tell where one ends and another begins.

The town is… broken.

Completely.

Steve’s hand hasn’t left you.

His thumb brushes over your wrist now, slower, grounding, even as his eyes flick back to you, checking, making sure you’re still there.

“We’re almost there,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s trying to anchor both of you to that one fact. “Hospital’s not far. Just—stay with me, okay?”

You nod—barely.

It’s all you can manage.

The Winnebago lurches slightly as Nancy turns sharply down another street, the hospital coming into view—

And it’s worse.

So much worse.

Lights flood the front entrance, harsh and blinding against the dark. Ambulances line the curb, doors thrown open, people moving fast—too fast—stretchers being wheeled in and out, voices overlapping, shouting, calling for help, for supplies, for anything.

There are too many people.

Too many.

Injured.

Bleeding.

Crying.

The doors barely stay closed long enough to matter.

Nancy slows hard, pulling the van up as close as she can, the engine barely cutting before everything outside rushes in—noise, chaos, panic.

Steve’s already moving.

Careful.

Quick.

“Hey—hey, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his arm sliding under you as he shifts, lifting you just enough to move you without hurting you more, his movements protective, precise despite the urgency.

“I’ve got you.”

And even with everything falling apart around you—

You believe him.

______________________

The second the Winnebago stops, everything moves at once.

Steve doesn’t wait.

He’s already shifting toward you before the engine even fully cuts, one arm sliding carefully beneath your back, the other under your legs, lifting you like you weigh nothing at all despite the way his hands tremble slightly from everything—adrenaline, exhaustion, fear.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, like he hasn’t said anything else for hours, like the words are the only thing holding him together.

The door is thrown open.

Noise crashes in.

Sirens. Shouting. People crying. The sharp, overwhelming hum of too many voices layered on top of each other as the hospital spills out onto the street, barely containing the chaos inside.

Steve jumps down with you held tight against his chest, not even hesitating before pushing forward.

“Hey—HEY—!” he calls out, trying to be heard over everything, his voice rough, strained. “We need help—she’s hurt—!”

No one stops. No one even looks.

There are too many people. Too many injuries. Too much happening all at once.

Behind him, Robin is half-carrying Dustin out of the van, his arm slung over her shoulders, his weight uneven as he tries to keep up despite the splint on his leg. Erica is already moving ahead of them, pushing through the crowd, clearing space as best she can.

“Move—move—let us through—!”

Lucas runs past all of them.

Max in his arms.

He doesn’t slow.

Doesn’t stop for anyone.

“HELP—!” he shouts, his voice breaking as he forces his way toward the entrance. “SHE’S NOT WAKING UP—!”

The doors barely have time to open before all of you are swallowed inside.

And it’s worse. So much worse.

The hospital is overflowing.

Every chair is taken. Every inch of wall space filled. People are sitting on the floor, leaning against each other, bleeding, crying, calling out for help that isn’t coming fast enough. Stretchers line the hallways, nurses rushing between them, doctors shouting orders that get lost in the noise.

Pure panic.

Steve pushes through it anyway.

“Excuse me—hey—please—” he tries again, his voice strained, desperate now as he adjusts his grip on you when your head lolls slightly against his shoulder. “She’s bleeding—she needs help—!”

Still nothing.

No one can stop.

No one has time.

For a second, it feels like you’re just… lost in it. Like you’ve made it this far only to get swallowed by something just as bad.

Then—

“Hey!”

A voice cuts through.

Sharp. Focused.

A nurse.

She’s moving fast, eyes scanning, taking everything in at once—and then she sees you.

Sees the blood.

Sees the way your shirt is soaked through, the rough, rushed bandaging barely holding together over your stomach.

Her entire expression shifts.

“Okay—okay, I’ve got you,” she says quickly, already turning, grabbing a wheelchair and wheeling it over. “Put her down—carefully—”

Steve doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t argue.

He lowers you into the chair as gently as he can, one hand still braced behind your head, the other lingering on your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go completely.

“I’m right here,” he mutters, more to you than anyone else.

The nurse is already moving.

“Follow me.”

And Steve does.

Right on her heels as she pushes you down the hallway, weaving through people, past curtained-off beds, past chaos that doesn’t slow, doesn’t quiet, doesn’t give any of you a second to breathe.

You’re pulled behind a curtain.

Just like that, the noise dulls slightly—still there, still loud, but distant now.

Contained.

The nurse is all focus.

“Alright—let’s see—” she says quickly, hands already moving as she gently—but efficiently—pulls back the makeshift bandages wrapped around your torso.

The fabric peels away.

And even she pauses.

Just for a second.

“…Jesus.”

The bites.

The claw marks.

Angry, deep, torn across your skin in uneven patterns, some already dried with blood, others still seeping faintly.

Her eyes flick up to Steve.

“What happened?”

It’s instinct. The lie comes out before he can think too hard about it.

“She—she got crushed,” he says quickly, his voice tight, uneven. “There was—stuff falling—debris—she got pinned—”

The nurse doesn’t look convinced.

Not even a little.

But she doesn’t push it.

There’s no time.

“Alright,” she says instead, already reaching for supplies. “She’s going to need stitches. A lot of them. But—”

She glances back at the wounds again, assessing quickly, clinically.

“…She’ll be okay.”

The words land.

Hard.

Steve exhales like something in his chest finally gives, his shoulders dropping just slightly as he nods quickly.

“Okay—okay—”

The nurse works fast.

Gloves. Gauze. A syringe already in hand as she leans in.

“This is going to sting,” she warns, though her voice is gentler now, directed at you as she begins administering local anesthetic around the worst of the wounds.

You barely react.

Everything feels distant.

Muted.

Steve steps closer instead.

Right beside you.

His hand comes back to you immediately, cradling the side of your head carefully, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple, grounding, steady.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, his voice softer now, but no less urgent. “You’re okay… you’re okay…”

It’s quieter now.

Just the two of you in this small space behind the curtain, even with everything still happening outside.

The nurse continues her work, methodical, precise.

But Steve doesn’t look at her.

He doesn’t look at anything else.

Just you.

“You’re okay,” he whispers again, leaning his forehead briefly against yours, his voice catching slightly at the edges despite how hard he tries to keep it steady.

More for himself than you.

“I’ve got you.”

_____________________________________

By the time the nurse finishes, everything feels strangely distant.

Not quiet—not really—but dulled, like the chaos of the hospital has been pushed just far enough away that it can’t quite reach you anymore. The sting of the stitches lingers, a sharp, pulling ache every time you shift even slightly, but it’s manageable now. Contained.

Steve doesn’t wait.

The second the nurse steps away, he’s already there, carefully helping you sit up, his hands steady and gentle as if you might break under too much pressure. He moves like he’s thinking about every single point of contact, every inch of you he touches, making sure it doesn’t hurt more than it has to.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like the words are something he needs just as much as you do.

He eases you into the wheelchair, adjusting the blanket over your lap, his hand lingering at your shoulder for a second longer than necessary—just checking, grounding, making sure you’re still there.

Then he’s pushing you out.

Back into the noise.

The hospital is just as overwhelming as before—people packed into every hallway, voices overlapping, doctors rushing past without looking, stretchers being wheeled through spaces that aren’t big enough to hold them. The air is thick with panic, with exhaustion, with something that feels too close to grief.

Steve keeps moving anyway.

He doesn’t stop until you’re outside.

The moment the doors swing shut behind you, the noise drops—not completely, but enough that you can finally breathe without feeling like the world is pressing in on all sides.

He guides the wheelchair further away from the entrance, away from the crowd gathered outside, until the chaos dulls into something more distant, something survivable.

Robin and Nancy find you there.

They look just as wrecked as you feel—faces pale, eyes tired, clothes still streaked with dirt and blood that doesn’t belong to them. For a second, none of you say anything. You don’t have to.

Steve is the first to speak.

“Dustin?” he asks, his voice low but urgent, like he’s been holding the question in since the moment you left the van.

Robin answers quickly. “He’s okay. They’re setting his leg now—he’s… he’s alright.”

Steve nods, a small, tight movement, but his shoulders ease just slightly.

“And Max?”

That one lands heavier.

Nancy hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, and that’s all it takes.

“She’s alive,” she says carefully. “But… she’s not awake.”

A pause.

“She’s in a coma.”

The words settle into the space between all of you, heavy and immovable.

Steve swallows, nodding again, slower this time. There’s nothing else to say to that. Nothing that would make it better.

Robin steps a little closer, her expression softening as she looks between the two of you.

“You guys should go,” she says gently. “It’s insane in there. We’ve got it covered.”

Nancy nods in agreement. “Yeah. We’ll stay with them. Make sure everything’s handled.”

Steve hesitates, his eyes flicking between them, like he’s trying to decide if he should stay, if he should help—but then his hand finds yours again, instinctively, grounding himself back where he already knows he needs to be.

“…Okay,” he says quietly.

Robin gives him a small, tired smile. “Go.”

So he does.

He doesn’t look back.

He just starts walking, hands steady on the wheelchair as he guides you away from the hospital, away from the lights and the noise and the constant rush of people. The further you get, the quieter it becomes, until it’s just the sound of his footsteps on the pavement and the faint hum of a town that doesn’t feel like itself anymore.

He doesn’t have a car.

Neither of you really think about it.

He just keeps going.

“…You okay?” he asks after a while, his voice softer now, careful.

You nod.

It’s automatic. Empty.

Because you don’t even know how to answer that question anymore.

Everything feels too big. Too much. Eddie’s face, the sound of the bats, the way the ground split open beneath Hawkins—it all sits heavy in your chest, unmoving, unresolved.

Steve glances down at you, like he knows the nod isn’t real, but he doesn’t push.

“We’re almost there,” he says instead, quieter. “We’ll just… get you home.”

Home.

The word doesn’t feel the same anymore.

By the time your street comes into view, the silence is almost unsettling. No cars moving. No people outside. Just the faint glow of distant fires and the low, constant hum of something broken stretching across the town.

And then you see it.

Your house.

The driveway.

Empty.

Your brows pull together slightly, your gaze fixing on the space where your mom’s car should be.

“…Steve,” you murmur, your voice rough.

He slows immediately. “What?”

“My mom’s car…”

It’s gone.

The absence of it feels louder than anything else.

Steve’s grip on the wheelchair tightens slightly, his posture shifting as he looks toward the house.

“…Let’s just go inside, okay?” he says gently.

But you’re already pushing yourself up.

Too fast.

Pain shoots through your side, sharp and immediate, your body protesting as your legs wobble beneath you—but you don’t stop.

“Hey—hey, easy—” Steve is right there, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you before you can fall. “Careful—”

“I’m fine,” you insist, even though you’re not, your voice thin as you move toward the door.

He doesn’t argue.

He just stays with you.

The door swings open without resistance.

Unlocked.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

“Mom?” you call out, your voice echoing faintly through the space.

Nothing answers.

No footsteps. No voice. No movement at all.

You step further inside, Steve close behind you, his presence solid and steady at your side as his eyes scan the room instinctively.

And then—

The note.

Sitting on the dining table.

Your breath catches as you move toward it, your fingers trembling slightly as you pick it up. You recognize the handwriting instantly.

Rushed. Uneven.

“I’ve gone with the others. I didn’t know if you’d be home, but I couldn’t wait. Please—if you see this, leave. Get out of Hawkins. I love you.”

The words don’t fully register at first.

You read them once.

Then again.

And then it hits.

She’s gone.

She left.

Eddie is gone.

Max is barely holding on.

And now—

There’s no one here.

The paper slips from your hand.

You don’t even feel it fall.

Your knees give out beneath you, your body collapsing to the floor as everything you’ve been holding in finally crashes down all at once. The sob that tears out of you is sharp, uncontrollable, your hands coming up to your face as the weight of it all becomes too much to carry.

“She’s gone,” you choke out, your voice breaking around the words. “She’s just—gone—”

Steve is there before you can even fully fall.

He drops with you, pulling you into him without hesitation, one arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head as he holds you close.

“I know—I know,” he murmurs, his own voice unsteady now, his cheek pressed against your hair. “I’ve got you—I’ve got you—”

You cling to him, your fingers gripping his shirt like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

Everything hurts.

Everything is too much.

And he doesn’t let go.

Not even for a second.

________________________________

Steve doesn’t let you stay on the floor for long.

Not because he’s rushing you—never that—but because he can feel it, the way your body is starting to fold in on itself, the way the weight of everything is dragging you somewhere he doesn’t want you to go alone. His hands stay gentle as he helps you up, one arm firm around your waist, the other steadying your back as you push unsteadily to your feet.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, quieter now, like the words are something constant between you.

You lean into him without thinking.

There isn’t anything left in you to hold yourself up on your own.

For a moment, he just keeps you there—close, grounded against him—his chin brushing lightly over your hair as his grip tightens just slightly, protective in a way that feels instinctive now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. “I’ll stay. As long as you’ll have me, okay? You’re not doing this alone. Not now. Not ever.”

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small nod against him, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He exhales, almost like he’s been holding that in.

“Okay,” he says gently. “Let’s just… try a bath, yeah? Carefully. We’ll clean you up, watch your stitches, and then we’ll lay down. Just… one thing at a time.”

Another nod.

It’s all you can manage.

He doesn’t push for more.

He just shifts his grip slightly, guiding you toward the stairs, moving slowly—matching your pace without ever making it feel like you’re struggling. Every step is careful, deliberate, his arm tightening instinctively whenever you falter even a little.

He knows this house.

That much is obvious.

He doesn’t hesitate when he leads you down the hall, straight to the bathroom like he’s done it a hundred times before—because he has. Nights sneaking in through your window, quiet laughter, falling asleep beside you when the world felt a little too loud.

It feels different now.

He helps you inside, easing you to a stop near the sink before stepping back just enough to give you space.

“I’m gonna grab you some clothes,” he says, voice soft but steady. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You don’t answer.

You just nod faintly, your gaze unfocused as the door clicks shut behind him.

For a moment, you just stand there.

Still.

The adrenaline is gone now. What’s left is something heavier, slower—shock settling into your bones, into your chest, into every quiet space in your mind. Your hands hang loosely at your sides, your breathing shallow, uneven.

You don’t even realize how long he’s gone.

Until he’s back.

The door opens again, and Steve steps in, a small bundle of clothes in his hands—something soft, familiar. Yours.

He sets them down carefully on the counter before turning on the tap, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease, his fingers testing the water like he’s done this before too.

“Not too hot,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You’ll feel it more with the stitches.”

The sound of the water fills the room, steady and grounding as the tub begins to fill.

He turns back toward you then, glancing over like he’s about to step out—to give you privacy, space—

But your hand moves before he can.

Your fingers wrap gently around his wrist.

He stills instantly.

“…Hey,” he says softly, his voice dropping, concern threading through it as he looks at you.

You swallow, your grip tightening just slightly.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper.

It’s quiet. Fragile.

But it lands.

Something in his expression shifts immediately, softening in a way that’s almost painful to look at.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again, this time without hesitation.

He steps back toward you, slower now, careful, giving you time as his hands come up—light, hesitant at first—before settling against your arms.

“Okay?” he adds gently. “We’ll do this together.”

You nod, your breath catching slightly as you let him help you.

There’s nothing rushed about it.

Nothing careless.

Every movement is slow, deliberate, his hands careful as he helps you out of your clothes, pausing whenever you tense, adjusting when something pulls too sharply against your injuries. He keeps his focus on you—on your comfort, your breathing, your balance—like nothing else exists outside of this moment.

When it’s your turn to help him, it’s the same.

Quiet. Simple.

Nothing more than what it needs to be.

The water continues to rise behind you, steam curling faintly into the air as the room fills with warmth.

Steve glances back briefly, reaching to turn the tap off just before it gets too high, his hand testing it once more.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy.”

He steps closer again, one arm wrapping securely around your waist as he guides you toward the tub, the other steadying your arm as you carefully step in.

The heat hits your skin instantly.

Not painful—just enough to make you exhale, your shoulders dropping slightly as your body begins, slowly, to let go of some of the tension it’s been holding.

Steve stays with you.

He doesn’t step away.

He helps you lower down carefully, making sure you’re settled, making sure the water isn’t pulling at your stitches too much, his hands still gentle, still grounding.

And even once you’re in—

He doesn’t let go.

Not really.

He stays right there beside you, close enough that if you reach for him, he’s already there.

Like he promised.

His hands linger at your sides, steadying you as you lower into the water, his touch careful—always careful—like he’s still half-expecting you to slip through his fingers if he lets go for even a second. The heat curls around you slowly, easing into your muscles, softening some of the sharp edges of the pain, but it doesn’t take everything with it.

Nothing really could.

You shift slightly, a quiet breath leaving you as the water settles around your ribs, your stomach, the bandages beginning to loosen at the edges where they meet the surface. For a moment, you think maybe he’ll step back now. Give you space.

He doesn’t.

There’s a brief pause—just long enough for him to glance at you, like he’s silently checking if this is okay, if you’re still with him—before he moves again.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly. “Scoot forward a little for me, okay?”

You do, slowly, your body heavy and tired, your movements small and careful as you shift further into the tub. The water ripples around you, quiet and warm.

Then you feel it.

The slight dip of the bath behind you.

The water rising just a little higher.

Steve slides in behind you, slow and controlled, making sure not to jostle you as he settles himself against the back of the tub. One arm comes around you almost immediately, not tight—never tight—but secure enough that you don’t have to hold yourself up anymore.

“Easy,” he whispers, his voice right by your ear now.

You let yourself lean back.

Your head tips against his shoulder, your back pressing fully into his chest, the solid warmth of him grounding in a way nothing else has been able to all day. His other hand finds your arm, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

That you’re here.

That you’re okay.

Or at least… going to be.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The only sound is the quiet slosh of water, the faint creak of the house settling around you, the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing slowly beginning to match his.

Steve’s chin rests lightly against the side of your head, careful not to put too much weight there, his hold shifting just slightly when you adjust—always adjusting with you, always paying attention.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like it’s just for you. “You don’t have to hold it all together right now.”

Your fingers curl faintly against his forearm where it rests across your middle, your grip weak but there.

He doesn’t move it.

Doesn’t pull away.

He just stays.

One hand comes up slowly, brushing gently through your hair, pushing it back from your face in slow, soothing motions. It’s not rushed. Not forced. Just… there. Something steady in the middle of everything that isn’t.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, the words quieter now, more for himself than anything else. “You’re right here.”

Your eyes fall shut.

The warmth of the water, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, the way his arms stay wrapped around you like he’s not planning on letting go anytime soon—it all starts to blur together into something softer.

Not better.

But… softer.

And for now—

That’s enough.

_____________________________

Steve keeps everything slow.

Even now—when the immediate danger has passed, when the door is shut and the world outside feels a million miles away—he doesn’t rush a single movement. His hands stay steady, careful as they dip into the water and come back up, letting it run gently over your shoulders, your sides, washing away the dirt and dried blood in soft, quiet motions.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmurs, his voice low near your ear.

You shake your head faintly.

It doesn’t—not like before. The sting is still there, the ache deep and constant, but the way he moves… it doesn’t pull, doesn’t press, doesn’t make anything worse. He’s thoughtful about it, deliberate, brushing water over your skin instead of scrubbing, his touch more about comfort than anything else.

The grime fades slowly.

The streaks of red thin and disappear into the bathwater, the evidence of everything you’ve been through washing away piece by piece until what’s left is just you. Bruised. Exhausted. Alive.

His hands linger for a second longer at your arms, like he’s making sure he hasn’t missed anything, before he finally lets them fall back into the water.

“Okay,” he breathes softly. “That’s… that’s better.”

He takes a moment for himself after that, quick in comparison, rinsing off what he can without moving too far from you, without ever fully letting go. It’s quiet. Unspoken. The kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be acknowledged to be understood.

And then he’s back where he was.

Behind you.

His arms wrap around you again, settling across your chest, careful of your injuries, holding you close as your back presses fully into him once more. The water has cooled slightly now, but the warmth of him makes up for it, grounding you in a way nothing else has.

For a while, you just sit there.

Breathing.

Listening to the quiet rhythm of each other, the rise and fall of his chest behind you, the way his fingers shift slightly against your skin every now and then like he’s reassuring himself you’re still here.

That you didn’t disappear the second he looked away.

Your throat tightens.

Your throat tightens, the words sitting there for a second before they finally slip out.

“…I’m sorry.”

You feel him still slightly behind you, not pulling away, not tightening—just pausing, like he’s giving you the space to say whatever you need to say.

“What?” he asks quietly.

You turn your head just enough to look at him, your cheek brushing faintly against his as your eyes find his. There’s something fragile there, something you’ve been holding back for longer than you want to admit.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, softer now, your voice barely above the sound of the water shifting around you. “For not telling you sooner… for not letting you in properly when I should have.”

For a moment, he just looks at you.

Then—

“Shhh.”

His hand comes up gently, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a slow, grounding motion that immediately pulls you back from wherever your thoughts were starting to spiral.

“We don’t need to talk about this right now, okay?” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, leaving no room for you to keep apologising yourself into something heavier.

He leans in slightly, his forehead resting against yours, the contact warm and familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“We’ve got time,” he adds quietly. “We have all the time in the world.”

There’s a softness in the way he says it—not naive, not blind to everything that’s happened—but intentional. Like he’s choosing to believe it anyway. Like he’s choosing this moment over everything else.

Your fingers curl loosely around his wrist, holding onto him just enough to anchor yourself there.

And for once…

You don’t argue.

You don’t pull away.

You let yourself believe him.

Even if it’s just for now.

His lips find yours a second later—slow, gentle, lingering in a way that feels completely different from everything that came before. There’s no urgency behind it, no fear of something ending. It’s just… certain. Steady. Real.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His arm settles around you again, guiding you back against him as easily as breathing.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly.

You sink into him without hesitation, your head resting against his shoulder, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion that’s been waiting for you to stop moving.

His hand finds yours beneath the water, threading through your fingers, holding you there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room quiets.

The water settles.

And slowly, your breathing begins to match his—steady, even, grounded.

Steve’s chin rests lightly against the side of your head, his hold tightening just enough to reassure himself that you’re still there.

That you didn’t disappear.

That this is real.

He doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t need to.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he murmurs. “Get you dry, get you laid down.”

You nod, your fingers tightening slightly against his arms for just a second before you let go.

He moves first, carefully shifting his grip so he can help you sit up, his hands steady as he guides you through it, making sure you don’t twist too much, don’t pull at anything that’s still healing.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats softly.

And you believe him.

As he helps you stand, the water slipping away, the warmth fading but not completely gone, he stays right there—one arm wrapped securely around you, the other reaching for a towel.

He doesn’t let you go.

Not once.

__________________________

You wake up too fast.

Your body jerks slightly, breath catching sharp in your chest as your eyes snap open, your mind scrambling to catch up with where you are before everything from the night before crashes back in all at once.

The house.

The quiet.

The ache in your body.

Steve—

Your head turns instinctively.

The space beside you is empty.

Cold.

Your stomach drops so fast it almost makes you dizzy.

“Steve?”

Your voice comes out rough, barely there, but in the silence it feels louder than it should.

No answer.

The panic hits immediately.

Too fast. Too familiar.

You push yourself up without thinking, the sudden movement pulling hard at your stitches as pain flares sharply through your side—but it barely registers over the way your chest tightens, your breathing already starting to come too quickly.

“Steve—?”

You’re already moving before you can stop yourself.

Your feet hit the floor unevenly, your balance faltering as you grab onto the wall, steadying yourself just long enough to keep going. The hallway feels longer than it should. The house too quiet. Too still.

Your mind is already racing ahead of you.

He left. Something happened. He’s not here—

“Steve!”

You make it halfway down the stairs before—

“Hey—!”

His voice.

Close.

Real.

Everything in you stutters.

You freeze mid-step, your head snapping up—

And there he is.

Standing in the kitchen.

Alive. Fine. Completely okay.

A mug in his hand.

Looking at you like you’ve just scared the hell out of him.

Relief hits you so hard it almost knocks the breath out of your lungs.

“…Hey,” he says again, softer now, already setting the mug down as he moves toward you quickly. “Whoa—hey, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be moving like that—”

“I thought—”

The words don’t come out properly. They catch somewhere in your throat, incomplete and unnecessary all at once.

You don’t need to explain.

He understands anyway.

His expression shifts immediately, something soft and steady replacing the brief flash of concern.

“Oh—hey…” he murmurs, closing the distance between you without hesitation.

His hands come up gently, settling against your arms, steadying you before you can lose your balance again.

“I’m right here,” he says quietly. “I just went downstairs. That’s all.”

Your shoulders drop slightly, your breathing uneven as you nod, trying to calm the sudden spike of panic that hasn’t quite left your chest yet.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just—”

You trail off.

He doesn’t push.

He doesn’t ask.

He just stays there for a second, one hand sliding down to take yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin in that same familiar, grounding rhythm.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Sit. Please.”

You don’t argue.

Not this time.

He helps you the rest of the way down the stairs, slower now, more careful, like he’s recalibrating everything around you again. His hand never leaves you as he guides you into the kitchen and pulls out a chair.

You sit.

He moves without thinking—grabbing the second mug, placing it in front of you, adjusting it slightly so it’s easier for you to reach.

Then he sits across from you.

For a moment—

it’s just quiet.

Not empty.

Not awkward.

Just… still.

You wrap your hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into your fingers, your gaze dropping to the surface as your thoughts slowly begin to catch up with everything that’s happened.

You can feel him watching you.

But he waits.

Gives you the space.

Then—

“I’m sorry.”

Your head lifts slightly.

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“For what I said,” he continues, quieter now. “Before. When we fought.”

His hand shifts slightly on the table, like he’s resisting the instinct to reach for you again.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” he says. “Or made you feel like you had to figure everything out on my timeline. That wasn’t fair.”

Your chest tightens immediately.

“Steve—”

“I mean it,” he adds quickly, shaking his head slightly. “You had everything else going on, and I just kept—adding to it.”

There’s no defensiveness in it.

No hesitation.

Just honesty.

You reach across the table before he can keep going, your hand settling over his, stopping him gently.

“No,” you say softly.

His eyes flick down to your hand, then back up to you.

“I’m sorry,” you continue, your voice steadier now, even if your chest still feels tight. “For shutting you out. For pretending like I didn’t feel it when I did.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around his.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. “Because if I let myself have you… it meant I could lose you.”

The words settle between you.

Heavy.

Real.

Steve doesn’t pull away.

If anything, his hand turns beneath yours, holding it properly now, like he’s not letting you take that back.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he says softly.

You let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh but without any real humor behind it.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I know,” he says.

A beat.

“But I can promise I’m not going anywhere by choice.”

That lands deeper than anything else.

Your eyes soften, your grip tightening slightly.

“I love you.”

The words come out quieter than you expect.

But there’s no hesitation behind them.

Steve stills completely.

For just a second, he looks at you like he’s trying to process it—like he’s making sure he didn’t imagine it.

Then something in his expression breaks open.

“I love you too,” he says immediately. “I think I have for a while—I just… didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

Your chest tightens at that, your thumb brushing lightly over his hand.

“You always were.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s moving before you can think about it—standing, stepping around the table, his hands coming up to your face carefully, like he’s still aware of every injury, every bruise.

And then he kisses you.

Not rushed.

Not hesitant.

Just full.

Certain.

Everything you didn’t say before—everything you almost lost—settling into one moment that finally feels like yours.

Your hand lifts instinctively, gripping lightly at his shirt as you lean into it, your body still tired, still healing—but right now, none of that matters.

Because he’s here.

Because you’re here.

Because you made it.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing a little uneven now.

Neither of you moves.

Neither of you needs to.

Because this—

this is it.

Neither of you moves right away.

The world outside still feels broken, unfinished, waiting for whatever comes next—but here, in this small space, it’s quiet.

Steve’s hand doesn’t leave yours.

And for the first time since everything happened—

you don’t feel like you’re about to lose him.

__________________________

Two days later, Hawkins doesn’t feel like a town anymore—it feels like something hollowed out.

The roads are quieter, but not peaceful. Cars pass in a constant stream, packed to the brim with suitcases, people leaving with no intention of coming back. Every now and then, the ground still looks wrong—split open in jagged lines, faint red light bleeding up from beneath like something is still alive down there, still waiting.

And you stayed.

You had the chance not to.

You’d called your uncle—hands shaking slightly as you held the phone, the line crackling with distance—and he’d passed it to your mom. The second you heard her voice, something in your chest had almost given out completely. She’d begged you to leave, told you she was safe, just outside Indiana, that you could come to her.

Steve had said he’d go with you.

Without hesitation.

But you hadn’t.

Because deep down, something didn’t sit right. Not with the way the earth had split open. Not with the way everything still felt… unfinished.

The Upside Down wasn’t done.

And neither were you.

So you stayed.

Now you’re standing in the Wheeler’s driveway, the late afternoon light too bright for everything that’s happened, your body still aching in ways that don’t let you forget any of it. Every movement pulls slightly at your stitches, a dull, constant reminder that you shouldn’t really be doing any of this at all.

And yet—

You are.

“Hey—no. No, no, no.”

Steve’s voice cuts in immediately as you reach for another box, his hand catching your wrist before you can even properly lift it.

“You are not carrying that.”

You roll your eyes, already trying to pull away. “Steve, I’m fine—”

“You are not fine,” he shoots back, not harsh—never harsh—but firm in that way that makes it very clear he’s not budging. “You rip one stitch and I swear—”

“I won’t rip a stitch,” you mutter, but there’s no real fight behind it.

Not when he’s looking at you like that.

Not when you know he hasn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time since the hospital.

He softens almost immediately, his grip loosening but not fully letting go, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist.

“Just—let me do it, okay?” he says quieter. “Please.”

You huff a small breath through your nose, but you nod.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and before you can even react, he leans in—quick, soft—pressing a brief kiss to your lips.

It’s so natural it almost catches you off guard.

You barely have time to respond before he’s already pulling away, grabbing the box you were about to lift and turning back toward the car like nothing happened.

“Show-off,” you mutter under your breath, but there’s no bite to it.

Not when your chest feels just a little lighter.

Not when he’s right there.

Still.

Always.

Nancy is a few feet away, sorting through another box, her movements slower than usual, more thoughtful. There’s something quiet about her too, something that hasn’t quite settled since everything that happened—but when she looks up at you, there’s a small, reassuring smile there.

Robin is arguing with Dustin about how to fit another box into the already overflowing trunk of Steve’s car, and for a second, it almost feels normal.

Almost.

Then—

Karen’s voice carries from behind you.

“Someone order pizza?”

Dustin’s head snaps up immediately. “Pizza??”

Your attention follows everyone else’s, your gaze lifting toward the top of the driveway—

And then you see it.

A van?

It rolls to a slow, creaking stop, dust kicking up around the tires as the engine idles for half a second too long before it finally cuts.

No one moves.

Not at first.

It feels like the entire world pauses in that moment, the air thick with something you can’t quite name.

The door slides open.

And then—

They step out.

Mike.

Will.

Jonathan.

And—

Eleven.

For a second, it doesn’t feel real.

Like you’re still in the Upside Down, like this is just another version of something that isn’t supposed to exist anymore.

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, your body going still as your eyes lock onto them—really seeing them for the first time in what feels like forever.

Alive.

They’re alive.

Beside you, you feel Steve shift, just slightly closer without even thinking about it, like he’s grounding himself the same way you are.

And just like that—

Everything changes again.

______________________

The distance between you all closes fast.

No hesitation, no second-guessing—just movement, feet carrying you forward before your brain can even catch up, like something instinctive has taken over. Like you need to get there, need to see them up close, to make sure they’re real.

Voices overlap, shoes scuff against pavement, arms collide—

And suddenly, everyone is there.

Karen rushes straight to Mike, pulling him into a tight embrace, her voice already rising with relief and frustration all tangled together. You barely register it, barely hear the words, because your focus has already landed somewhere else.

Will.

He’s standing just a few feet away, looking just as stunned as you feel, like he doesn’t quite know where to start either.

You don’t give him the chance to think about it.

You close the distance in seconds, your arms wrapping around him tight—careful of your injuries, but not enough to stop you from holding on properly, from grounding yourself in something that feels like home.

“Where the hell have you been?” you breathe out, half a laugh, half something far more emotional as you pull back just enough to look at him.

Will lets out a small, breathy laugh, his hands still gripping your arms like he doesn’t want to let go either.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he says, softer.

There’s something in his eyes—something that says he’s been through more than he’s saying out loud—but right now, that doesn’t matter.

He’s here.

Alive.

You squeeze him once more before letting go, your chest still tight but lighter than it was a moment ago.

And then—

Jonathan.

You don’t even think.

You just turn and go straight to him, closing the distance just as he’s pulling away from Nancy. Your arms wrap around him immediately, tight—fierce—like you’re making up for every second he wasn’t there.

“Oh my god—” you breathe, your voice breaking slightly despite yourself. “Where the hell have you been? You haven’t answered my calls in months.”

Jonathan doesn’t answer right away.

He just hugs you back.

Just as tight.

Stronger than you expect, like he’s been holding onto something too and this—this is the first chance he’s had to let it go.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice rough. “I’ve been an idiot—I know, I know—”

You huff out a small, emotional laugh, your grip tightening just slightly before he pulls back enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms like he’s checking you over without even realizing it.

And then—

A hand claps against his back.

“Hey—!”

Steve.

You feel him before you even fully register him, his presence sliding in beside you as he gives Jonathan a firm, friendly pat—just a little too firm to be completely casual.

“Glad you’re back, man,” Steve says, a half-smile on his face—but there’s something else in it too. “But maybe don’t hug her that tight, yeah? She’s kinda… one bad move away from falling apart.”

You roll your eyes immediately.

“Oh my god, I’m fine—”

But Steve’s already leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he pulls back.

Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up.

You catch it instantly.

“Don’t,” you warn him, pointing slightly, already rolling your eyes again as heat creeps up your neck.

He just grins, a little stunned, a little amused, like he’s putting pieces together in real time.

“Okay—wow. Alright,” he mutters under his breath.

You nudge him lightly, trying (and failing) to hide your own small smile before your attention shifts again as voices nearby change tone—

Dustin.

Eleven.

“Where is… Lucas?” Eleven asks, her voice quiet, uncertain.

Dustin’s expression falters immediately, something heavier settling over his features.

“He’s… still at the hospital.”

Eleven’s face tightens. “He is… hurt?”

“No—no, he’s—” Dustin starts, but then he stops.

And something in the air shifts.

“Oh. God,” he says under his breath. “You don’t know…”

The warmth of the reunion fades just slightly.

Not gone.

But… fragile now.

Because whatever comes next—

Isn’t going to be easy.

__________________________________

You linger a second longer than you probably should.

Jonathan’s hand squeezes your shoulder before he lets go, that familiar, grounding kind of touch that makes your chest ache in a completely different way than it has all day.

“Later,” you say softly, nodding toward him. “We’ll… actually talk. Everything.”

He huffs a small breath, half a smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah. We really need to.”

“And you’re explaining everything,” you add, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but there’s warmth there, relief too. “I owe you that.”

Your gaze flicks briefly toward Steve—just for a second—and Jonathan catches it immediately, something amused and knowing settling into his expression.

You roll your eyes before he can say anything.

“Later,” you repeat, softer this time.

“Later,” he agrees.

And then you’re turning away, moving back toward Steve, Robin, and Dustin as they head for the car.

Steve’s already watching you.

Of course he is.

He doesn’t say anything when you step beside him, just reaches for the lighter box in your hands without even asking, swapping it for something smaller—something easier.

You give him a look.

“Steve—”

“You’re carrying that,” he cuts in, nodding toward the smallest box like it’s a final decision.

You sigh, but there’s no real argument behind it anymore. Not when he’s been like this for two days straight. Not when part of you… doesn’t mind.

“Fine,” you mutter.

He presses a quick kiss to your temple in response, like he’s rewarding you for agreeing.

“Thank you.”

You roll your eyes again—but your lips twitch slightly anyway.

______________________________

The drive to Hawkins High is quiet.

Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

The closer you get, the more it shows. The damage. The cracks in the roads. The way people move now—faster, more urgent, like everyone’s trying to stay ahead of something they can’t see.

Steve pulls up outside the gym, the car barely settling before he’s already moving, popping the trunk and grabbing what he can.

“Careful,” he murmurs as you step out, his hand hovering at your back like he’s ready to catch you if you so much as stumble.

“I’m fine,” you say again, softer this time.

He doesn’t argue.

He just stays close.

Inside, it’s worse.

The gym doesn’t look like a gym anymore.

Rows of cots stretch across the floor, every single one occupied. Families packed in tight, belongings shoved into corners, voices overlapping—some quiet, some breaking. A baby cries somewhere to your left. A woman is trying to soothe a child who looks like she hasn’t stopped shaking.

Your chest tightens.

This is what it’s done.

Not just the cracks in the ground. Not just the fire and the smoke.

This.

Dustin slows beside you, his eyes catching on the wall lined with missing posters. So many faces. Too many.

You don’t say anything.

None of you do.

You just keep walking.

The four of you reach the donation table, setting the boxes down carefully in front of the volunteer. You shift your grip as you lower yours, your muscles protesting slightly, but you don’t let it show—not fully.

Robin’s already talking.

“Blankets and sheets here— toys in there— clothes there.”

The volunteer lights up immediately, relief flashing across their face. “Wow— already so organized, we appreciate that! Do you want a tax receipt form?”

Robin shakes her head quickly. “Nah, that’s okay. But—”

She glances back over her shoulder, taking in the full scope of it all again. The crowd. The noise. The need.

Then she turns back.

“Is there anything else we could do to help?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“Yes,” you add immediately, stepping slightly forward despite the way Steve’s hand instinctively tightens at your arm. “Anything. We—we’ll do whatever you need.”

Your voice is quieter than Robin’s, but just as firm.

You mean it.

You need to mean it.

Because standing here, doing nothing—after everything—

That feels worse.

Steve glances at you, something soft flickering across his expression. Not worry, not this time. Something closer to understanding.

He doesn’t stop you.

He just shifts closer instead, his hand brushing lightly against yours for a second—just enough to remind you he’s still there.

And then he looks back at the volunteer.

“Yeah,” he adds simply. “Whatever you’ve got.”

Because right now—

Helping is the only thing that makes any of this feel even slightly bearable.

__________________

The cafeteria is just as overwhelming as the gym.

Tables have been pushed together into long rows, every surface covered in piles of clothes—shirts, jackets, jeans, tiny socks that don’t seem to have pairs, everything mixed together in a way that makes it feel impossible to even know where to start.

Steve stands in the middle of it like he’s been dropped into another dimension.

“Okay so first we need to make sure everything’s folded,” the volunteer is saying, already moving faster than he can track. “Then we’re sorting by age—baby clothes go here—ages three to five here, six to eight over there—”

Steve blinks.

Then blinks again.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow, a quiet laugh slipping out before you can stop it.

He glances at you, a little helpless. “I have no idea what she’s saying.”

“I know,” you murmur back, amused. “Just—nod. You’re doing great.”

He nods.

Very seriously.

Like that’s going to fix anything.

“—and if you’re unsure, just check the tag for sizing,” the volunteer finishes, already stepping away to help someone else.

Steve watches her go.

“…We’re doomed,” he mutters under his breath.

You smile, shaking your head slightly before stepping forward.

“C’mon,” you say softly. “We’ve got it.”

And just like that, you move.

It’s automatic for you—hands finding a rhythm quickly as you start folding, smoothing out fabric, sorting piles into something that actually makes sense. You shift clothes into the right sections, adjusting stacks, checking sizes, building order out of chaos piece by piece.

Steve tries to follow.

He really does.

But it takes him a second.

“Okay—so this goes…” he trails off, holding up a shirt like it might tell him the answer.

You glance over, biting back another smile.

“Six to eight,” you say, nodding toward the right side. “And fold it—like this.”

You step closer, showing him quickly, your hands careful but efficient despite the slight pull in your side.

He watches you for a second longer than necessary.

Then copies you.

Badly.

You reach over without thinking, fixing it, smoothing the fold down properly.

“Close enough,” you tease quietly.

He huffs out a breath. “I feel like I’m failing a test I didn’t study for.”

“You are failing,” you reply, deadpan.

That earns a small, surprised laugh out of him.

And for a moment—it feels normal.

You fall into it after that.

Working side by side, moving steadily through the piles, occasionally correcting him when he puts something in the wrong place, occasionally bumping shoulders as you both reach for the same thing at the same time. The noise of the cafeteria fades a little, replaced by something quieter, something more manageable.

And then—

You feel it.

His attention.

You glance up.

Steve isn’t folding anything.

He’s just… looking at you.

You pause slightly, brow lifting. “What?”

He blinks, like he didn’t realize he got caught.

Then shakes his head, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing,” he says, softer now. “Just… it’s nice to see you smile again.”

The words hit you gently.

Unexpected.

You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks before you can stop it, your gaze dropping quickly back to the shirt in your hands as you try to focus on folding it.

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, but there’s no bite to it.

Not even close.

He doesn’t push.

He just smiles a little to himself and picks up another shirt, finally going back to work.

And you do too.

Still smiling.

_______________________________

The rhythm settles again.

Clothes. Fold. Stack. Repeat.

It’s almost peaceful now—the kind of quiet that doesn’t erase everything, but softens it just enough to breathe through. Your hands move on autopilot, smoothing fabric, aligning edges, placing each finished piece neatly into its place while Steve works beside you, still a little slower, still occasionally getting it wrong—but trying.

Always trying.

You’re halfway through another shirt when you feel it—his elbow nudging lightly against yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

You glance up. “What?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking past you.

“Look.”

You follow his gaze across the cafeteria, past the rows of tables, past the volunteers moving between stations—and then you see them.

Robin.

Vickie.

Standing side by side in the kitchen area, hands brushing occasionally as they work, talking—really talking this time. You can’t hear a word, but you don’t need to. The nervous energy, the way Robin’s shoulders are a little too tight, the way Vickie keeps smiling even when she trips over her words—

It’s obvious.

You feel your lips curve before you even realise it.

Steve lets out a quiet breath beside you, something soft and relieved. “About time.”

You nod slightly, watching them for a second longer, that small flicker of something good settling in your chest.

Finally.

Then your attention drifts back.

Back to him.

He’s already looking at you again.

Not the chaos. Not the work.

Just you.

You frown slightly, amused. “What?”

But this time—he doesn’t brush it off.

He sets the shirt in his hands down slowly, like the moment matters more than what he’s doing, and before you can even question it, his hands find your hips, grounding, warm, steady.

Your breath catches a little.

“Steve—?”

“You know,” he starts, voice quieter now, but sure. “Despite everything… everything that’s happened—everything from the last two years…”

His thumbs shift slightly against your sides, like he’s anchoring himself there.

“I met you,” he finishes softly. “And you are everything to me.”

The words don’t hit all at once.

They settle.

Warm. Certain. Real.

Your hands move without thinking, sliding up his sides, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt before resting around the back of his neck, holding him there like he might disappear if you don’t.

A small smile tugs at your lips, even as your chest tightens.

“Well,” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly, “be happy while you can, Harrington.”

His brows lift.

“I might just go back to hating your guts.”

A soft laugh escapes him, shaking his head a little, his forehead almost brushing yours.

“I’d love to see you try.”

And then he leans in.

The kiss isn’t rushed.

It isn’t desperate like before.

It’s steady. Warm. Full of everything that’s still there—everything that survived.

You feel it in the way he holds you, careful but certain, like he’s memorising this. Like he’s choosing this.

You kiss him back just as gently.

Just as sure.

And when you pull away, it’s not abrupt. Not heavy.

Just… quiet.

You rest there for a second longer before stepping back, your hands slipping from him as naturally as they found him.

And then—

You go back to folding.

Like nothing just shifted.

Like everything just did.

You smooth out another shirt, folding it carefully, placing it into the right pile with steady hands.

And when you look up—

That’s when you see him.

Dustin.

Standing a few rows away.

And beside him—

Wayne Munson.

Your chest tightens instantly, the air catching somewhere between your lungs and your throat as you watch the way Dustin stands there, small in a way you’ve never seen him before. The way Wayne holds something in his hands—something small. Something important.

You don’t need to hear it.

You don’t need to be close.

You know.

Because you were there.

Because you watched him choose not to run.

Your heart cracks quietly in your chest.

Steve notices it too—your stillness, the way your hands stop moving—and his hand finds yours again without hesitation, fingers threading through yours in silent understanding.

Across the room, Dustin’s shoulders shake.

Wayne sinks.

And the world doesn’t stop.

It keeps moving.

People talking. Walking. Helping. Breathing.

But something shifts anyway.

Something heavier.

Something final.

And as you stand there, Steve’s hand wrapped tightly around yours, watching grief unfold across the room—

The quiet settles back in.

Not peaceful.

Not anymore.

But real.

And somewhere beneath it all—under the grief, under the cracks splitting the earth open—you can feel it.

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

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