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oneshots multi parts longer fics baby blurbs dad!series wednesday!series

What if it wasn't Eddie who almost dies, but Steve.

Eddie and Dustin are in the trailer, bats running into the sides and scratching at the vent. "Go. now." Eddie tells Dustin as he nudges him towards the sheet-rope. "But what about you!" "Not until you're safe!" Dustin makes it halfway up the rope when the bats suddenly stop.  It's quiet in the trailer for a full five seconds. "Did...did they get him?" Dustin scrambles for the nearby walkie-talkie. "Steve, Come in. over."  There's static but no answer.  "Nance, Robin. over."  There were a few more seconds of static and then, "H- Help!  Steve... Vecna got Steve." Robin's voice crackled through the walkie, panicked.  Eddie and Dustin stared at each other for a second, Dustin’s "don't worry Steve, you can be the hero."  bouncing around both of their heads.

Then they were both moving, Dustin yelling into the walkie as they ran. "We're coming, We're coming!" Steve had a hole in his side the size of a baseball. When they got there, Nancy was doing triage, Robin trying to help through her panic.  Steve was unconscious. "He's got a pulse, but he won't respond." "We gotta get him out of here." Eddie said. "Is it OK for me to lift him?" "It's gonna have to be,"  Nancy said. "Gonna have to put him on my back, I can't carry him in front." Between Eddie and Nancy they, as gently as they could, maneuvered Steve onto Eddie's back and they immediately started for the gate. Eddie lungs were burning, his legs were on fire, he could feel Steve's blood running down his back and his leg. Fuck, Steve was going to die in his arms. They hefted him through the gate, Nancy checking his pulse every five seconds. Steve was still there, Still hanging on. Eddie jumped into the driver's seat of the RV once Steve was laid on the couch.  crossed the wires again and started driving. When they got to the hospital Eddie pulled Steve onto his back again and ran him through the hospital doors. Still alive by some miracle.

That was two days ago.  Steve was stable enough now to be moved into a room where he could have visitors, but he was still unconscious. They were only allowed in two at a time, so Eddie let the kids, Nancy, and Robin go in first.  Then it was his turn. He went in by himself.  The nurses said to talk to him, that he could hear what they said. "Hey, Harrington," Eddie said, sitting down next to the bed. "Glad you're alive, man, but it would be great if you woke up," Eddie listened to the machines beep, watched Steve's way too still body. "They tell me you tackled Vecna," Eddie looked down at his hands. "You saved Max.  I know you saved Robin and Nancy.  Saved Dustin... Saved me," He was quiet again. "Don't be a hero."  Eddie scoffed. "Harrington if you wake up I'm gonna kick your ass."  Eddie bit his lip to keep it from trembling, something akin to grief washing over him. For the rest of the time he was quiet, not knowing what to say, thinking if he spoke, he might start crying. He kept coming back almost every day, everyone did. But Eddie didn't know what to say or to think even. He was way more effected by Steve than he thought he would be. Turns out no matter how much trauma you've dealt with, it doesn't get easier. He spent evenings at the hospital with Robin.  They would talk to each other across Steve's bed. Robin told him about the Russians. Eddie talked about the kids. Robin came out to Eddie. "Does Steve know?" Eddie asked. "He's one of the first people I ever told." "How did he..." "Couldn't have been nicer about it," She said, looking over at Steve's face.  She looked lost, like she was drowning. "I'm gay," Eddie blurted out.  Her head whipped back around to him.  "Very gay," Eddie added.  She stared at him, processing what he said before a smile broke over her face and she stuck her hand over the bed. "It's very nice to meet you, Eddie Munson." Eddie laughed at than before shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you too, Buckley."  Eddie replied. When he wasn't there with someone, he read.  He had a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring that he always brought along. Sometimes he would read sections to Steve when he couldn't think of anything to say. Sometimes he would just talk.  Say whatever he wanted to Steve.  "You know I meant what I said in that fucking hell dimension, Stevie.  You really are changed.  You are not king Steve anymore..." He watched Steve's face.  He thought back to everything Steve did in the Upside Down, how much he cared for the kids, how much of a friend Robin said he had become. Eddie didn't realize he could grow feelings for someone when they were in a coma.  It scared him. Eddie had never had a boyfriend. Never dated. Never even developed feelings for a hookup. He was starting to think maybe he wasn't wired for it, but now he was thinking maybe being gay in a small town was really stunting his growth. Now Steve Harrington was pushing under his skin... and he wasn't even cognizant. Shit, Eddie didn't even know if he and Steve were possible. Sure, Steve had been alright with Robin, but that didn't mean he was gay himself. Eddie took a deep breath. "Look, Harrington, I don't know if you can hear me but..."   He stopped short.  What, was he going to confess his feelings to a man in a coma?  He reached up and grabbed Steve's hand. "Please wake up.  Please."  Eddie whispered.

It became ritual. Before he left every night, he would hold Steve's hand and quietly say "Please wake up, Harrington, please."  Robin had been there one night when he did it and she nearly cried. Over time it morphed. "Steve please wake up, we need you."  "Please wake up, Robin looks like she hasn't slept in weeks."  "I haven't seen Dustin smile in days, Harrington, wake up." Until finally one night "Steve... please wake up.  You can't just... give me these feelings and then skip out. Please."  Eddie stares at Steve's face, letting it sink in that he finally confessed, and then gets up to leave, still holding Steve's hand for a second longer. Steve fingers tightened around his.  Eddie stared at Steve's hand. Did he really...? "Steve?"  Eddie asked tentatively and the fingers tightened again. holy shit! "Steve!  Oh... shit. Hold on sweetheart I'm gonna get a nurse. Hold on."  Eddie burst out into the hallway.  "I need a nurse!  He's awake! help!" he was kicked out of the room as three nurses and a doctor huddled around Steve's bed.  Eddie found the payphone and called Robin and then Dustin. Ten minutes later everyone was showing up. Max with her crutches, Dustin who looked like had had been crying, Robin with the biggest smile on her face. They couldn't go in, not for a long time, but then finally, two by two, they were allowed back in. Eddie was last again. "Hey, Harrington." “Eddie,” Came Steve’s weak reply. “Glad you’re finally awake,” Eddie said, sitting in a chair next to the bed. “I know… I heard you begging,” Steve said, voice a hoarse whisper. “I was not begging, Harrington,” Eddie retaliated, though he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.  “I was making urgent requests. There’s a difference.” “Still heard you,” Steve said. “All… All of it?”  Eddie finally asked. “Not sure.  Heard something about feelings though.”  Steve said, the ghost of a wicked smile on his lips. “You’ve been awake for two hours and you’re already hitting on me? I’m gonna need you to slow down, Sweetheart.”  Steve’s smile just got bigger.  Eddie reached up and hooked two of his fingers into Steve’s. Steve’s fingers tightened around his. “Heard the part about kicking my ass too,” Steve said, voice so quiet Eddie had to read his lips to get most of it. “I promise that can be our first date as soon as you get out of here,” Eddie said. A little huff of air left Steve and Eddie assumed it was as close to a laugh that Steve could get.  “I should let you rest,” Eddie said, standing up, but Steve’s fingers tightened around his again. “Stay.”  Came Steve’s whispered request. “Yeah.  I’ll stay, Stevie,” Eddie said sitting back down. Ten minutes later Robin opened the door to Steve’s room to find Steve asleep and Eddie passed out in the chair next to him, head resting on the bed by Steve’s hip and their fingers tangled together. 

We Tried The World CH3.

THE MASTERLIST WICHITA, KANSAS, 789 MILES FROM HOME. 

Kansas greeted you with a sign that told you that you and Steve were now entering the sunflower state. But the fields on either side of you were flat and green, patches of brown mud and a forgotten barn or two. 

You’d left The Ozarks early, both of you sitting in the front of the car, gazing at the lake with the engine idling like you were silently saying goodbye. 

It had taken a little over two hours to leave Missouri, to pass over that invisible state line that separated you from Kansas. It was nine in the morning, the skies blue, summer still blazing and the car smelled like coffee and the iced tea you’d both ordered to go from a diner on the side of the road, lemon and honey and espresso in the air. 

You drove for another forty minutes before you saw them. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you when you eventually did spot them, the sign really did give you fair warning. But they seemed to come out of nowhere, the pastures and paddocks filled with dried out grass and sleepy animals turned into rows and rows and rows of towering flowers, golden yellow, all taller than you. 

Sunflowers for miles. The sight made you gasp, made you jump in your seat and throw yourself on the edge, seatbelt strained and your hands curled around the side of the open window. Your smile was contagious, pure elation that Steve laughed at and he was grinning just like you. 

You didn’t ask him to stop, you didn’t have to. Steve took one look at your face and then he was pulling off into the dirt at the side of the road, dust kicking up behind you. You were both clambering out of the car and into the sun, the heat, the smell of pollen and fields and farmland assaulting your senses but god, you really didn’t care. 

You didn’t think about it when you grabbed Steve’s hand, and he didn’t pull away at your touch either. He let you drag him into the flowers, morning dew soaking your bare legs and arms, painting your sundress in splotches of water. Steve trailed behind you, still grinning, hands still joined, bright yellow petals brushing against his hair, his cheeks. 

You walked until you couldn’t see the road, until you could only see the sky, the flowers and Steve.  

You only let go of the boy’s hand to brush your fingers over the petals instead, big, green leaves and fallen seeds that crunched underfoot. It became a game, a bag rendition of hide and seek, a catch me if you can, because the flowers didn’t offer that much cover and you decided really quickly that you wanted Steve to catch you. 

So you tripped a little clumsily through the fields, Steve only ever a few feet behind, laughing, face bathed in sunlight and yellow toned shadows, sunflower petals in his hair. 

He grabbed at your wrists when you let him get close enough, listened to the way you laughed at his touch until he got brave enough to put his hands on your waist, pulling you back towards him, his palms big and warm through the cotton material of your dress. 

It felt like another world, another time, it felt like this was a boy you could fall in love with. But then you remembered what this was, this escape, this adventure without a plan and you tried not to think about how nice Steve’s chest felt against your back when he tugged you into him. 

It had been a week since you’d left Hawkins and you were already spending too much time looking at the boy with the messy hair. He had more freckles now, his skin more tanned, his clothes a little comfier, less fitted than when you’d left.

It felt like you were watching him fall into himself. 

It had been hard not to think about the things you did when you’d spent the last few nights pressed against him in the back of the car. The moon shifting across the surface of the lake, the reflections dancing across the two of you in the dark. 

Everything had been good, everything had been sweet, nice, easy. And then two hundred and twenty something miles from Wichita, Steve’s car got a flat tire and everything fell apart for a few hours. 

It felt like reality then, less like a dream, like an adventure that couldn’t disappoint and you started to wonder then if this was the right choice. Because it was a Friday evening and if you’d been home, you would’ve been working until eight at the bookstore, walking home to your aunt to have meatloaf and then some ice cream on the sofa in front of the tv. 

That was your reality, it wasn't exciting but it never changed. You were both tired, hungry, too hot, the Kansas air sticky and heavy - and Steve was looking at you like this might have all been one big mistake

Or maybe your mind was just playing tricks on you. Either way, your stomach churned. 

Steve was already grumbling when the car rolled to a stop on the hard shoulder, kicking up dust as he went, curses filling the car and you groaned. The morning had shifted to late afternoon, lunch missed in favour of hitting the next stop earlier than nightfall. Your stomach growled, your head was aching and your legs felt dead from sitting for so long.

You winced when Steve’s door slammed, the boy pacing the length of the car as he stared at the punctured wheel in defeat. You leaned over the console, squinted out into the open window and the setting sun, the whole world golden. 

“D’you have a spare?”

Steve shook his head and swiped a hand over his face. He looked tired, a little bedraggled, just like you felt. The stretch of road had nothing on it, fields and fields on either side, a lone horse on a small slope, a sign that was sunbleached and cracked, one that told you that you were pretty far away from the next town.

You pulled out the map, pushed yourself out of the car into the heat that the sun was leaving behind and Steve wasn’t even paying attention as you spread the folded paper across the hood. You traced the lines of the road, hoped and prayed there would be a pay phone somewhere nearby. There had to be, right?

You threw the map back onto your seat, walked around the car and pulled yourself onto the trunk, the heat from the sun making it warm under your bare legs. You tucked your dress between your knees, frowned when you looked at Steve and saw the pucker between his brows, the way he was chewing at his lip. 

“So, what now?” You asked, “do we just start walking?”

Steve huffed, at you or the situation, you weren’t overly sure but the sound was impatient and it irked you more than it should’ve. 

“Walk where?” Steve held his arms out, gesturing to the wide, flat land around you both. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

You rolled your eyes at the obvious, pushing off of the car to stand by the boy, head tilted as you inspected the wheel. There was a nail embedded in the rubber, the silver head of it glinting mockingly in the sunlight. 

“Well, d’you have a better idea?” 

Steve kicked at the loose gravel on the road, scuffed up the front of his sneaker and shrugged again. His hair was a riot from the way he’d been tugging at it and you moved out of his way as he went back to pacing. The sun was getting lower, hazy on the horizon, a deep orange and it was setting the world on fire. It’d be dark soon. 

“I’m not leaving my car,” Steve grunted. “One of us will have to stay.”

You startled at his words, turning back to face him as you shook your head furiously. “What?” you barked out, too sharp. “I’m not staying here on my own!”

Steve sighed again and it set your teeth on edge. He rubbed at his eyes, tired, sore, hungry. He mumbled your name and it sounded like he was fed up with you already. 

“And if you think I’m walking off into the backass of nowhere by myself, you’ve got another thing coming, Harrington.”

“I didn’t- Jesus Christ - I didn’t ask you to!” Steve exclaimed, hands slamming onto the roof of the car. “And stop yelling, my head is fucking killing me.”

Maybe it was ‘cause you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, way before the sunflower fields. Maybe it was because you hadn’t had a good night sleep since the motel in Illinois, maybe it was the way Steve still hadn’t mentioned how he kissed you on the Fourth of July. 

It could’ve been the heat, the ache in your back, the throbbing in your forehead. 

Regardless of the reason, you snapped, your own hands coming to land on the roof of the BMW across from the boy. You stared at each other over the car, lips set in frowns, brows drawn tight. 

“I’m not fucking yelling!” you yelled. “I’m not feeling all that hot either, Steve, so don’t get on at me like this is my fault.”

The boy scoffed, eyes narrowed, elbows pressed to the roof. “And what? It’s mine? Like I meant to drive over a fuckin’ nail?”

You rolled your own eyes, the heat of the sun, the warmth in the air and Steve’s annoyance making you feel too hot. Your dress stuck to your thighs, to the lines of your collarbones and you suddenly felt trapped. 

You were in the middle of fucking nowhere, Kansas, with a boy you kissed once at a party. What the fuck where you doing? The sunflower field felt like days ago, weeks even. 

“Sure Steve, that’s exactly what I said.” The tension in your voice was palpable and you hated that the feeling of annoyance was joined by the hot prick of tears at the corners of your eyes. 

Maybe Steve caught the way you looked, maybe he saw the wetness at your lash line or maybe he just felt bad, but he softened almost instantly, a drop of his shoulders, a hand scrubbed over his face. 

It was getting darker and neither of you said anything. The silence was as loud as the night itself and both of you sighed and leaned on different parts of the car. The boy didn’t ask you to go, to walk until you found a pay phone or a gas station and he didn't leave you either. 

It wasn’t an apology on either of your parts but it felt like enough. The tension eased when the sun went down and Steve pulled himself onto the hood beside you, close enough to where you sat with crossed legs that you could feel the warmth coming off of him. 

The moon was out, the sky was black but the night was still so warm. It smelled sweet, like flowers and sunscreen and Steve, and god, you were tired. Maybe Steve was too, because he was suddenly leaning closer and his shoulder bumped yours and didn’t move away. You didn’t chance a look at him but you lay your head on his shoulder all the same, holding in a sigh of relief when he didn’t pull away. 

“What’s your favourite animal?” Steve asked you and it made your heart skip a beat, because it sounded like ‘I’m sorry.’

“Sharks,” you told him, eyes closing at the feel of him solid underneath you. You pressed your cheek to his shoulder, the tip of your nose close to brushing his neck. “What’s yours?” ‘I’m sorry too.’

But Steve snorted before he answered, shoulders jerking in amusement and you felt rather than saw the way he was peering down at you. You were smiling and you were so sure that he was too, even behind closed eyes, you could feel it, sense it. It changed the air, the mood, the way you felt and you wondered if you’d be okay as long as Steve Harrington kept looking at you like that.

“Sharks?” he asked, quiet laughter colouring his words. He sounded so much prettier than when he was yelling. “Why?”

You shrugged, still sleepy, still with closed eyes and you rubbed your cheek against the soft of his shirt on instinct. You felt him tense for just a second when your face pushed itself into his neck, a soft huff of breath kissing the skin there. But then he was pushing against you more, letting you curl in as much as you wanted, seeking out your touch as much as you were his. 

“I d’know,” you mumbled, “I like Jaws.”

He snorted again, thoroughly amused and he seemed your explaination good enough. 

“I think I gotta say dogs,” Steve told you. “Which is pretty boring.”

You smiled, “s’not boring. What kind of dog?”

The boy lay his head on yours, his cheek pressed to your hair and suddenly the world seemed so still. Had you been arguing? Did you almost have a fight? Did you yell? You couldn’t remember. 

“Golden retriever,” he said and you hummed in agreement. “My parents never let me have a pet, not even a damn fish. I always wanted a dog.”

The silence ticked over, comfortable if not a little sad because Steve’s brow was furrowed at the thought of his parents and the people he’d left behind. But something was itching at your throat,  a question desperate to be asked and when you felt it coming over your tongue, weighted with emotion, you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“Hey Steve?” You didn’t pause long enough for him to answer, but he moved from where he leaned against you, turned to gaze down at you, brows raised. “Why’d you kiss me that night?”

That night. A week ago, an age ago. A whole different state, a whole different time. You didn’t feel like the same person anymore but you still remembered the way Steve kissed you, like you were the answer to something he was too scared to ask. 

The silence stretched until an owl called out from somewhere above, a haunting noise that made your chest crack. But maybe that was just the way Steve was looking at you, wide eyed and panicked, like maybe he’d hoped you’d forgotten, like maybe he’d hoped he’d never have to talk about it. 

He murmured your name, swiped at his face and sighed. 

God, it hurt more than it should’ve. The rejection from this boy you were only starting to know, it stung like sunburn, a harsh nip that travelled over your bones and Jesus, you felt stupid. 

You scoffed, laughing at yourself rather than Steve and you slid off the front of the car, away from the boy’s warmth and if he reached out to try and catch at your wrist, you barely felt it. 

“Forget it,” you told him, the earlier feelings of exhaustion and ache creeping back over your body. Your headache had dulled but your temples were buzzing again - but that could’ve just been the embarrassment heating at your face. 

Steve said your name again, a little more insistent this time but he sounded as tired as you felt. “Hey, no, wait…”

He was moving too, pushing off of the car and walking after you. You hadn’t gone far, just a couple of feet away from him and the BMW with some shitty hope that the air over there would be less stifling. 

It wasn’t. 

“Are we just supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?” you asked him, arms crossed over your front like they could protect you from his answer. ‘Cause you had a feeling you knew what it was by the way he was looking at you, eyes sad, lips parted, brow furrowed. “Which is, you know, fine,” you lied. “I just thought I’d ask.”

And then headlights were blinding you both and Steve never gave you your answer. 

A family had pulled up in a Winnebago, four friendly faces that were eager to help, assisting with a puncture kit and some bottles of water. They didn’t notice the tension between you and Steve whilst the older man worked on the wheel, his wife talking about Wichita and sunflowers and the bobcat they’d seen running across the road from forest to forest. 

You felt Steve’s eyes on you as you chatted quietly to the two little girls, their hair in pigtails, blonde and curling at the end. You let them fiddle with the gold rings on your fingers, admiring each design with sweet, quiet voices. 

And when the wheel was fixed and you’d said your thanks, Steve opened the passenger door for you and looked at you a little sadly. Neither of you spoke as he drove you both to Wichita, the town sleepy and quiet as you rolled in during the early morning hours. 

It was still louder than the Ozarks, an electrical buzz coming from the streetlights, the stars lost in their glow. It was louder than the silence from inside of the car, muted music coming from the bars you passed every now and then, a bus that rumbled past you both at sets of traffic lights. 

Steve found a motel with little issue, a tall building off of Central Avenue that had a red neon sign that coloured you both crimson in the parking lot. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, turning the engine off with his gaze on you and you hatred the way the embarrassment you felt still lingered on your skin. His stare felt hot. 

“This okay?” he asked, quiet, as if not to startle you. 

You only nodded, already halfway out of the car before he could follow and when you got to the reception desk and the woman asked you how many rooms, you were the first to speak. 

“Two, please,” you told her, already pulling cash out of your bag to pay for your half. 

You felt the boy at your back, chest brushing against you as he leaned in, a hand on the desk, caging you between it and his body. He was staring at the two sets of keys the receptionist placed in front of you, his voice low and at your ear. 

His lips brushed the shell of it when he spoke.

“I thought you didn’t like sleeping alone,” the statement seemed so much more salacious than it should’ve been. But you both seemed to remember the nights by the lake, tangled together. “I mean, in a room. On your own,” Steve clarified, cheeks warm. 

You shrugged, paying the lady and grabbing your keys, leaving Steve fumbling with his bag before he snagged his own set and followed. It didn't matter that the rooms were side by side, only separated by a thin wall. It still felt too far and suddenly you were cursing your own stubbornness because fucking hell, you really didn’t want to sleep alone in a room in the middle of fucking Kansas.

Home seemed really far away without Steve. 

He must’ve sensed your hesitation though, because he paused with his hand on the door knob, looking at you with those same sad, brown eyes. He leaned against the green door, a sickly shade of olive that didn’t match the yellow walls. 

“You gonna be alright?” Steve asked. He licked his lips, nervous, dragging a hand through his hair. “Can we talk? About what you asked m-”

But you shook your head, the thoughts inside of it rattling and making it hurt. You wanted to say sorry. Sorry for asking, sorry for acting so childish about it, sorry that you were sad. But you opened the door and kicked in your bag, lifting a hand in a weak wave.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you told the boy. “Night, Harrington.”

—————

You did not see the boy in the morning. 

You couldn’t wait that long. Not out of excitement, nor impatience, no. It might’ve been a little regret but you watched the way the clock on the nightstand clicked over to three o’clock and you were horribly aware of how alone you were. 

In a strange city. In a stranger motel, and god, there were footsteps from above and you could hear a couple arguing out in the street. Didn’t Ted Bundy stay in a motel like this?

It’s why you were standing at Steve’s door in bare feet and a too big Hawkins High shirt, your arms folded over your chest as you stared at the number ‘162’ painted on the wood. 

It took you a while to knock. But the hallway light flickered and somebody from the floor above yelled out and suddenly you were that concerned about waking Steve up. 

He answered like he’d already been awake, the door handle turning quickly and the light inside of his room was so much softer and warmer than the harsh overheads that lined the hallway. He seemed surprised to see you, despite knowing there wouldn’t really be anyone else knocking on his door in the middle of the night. But his eyes widened at the sight of you, hair mussed, legs bare, the thin fabric of your shirt making it obvious you weren’t wearing a bra. 

He swallowed, met your gaze with the same softness you’d last seen in the sunflower fields and stood aside, letting you in. The door squeaked when he shut in and his bed was messy, the pillows askew, the sheets hanging off like he’d been tossing and turning the same way you had. 

“Can’t sleep?” Steve broke the silence first and you shook your head, standing in the middle of his room a little awkwardly. “Are you okay?”

You suddenly felt very naked, more than aware of your bare legs and cotton underwear that was hidden by your shirt. 

“M’fine,” you lied, because you weren’t - not really. You’d felt lonely in your room, an overwhelming sense of feeling lost and you hated it. It scratched at your skin and made you think about the back of the car at the side of the lake. 

Your back had hurt every morning and you watched Steve crack his neck when he woke up and stretched out, but neither of you ever complained about sleeping curled into each other. 

And one morning, when the sun was barely rising, you’d woken up with a yawn and watched the rise and fall of Steve’s chest under where your cheek lay. It had taken you a while to notice, but when you shifted, you’d felt it. 

His hand curled around the hem of your sweater, clinging tight, like he needed to know you were close even in sleep. 

Maybe Steve knew you better than you thought by now, maybe it was just incredibly obvious but the boy smiled a little, still kinda sad, almost a little amused and he sat back down on the edge of the mattress. 

“You’re not fine.”

You shrugged. 

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asked softly. You didn’t answer, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Me neither. It’s too loud, I can’t-”

He paused, eyes on the ugly patterned carpet. He sounded like he was about to admit something he wasn’t ready to. 

“I can’t get comfy,” he finished. 

You toed the carpet, pushed your heel into the thin scratch of it and nodded. “Neither can I.”

He knew why you were here, of course he did. Steve wasn’t stupid and you weren’t subtle. So he nodded too, pushed himself backwards onto the bed and rearranged the pillows more appropriately. The window was open to let in some cooler air and the breeze ruffled his hair, a pretty mess from trying to sleep. 

His eyes seemed darker than before when they found yours and he pulled back the sheets, tilted his head at the space beside him. 

“You gettin’ in?”

There was a considerable amount more space beside the boy than there had been in the back of the car. But the bed was no more than a twin, the mattress not made for two people but that didn’t stop you from walking across the room to Steve. The mattress dipped under your weight, knees pushed into the sheets as you climbed in, movements slow as if this was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. 

Maybe it wasn’t. 

Steve couldn’t move over for you, his frame already in line with the edge and when you finally lay down next to him, he turned into you, lying on his side so the length of him curled around the dips and curves of you. He fit perfectly behind, his chest to your back and you could feel the way his hand lay stagnant between you both, like he didn’t know what to do with it. 

You didn’t come to him for a cuddle, or god, anything more. His presence was enough, the solid wall of warmth near you exactly what you needed. Your eyelids were already drooping, lips parting slack as your breathing evened out and just before sleep completely took you, you felt the boy yawn and curl into you a little more, the bridge of his nose pushed into your hair. 

It was nice. It was enough. It was what you hadn’t realised you needed. 

But when morning came, the heat of the sun was back, the room was empty and Steve was gone. 

Maybe that was an exaggeration. His bag was still there, sitting by the desk. But his shoes were gone and the wallet and keys he’d thrown on the nightstand were too. 

You sat in the bed, bleary eyed and the morning sun hazy through the sheer curtains, letting into too much light and heat for - you turned, checking the digital clock that was still glowing green - half past seven. 

Panic surged through you, just for a second, maybe a minute. Because surely the boy wouldn’t leave you? Why would he leave his bag? Unless it was to throw you off? Maybe he’d emptied it and left, still annoyed by your question, your yelling at the side of the road in the middle of fucking nowhere and fucking Christ, you were alone in Kansas with no idea wh-

The metallic click of a lock being turned made you jump and face the door. It swung open, squeaking in protest and Steve cursed under his breath at the sound, closing it gently before it could slam, two takeaway coffee cups balanced in one hand, a paper bag swinging on the same wrist. 

Steve. 

Fuck. Steve. 

If he saw the worry in your eyes give way to relief, he didn’t mention it. He cleared his throat, cheeks pink as he took in the way you were sitting in the mess of the bed. His bed. The sheets rumpled at your waist, the pillow you’d shared that smelled his shampoo and your perfume. 

He held up a plastic cup, see through and filled with ice and creamy mocha coloured liquid. 

“I got breakfast,” he told you with a smile, “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon.”

You could hear his apology between words, hidden underneath the smell of caffeine and the giant fruit pastries he was pulling from the bag. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you.’

“Thank you,” you said, hands already grabbing for the iced coffee he was passing you. Extra ice, two sugars, just like you ordered yourself. “Is it warm already?”

Steve nodded, sitting down at the end of the bed and he was further than he was last night but still so close and you could feel the summer radiating off of him, the sun that had already etched itself into his skin. His shirt was threadbare, thin and a pale green, his jeans rolled at the cuffs so he could get as much fresh air as possible. 

“Like an oven,” he told you mournfully, mouth already full of raspberries and flakey pastry. “I miss the lake.“

You hummed in agreement, taking a long drag from your cup, closing your eyes in delight at the sweetness. “I know, a pool would be nice.”

—————

That’s how you found yourself and Steve standing in front of a chain link fence, the smell of chlorine in the air. The outdoor pool was empty, the fence locked and the sign on the front said closed for maintenance.  

“Well there goes that idea,” you sighed, clutching woefully at the towel you’d snuck out of the motel room. 

The sun was beaming, relentless without any clouds in the sky and your sunscreen was still sticky, coconut and aloe that Steve had rubbed into the parts of your back you couldn’t reach, both of you hot in the face. 

There wasn’t much else in the area, the shops lazy, the streets quiet, people spending their Saturday indoors to escape the July heat. So Steve grinned and threw his bag over the fence, making the chain rattle when he started to climb. 

“What’re you doing?” You hissed, staring at him wide eyed. You scanned the length of the sidewalk, half expecting to see the flash of police cars, the wail of a siren. “Steve!”

You heard the boy laugh as he dropped to the other side, grinning, bright eyed and full of trouble. He looked at the pool, the glittering water, the way the blue of it bounced off of the white walls of the locked changing rooms. He lifted his chin at you, smirking, baiting.

“C’mon.” He said it like a dare.

You groaned but followed, eyes nervous as they scanned the street as you climbed. You weren't usually one to bend the rules, and breaking and entering wasn’t on your to do list for that day either. But Steve was already stripping off, his clothes left at the side of the pool edge as he jumped in, swim shorts already on.

You squealed at the hit of cool water on your legs, jumping the rest of the way onto the sun warmed concrete, and in a manic burst of adrenaline, you wrestled out of your dress, revealing your bikini and bare skin. You launched yourself in after the boy, hearing him laugh before you plunged underneath the surface. 

The water was cool, almost cold and it felt lovely against your skin. The smell of chlorine mixed with your sunscreen, the leftover smell of Steve’s cologne that clung to your hair after sleeping so close the night before. He looked at you like he was kinda proud, like you jumping in after him made him so happy. 

The day went like that, uninterrupted, no arrests, clear skies and a whole pool just for the two of you. 

Everything was blue and warm, the water, the sky, the navy shadows, the buildings cast across the concrete. And when the afternoon waned and clouds rolled in, they were indigo too. 

But nothing was as pretty as the way Steve had been looking at you, brown eyes just as warm as the sun. It had been peaceful, the way you’d swam laps around each other, talking quietly and laughing, the night before forgotten about. You only wanted to remember the sunflowers, the way his hand had found your own amongst the yellow petals, the endless fields. 

It’s like the argument hadn’t happened, it was like you’d never asked him that question. And if you pretended hard enough, you could forget the silence that followed it. You both went back to playing stupid, and maybe, just maybe, it was better that way.

Or so you thought. 

You were stretched on the pool edge when the clock above the closed snack stand told you it was almost six o’clock. Your legs kicked lazy circles in the water, your arms stretched out behind you, palms pushed to the sun warmed tiles. Steve was in the middle of the pool, messy hair and tanned skin amongst the bright blue and he was looking at you again.

It was a gaze you couldn’t decipher and you realised that’s how Steve was looking at you too, like you were a puzzle, a question he didn’t know the answer to. Or like he was too nervous to say it.

But then there was a small splash, ripples around your calves and then Steve was there, holding onto the pool wall by your side, shoulders brushing your thighs, everything bare skinned, suntanned and wet.

You swallowed hard. 

“Hey,” he smiled, soft and almost a little shy. “Tell me a secret.”

You grinned, looked down at the boy with his damp hair and wide smile, new freckles on his cheeks that weren’t there before his day spent under the sun. You kicked out a leg, watched the water splash and glitter under the glow of the sky, dusk settling over the town. It was still quiet and you swore, you could hear your heartbeat.

Maybe Steve could too.

“A secret?” you asked and he hummed, knowing you were stalling. “I dunno, I don’t think I have anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

You laughed, watching the way Steve’s hand curled around your ankle, tugging playfully, threatening to pull you back in with him if you didn’t spill. So you wriggled out of his grasp and gave in, sighing dramatically before telling him:

“When I was six, I tried to smuggle a possum into the house.” You were deadly serious, straight faced when you said it. 

Steve stared. And then a grin split his lips, laughter spilling over you like the sun and he tilted his head to look up at you, shaking his head. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you popped the p, your own laughter colouring your tone. 

“Why?” Steve huffed, his humour infectious, his hand on the edge of the pool moving closer to your leg and everything was light and easy and god, he was looking at you in such a lovely way. 

“I really wanted a pet,” you grinned when Steve snorted, your shoulders shaking with the way you laughed. 

“How did you even catch it?”

You shrugged, properly giggling, and Steve’s eyes were bright, shining with amusement because god, you were something else, he thought. 

“Christ, you’re trouble,” Steve mused, lips twisted in a smile, pool water clinging to his lashes. You were sure he’d called you that before, and it made your stomach dip and tumble, because he said it like a compliment. 

“Your turn,” you told the boy, when you’d both calmed down enough, cheeks sore from sunburn and smiling. “Are you gonna tell me a secret, Steve?”

He liked the way you said his name, he decided. Like you took the time to let it fall from your lips, like you liked saying it. 

He was almost between your legs now, up to his shoulders in cool water, floating in the space between your calves, staring up at you like you were the sun. Maybe he was feeling reckless, maybe he was just feeling brave. It could’ve been the way he thought you looked so fucking pretty with your messy hair and flushed cheeks, drops of water sliding down your skin, casting tiny rainbows over your arms and stomach.  

Maybe he just couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“That night, at the party?” Steve murmured, his hand brushing your ankle underneath the surface. “I kissed you ‘cause I really wanted to. ‘Cause I’d wanted to for a long time.”

Your lips parted in surprise. 

“Used to have the biggest crush on you,” he was pink in the cheeks at his admittance, nose scrunched like he was a shy school boy all over again. “All through middle school, even sophomore year.”

You didn’t say anything. 

Steve let himself fall backward, slow and soft into the water, swimming away a little, eyes still on you. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, made it stick up a little messy and shrugged at you as if he didn’t know what else to say. 

You ducked your chin at his gaze, suddenly feeling the most shy you’d ever felt in front of the boy. 

“Yeah?” you asked to the water, staring at the shimmer on the surface, at the way the setting sun made the pool turn a deep lavender. 

“Yeah,” you heard the boy say. 

You didn’t have the courage to ask him if still harboured that same crush, if it came back when he kissed you, if kissing you felt as good as he’d maybe imagined it. 

So you took his secret like you took all of them, with a smile and a silent promise to hold onto it, clasped tight to your chest like it was your own.  

Maybe this one was. 

Endless Gifs of Steve Harrington (16/?)

Marrying Steve Harrington

A/N: Because I am thoroughly convinced that this could happen. Spot the references if you can!

Ever since the gates of Hell had opened, and the Upside Down had come spilling into your dimension, it had become a never ending battle for the survival of Hawkins.

It became more imperative than ever to look out for each other. From supply runs to skirmishes, you were rushing back and forth, pulled apart constantly. But you couldn’t rest, couldn’t afford to, not when everyone you loved was in danger.

But through all of that, there was one constant in your life: Steve Harrington. Out of all the crazy things that happened to you, falling in love with him was something you never expected. You’d developed feelings for him when he fought the demodogs to protect Max, Lucas, and Dustin. You’d fallen in love with him over a summer of ice cream and Russian messages. And you’d made things official in the first battle against Vecna.

Both of you craved the chance to build a life together, both to make a less crappy life than the one that you were both constantly thrown into. When he’d confided in you about his wish for family road trips with his six nuggets, you told him about your own dreams of being a mother, falling in love with a husband who saw you as his equal. His soft brown eyes had been on you when he asked if you wanted to have that life with him. Your ‘yes’ could not come fast enough.

But another question was swirling in your head, one that you couldn’t get rid off as you watched Steve embrace Dustin on one side. Erica was on his other side, squished in between the two of you. He had grumbled every time he adjusted his position, but he did it with the utmost care, trying not to jostle the kids. His kids. Your kids.

“Will you marry me?” you blurted out.

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Lets get cozy