#steve harrington blub

[upsidedownwithsteve]

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. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blub #stranger things fic #stranger things

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Short smutty blubs with dark fairy tale themes 18+ No minors

Red Ridinghood | Eddie

Grettle & The Witch | Robin

Sleeping Beauty | Steve

More to come.

Asks are open for requests using this theme.

#steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #robin buckley #robin buckley smut #dark fairytale #vignettes #blubs

[starkstruck27]

Okay wait, but I've got another idea: a Gravity Falls AU. Recently I've been rewatching the show, and I think it has a lot of similarities to ST, so I've been thinking...

Robin and Steve are twins (fraternal, with Robin being two minutes older, and I'm thinking they're, like, 16 or 17 in this AU) and they're sent by their parents to stay with their crazy uncle Hopper over the summer. They live in Chicago, but Uncle Hopper lives in the sleepy little town of Hawkins, and is kind of a mystery. He owns a tourist trap called the Oddity Emporium, and even though he's kind of a stingy, crotchety older guy, he loves them, and the Emporium is where they live.

Robin and Steve move into the bedroom in the attic, and as soon as they get settled, they start to notice some oddities outside of the museum. First, Robin swears she sees a fairy flying around when they're exploring the woods, then Steve is convinced that one of the statues in the town square is in a different position when he comes out of the supermarket, but they have no proof. They try to chalk it up to their uncle's place just messing with their heads, but then, they're exploring the woods one day, and Steve trips and falls into a ditch.

Robin immediately climbs down to check on her brother, and he's fine, but he hit his head on something and they decide to check it out. It turns out to be a chest buried at the bottom of the ditch, and when they finally pry the ancient lock open, they find a book inside.

Steve isn't impressed at first. It's a weird book, what's so special about it? But Robin cracks it open and they start to read, both amazed by what they find. It's some kind of journal, apparently the third in a set, that has a mysterious unknown author, and it details all of the weird creatures and supernatural goings-on that make Hawkins so weird.

At first they don't want to tell anyone about it, not even Uncle Hopper. They don't know why the book was buried, but it seems like there was a reason, right? Maybe it's a government conspiracy or something. But they study it together, trying to figure out who in the crazy little town might have something to do with writing it.

They become friends with Eddie, another guy a little older than them who works at the Oddity Emporium as a handyman/cashier/whatever else is needed of him, and his friends, Gareth, Rich and Jeff. They're the cool kids in Hawkins, rowdy teenagers who just always seem to have the best hangout spots (including a secret ladder that leads to the roof of the Emporium) and the most fun of anyone else in the town. They also befriend some local kids who come with them on adventures, Dustin, Will, Lucas, Erica and Mike. They're all younger than Robin and Steve, but they're pretty cool, and they're more accustomed to the weirdness that plagues the town, so they're pretty awesome to have around.

There's also Mrs. Byers, who runs the diner in town, and her other son Jonathan, who is kind of friends with Eddie and his gang. Jonathan is also Will's older brother, so he and his girlfriend Nancy often tag along on adventures. And of course there's El, the psychic girl who is the centerpiece of the other tourist attraction in town, the Hut of Hypnotism. Her dad and Uncle Hopper have been in a war for best tourist attraction for years, but because El made real friends and doesn't like using her powers (which no one knows how she got) just for him to make money, Hopper often comes out on top. There's the local cops, Powell and Callahan, who are not great at their jobs, but perfect for comedic relief, and finally, the local kook, another hermit who lives in a shack in the woods named Old Man Murray.

Robin and Steve get to know the people of the town pretty quickly, and they find them all pretty amusing for the most part. Even Old Man Murray has his good points. But there's one person that they meet a few weeks into their stay that they simply cannot stand. Billy Hargrove, the rich asshole who's great great grandfather apparently founded the town.

Billy seems just as awful as his parents, who live in the mansion atop the hill with him and his sister, but they kind of have to put up with him, because his little sister is friends with the other kids they're friends with, and he's told to keep an eye on her. But he's still a jerk, snarky and always acting like he's better than everyone else because his family is rich, and he loves to be the center of attention. But as the summer continues and they battle more and more weird monsters, Steve and Robin start to think that he's not so bad.

Especially Steve. Sure, they had a rough start, but after fighting a horde of Goblins, uncovering an ancient tomb with a mummified Native American Chief inside, and working together to capture a vampire that's haunting the old wing of the Hargrove mansion, they've kind of bonded whether they like it or not.

It's about halfway through the summer when things start to get really weird. Firstly, Steve and Robin had to time travel over and over again to make sure the timeline stayed correct and so Steve would still get to keep the pet goat he'd won at the county fair. It was a whole thing. Then, they find out that El's dad, in order to try and get a leg up on Hopper and try and destroy his business, had the second of the three journals, and they had to fight not only the man himself to get it from him, but also some kind of dream demon that went by the name Henry Creel and seemed to enjoy toying with them. They didn't defeat the demon, but he told them that he'd leave them alone until they became important, so they tried to forget about him. And finally, they tell Uncle Hopper about the books, which he laughs off and says is fake, but that some of the things in it would make great attractions at the Emporium. Robin and Steve know the truth, though, and still use the journals to their advantage every time they need to.

Finally, the summer is two thirds done, and Steve and Robin have three major problems: One, they're still no closer to finding the author of the journals. Two, Henry is back, and he's hinting at something big coming soon. Three, Steve has developed a huge, embarrassing, inexplicable crush on Billy Hargrove.

When Robin first finds out about that third one, she groans and tries to remind Steve that all summer Billy was a jerk to him and that they have bigger problems to worry about. But Steve tries to tell her that Billy is changed, he's not really as big a jerk as everyone says and he knows it sounds crazy, but he's pretty sure Billy likes him back. Robin rolls her eyes at first and just tries to focus on their other mission, finding out who wrote the journals, but she can't do it by herself. Every time she tries, Henry appears in her dreams and throws her off course, and it's getting annoying and, quite frankly, terrifying. But eventually Steve returns to help her and they find out that the answer lies much closer to home than they'd realized.

They're walking around the Emporium one day when Robin drops something and it rolls under the porch. She and Steve crawl under to get it, but their combined weight causes a bit of the ground to collapse and they fall into a basement they didn't know was under the Emporium. They're confused, because it doesn't look like the kind of place that Uncle Hopper would have under his house, almost like a bunker of sorts. But the real surprise is when they find not only the journals that they showed Hopper and he never gave back, but the first one, too. He had it all that time.

They're obviously pissed, so they grab the books and find the way upstairs, using an elevator that leads them to a staircase that opens up into the (thankfully empty) gift shop of the Emporium behind the vending machine. They find their uncle and demand an explanation, and he finally tells them the truth.

His daughter was an incredibly intelligent girl. She was always looking for adventures and documenting her findings in the very books they were holding in their hands. This was all before they were born, so they never met their cousin Sara, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Hopper told them that she got in too deep with her mystery hunting, and she encountered Henry Creel long before they did. Only, she made a deal with him, a bad one, and she ended up dead.

Hopper says that the official story that ran in the newspapers was that she had brain cancer, and an aneurysm is what took the young girl away so suddenly. But Hopper knew the truth. Something in those books had killed his little girl, and he didn't know if it was still out there, but he hoped that if he could hide the books well enough, no one would be able to use them to go looking for it. He kept only one for himself, just wanting to hold onto some little piece of her, because it was her greatest passion, and it was all he had left.

After he tells the twins the story, they tell him that they've encountered the same demon, and that it wasn't even their fault, but that they've beat him before. Hopper is amazed, and asks how they did it, but they say they aren't exactly sure, they just knew they didn't give up until he surrendered.

Hopper is still amazed, but he tells them that if they ever encounter the demon again, they're not to engage with him, because he's smart, and he has no qualms about killing for his own gain. He also tells them that he doesn't want them going around looking for any other weird creatures or anything, because if they get caught in some kind of trouble, he doesn't know how to help them and he doesn't want them getting hurt. They say they won't, but they both know they're lying.

Especially when, two days later, Henry comes back, and he says that it's time. He visits them in a dream they end up sharing, and says he's got big plans coming, so he's gonna give them some advice. He tells Robin that she thinks too much, and she should learn to clear her head. Then he tells Steve to keep his friends close, his family closer, and his enemies closest. Then he disappears, and the twins wake up together, scared and confused. But they know that whatever Henry is planning, it's up to them to stop it.

It's a week before they're set to go back home that it happens. They're not sure how, but some sort of rift in the fabric of the universe allows Henry's hellscape of a dimension to leak into theirs, and even more horrifying creatures than the ones they've already seen that summer (and that's saying something, considering they've encountered shapeshifters and bears with multiple heads) start infesting Hawkins and walking around like they own the place. Robin and Steve are both terrified, but they know they have to help fix it, so they start trying to figure out how.

They know it's going to be different than the first time they fought him. That time, they were I the mindscape, where whatever they could imagine would happen, and they could conjure weapons and such. But this time, they're in reality, and they have to rely on their wits and whatever they can scrounge up around them to fight with. They don't know how, but they know they've got to do it.

Finally, they're almost ready to confront the dream demon and fight him with their friends, but before they can get close enough for even one swing at him, he stops them, and starts to monologue, as villains do. He says that it's cute that they thought there was strength in numbers, and he says that that's not how he plays the game. He reminds them of the advice he gave them, and says they're going to need it if they want to save their friends, who he has levitating off the ground by now, all of them frozen and looking terrified. He says that they're going to play a game, and their friends are taken away, flying off to somewhere else in the labyrinth of a palace Henry's built for himself. He tells them that he put one of their friends in each different room of the place, and that they're going to have to go through one room at a time to attempt to save them. Each room will get more and more difficult, and they'll each take a wing of the palace to go through, they can't do it together. They'll get three tries to answer each riddle, and if they can't, then their friend in that room will die an agonizing death. Robin and Steve are terrified, but they stand their ground, and say that they'll do it.

Henry is all too delighted, and tells them that if they manage to do it and get all their friends out alive, then he'll allow them a chance to try and beat him. He's clearly doubting their abilities, and entirely too amused for their liking, but they know it's their only choice, so they accept. And as such, the games begin.

They each get seven rooms. The riddles for Robin start easy, but the answers are so simple that she begins to overthink them, and it almost costs her her second room. But she remembers the advice Henry gave her, and she knows the stakes. She also knows that he never gave them a time limit, so until she's sure she's got the answer, she doesn't even chance it. She saves Mrs. Byers first, then Jonathan, Mike, El, and Erica. The second to last room is occupied by Eddie, and it's one of the simplest riddles, but Robin almost loses again because of the overthinking. She is down to her final try when she finally gets it and saves him, and is finally sent on to her last room, which contains her uncle Hopper. She is timed on that one, but even under the pressure, she's noticed a pattern to all the riddles, they all have something to do with fire, so she figures it out by process of elimination, and saves her uncle.

Meanwhile, Steve is faring a little differently. He doesn't just get riddles with simple answers like his sister, his riddles all have something to do with the person he's trying to save. Something that he would only know if he knew them well. He figures out that this is what Henry meant by "keep your friends close", and once he figures that out, it's pretty much a cakewalk. He saves Nancy, then Murray, then Lucas, Will, Max and Dustin. Finally, he gets to the last room, and he finds Billy inside. This is the hardest room for him, and even though he's not timed, he only gets one chance to get this one right. He thinks about all the other riddles, all of them having to do with either some fear the person had or some kind of thing that could be used against them somehow. And this riddle is one that hardly makes any sense, where the others were mostly pretty simple. Steve tries to break it down bit by bit, like his math teacher taught him to do when they were doing a tough problem, and he finally figures it out. It's asking for the one thing that would make Billy surrender anything for. Steve gives his answer, and it's correct.

After that, Billy drops back to the floor, and the two of them, as well as Robin, Hopper, and everybody else, are teleported back in front of Henry, who is only slightly ticked off that Robin and Steve have figured it all out. But, he plays fair, and tells them that they can take their shot at him. Robin and Steve can't do any kind of sibling communication between their minds, but they did make up a secret language when they were kids, so throughout the battle, they're able to communicate without Henry understanding what they're saying or planning. They talk about the riddles, how all of Robin's had something to do with fire and how Steve's all had something to do with how to gain the upper hand on each of the people he'd saved. It only takes them a second to figure out that Henry was testing them that whole time, because it wasn't just about them being able to save their friends.

It was about seeing if they were smart enough to figure out what his weakness was.

Ultimately, Henry's cockiness led to his own downfall, because as soon as they figured out that fire was his weakness, they found a way to light the sucker up. It hadn't been easy, and they didn't escape unscathed, but once Henry went down, so did all of his minions.

They didn't remember much after that, both of them being too tired and too worried about their friends and the rest of the townsfolk to worry about what happened then, but from what they can guess, Henry died and all of his demons were sucked back into the portal they came out of, and the town was restored to its former glory. There were still weird creatures all around, and it took them a while to repair some of the damage done to buildings and such, but for the most part, Hawkins just went back to being Hawkins.

Soon enough, it was their last day in town, and as they packed up their things and tried to prepare themselves to say goodbye to their friends, they got to talking about Henry and his game again. Robin tells him about how she almost messed up and lost twice, and he comforts her and tells her that she didn't, so it didn't matter, and even if she had messed up, it wouldn't have been on her, it would've been on Henry. She says she knows, but it's still hard, and then she asks him what his hardest riddle was. Steve tells her about the final riddle, how he only got one shot to get it right, and how twisted up the words were so that he almost wasn't able to figure it out. Eventually though, he found out that it was asking for Billy's one weakness, and at this point, Robin interrupts with a scoff and asks how he managed to figure that out.

And now, Steve finally comes clean with her, telling her that after the whole vampire fiasco earlier in the summer, he and Billy started seeing each other. He says that all summer, he'd been wanting to find a nice girl or guy to have a summer romance with, and he finally found it in Billy, and it was around then that he started to get more involved with her and the journal stuff before the shit hit the fan, because he finally had something. He says that he told Billy about Henry once and how he always tries to figure out your weakness to exploit it (in their case, it was the people they cared about) and he says that Billy told him his only weakness would be him and Max. He'd laughed it off as a joke at the time, but he couldn't have been more relieved about it when it finally came down to that stupid riddle. And he's glad he's telling Robin now, because it felt weird to lie to her all that time and now he doesn't have to any more. And Robin is happy for him, really. After all his failed summer romances that she had to bear witness to, she's glad he found someone that made him happy. Even if it was Billy Hargrove.

Finally, their conversation ends, and they have to start getting ready to say goodbye to everybody. They head out to the bus stop that's gonna take them home and everyone is there waiting for them. The kids are all hugging them over and over and practically sobbing as they make them promise to write, the young adults are all hugging them and telling them they had so much fun over the summer and they better come back next year, and the adults are loading them down with snacks for the trip and making sure they've got everything packed. Uncle Hopper even makes sure that Steve's pet goat that he won at the fair is cleared to go home with them (their parents don't know yet and he may have had to threaten the bus driver, but it's for his nephew, so who cares).

And then finally it comes time for them to board the bus. Robin is crying and refusing to let go of Uncle Hopper, the two of them forming a bond over the summer that she says better not be broken by the time they come back next summer. And Steve is emotional, too, over Hopper and everybody else there. But the person that makes him cry the most is Billy. He makes him promise to call all the time, and invites him to come stay with them in Chicago sometime and says that he'll be back to visit as soon as he can manage. Billy promises that all that will happen, and then, just before Steve has to board the bus, he hands him a little present wrapped up in tissue paper. Steve is about to open it, but Billy stops him, and says with a blush pinker than the bubblegum Robin is chewing that he should wait to open it until the next time he misses Hawkins.

That time comes on the bus ride home, after Robin falls asleep next to him and everybody in Hawkins is miles away. It's a scrapbook that Billy must've put together himself, with an entire page dedicated to everybody important and all kinds of pictures from throughout the summer, even before they got together. He got everybody to sign it, and the very last page is just a letter telling him he'll miss him and he's already looking forward to next summer.

Steve can't help the dopey smile on his face as he gets off the bus and immediately runs to a payphone to tell Billy how much he loves it and how many plans he's already making for next year.

#steve would so be mabel #and robin is definitely closer to dipper #i think this would just be fun #also hopper as their grunkle stan and joyce as lazy susan just makes sense lol #eddie is a mix of soos and wendy but is definitely more like wendy #and murray as old man mcgucket is just so funny to me #billy as pacifica also just works #and powell and callahan as blubs and durland is already pretty much canon #el as the good version of gideon is also amazing #and the kids all kind of being like the candy and grenda for them #jonathan and nancy would be like those random characters that show up every once in a while like tyler cutebiker or toby determined #i just think this is neat and i probably put way too much though into it lmao #gravity falls #billy hargrove #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #max mayfield #jim hopper #joyce byers #will byers #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #eleven #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #murray bauman #harringrove

[inklore]

Another one! For your follower celebration can I pls get a 🔥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 — with Steve Harrington? I'm thinking a soft enemies to lovers trope where they weren't friends in school, but maybe reader gets roped into helping the gang, and she and Steve end up having each other's backs? Maybe with the dialogue -- "so you like me-like me, huh?"

Feel free to alter however you like or do whatever inspires! I'm just in my Steve feels and would love a lil blub! Congratulations again amor! 🌿

more than a feeling.

pairing: steve harrington x (f)reader

word count: 888

warnings: none other than super cheesy fluff, and spoilers for season four.

etc: first off ilysm and i hope this fulfills all of your steve needs <3 and second off who woulda guessed the first thing my thirsty ass wrote for this mans is fluff? not me!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“I mean, I wouldnt go that far.” Your tone is lacking that softness it just had, instead replaced with your best forced sneer and roll of your eyes when you see the tug of a smile forming across Steve’s lips; your admission unfortunately not falling on deaf ears, or being mistook for near-death-expierenced kindness. But something else that the both of you know to be unspokenly there.

“You jumped for me.” Steve grins.

You hold your hand up, shaking your head. “I only jumped because everyone else jumped. Don’t let it go to your head, Harrington. Your hair is already big enough. Your shoulders aren’t going to hold any more inflation.”

Your jest does the opposite of what you want it to do; deepening the sickening fondness and knowing on his face.

And yeah, maybe you did jump in because just-maybe-possibly your heart sank just as deep as Steve did when he was pulled under. Maybe something inside of you seized and ached and your stomach was filled with a feeling you can only classify as something close to affection, a stupid crush maybe?

Or you could do the ‘of sound mind thing’ and blame it on the movement of the boat making your stomach ache, or maybe the fear of you being the next to be pulled under—because it made more sense than you actually admitting to yourself, and to Steve, that you didn’t actually loathe him; you actually liked him, alot.

But you know there’s no denying it now. No matter how many scowls you shoot at him or how you try to ignore his eyes moving over to you as the two of you follow the rest of the group through this fucked up version of your town. No, there was no going back now. Especially after you had bashed in a nightmarish bat's head to stop it from gnawing at him.

A longer than typical silence spreads between the two of you. There’s always some tease, jest, or banter flowing between the two of you. There was rarely a silent moment when one of you wasn't voicing distaste or complaints; that were clearly masking unfortunate feelings and the delight your body went through when you saw that deadpan look of his, and frustrating way he would run his fingers through his hair when you would make a stinging comment to his ego.

You were screwed. Had been since you were roped into this little group of theirs.

Guess there was no going back now.

You were either going to die at the hands of some demented boogeyman or from the endless mockery Steve was going to dish out at you now that he knew you actually didn’t hate him that much, or at all.

"So you like me-like me, huh?" He’s still grinning at you.

The eye roll you do is involuntary and completely warranted because god you were never going to live this down and screw your mouth for being so big and your heart for feeling…things. You were just another town cliche. Another girl who found Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington irresistible. Except you weren’t afraid to let him know how obnoxiously irritating he was—is.

“If you tell anyone I’ll deny it until the day I die.” You’re looking everywhere but at him. Trying to make your tone as sarcastic as possible, but not denying his words. Confirming them without letting anymore sentiments come out of your mouth like uncontrolled word vomit.

Theres a part of you that wants to hear him admit the same thing. Even if its masked by a joke, or a dig. And you hate it. Hate that you're pretty much in some fresh hell and your nerves are only tingling and preening at the hope that Steve says he likes you back. That he doesn't really find you as annoying as it seems.

How pathetic is that?

Extremely.

But you’re ready for the humiliation. Know that it’s coming before it happens. Try to convince yourself of it being factual as you stare down at the ground, focusing on not stepping in whatever gross muck is on the road ahead of you; it doing little to stop you from still holding out hope, to feeling the shared aforementioned pathetic feelings.

You're so prepared for the downfall, the aftermath of this situation—this place—just getting worse as the seconds tick by that you don’t realize Steve’s fingers are brushing against yours until his palm is pressed to yours. Your fingers laced with eachothers; your teeth sinking into the flesh of your cheek to hide the huge smile that threatens to spread across your lips.

Who knew fireworks could shoot off in someones body? Could light every nerve ending on fire, how cheesy, cliche.

You love it.

“It’s crazy,” Steve sighs. Your body readys for him to say something regarding the moment, to ruin it by making you feel even more. Something he doesn’t do when he says, “Not a strand of hair out of place,” and it’s even worse. Because you’re letting that smile spread wide as you look over at him and watch him play with his hair, the look in his eyes, in his grin, letting you know he’s only said it so you can say something about it—his hair your favorite topic of tease.

Yeah, you’re totally screwed.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #stranger things fic #joe keery #5k celebration !

[luveline]

could you pleaseee do more Luna Lovegood!reader x Steve harrington. I loved the last blub you did ♡

~ k

for you, bug watch. tysm baby!! ♡ gn!reader

"Hey," Steve says quietly, worried about scaring you.

You don't jump, you don't move. You stay sitting on the grass outside of his house, face half an inch from the floor. Your shoes and your backpack are discarded in the middle of his driveway, your backpack's zipper undone and contents spilling over the stone unceremoniously. 

"Steve," you whisper. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks, though he's used to this by now. 

You hold out your hand without looking at him. When he takes it, you tug his arm until he gets the memo and sits down beside you. 

"I think I just saw a scarab beetle." 

"Yeah? What's that?" he asks gently. 

"They're rainbow, 'nd shiny." 

He angles his face low as yours is and looks around for it, wondering if scarab beetles live in Indiana, and if they do, will you ever be able to find it again? You must spend five minutes or longer searching blades of grass when Steve gives up and goes to put your things back in your backpack. You've brought each part of your meticulous night routine, a stark difference from last Friday where you'd only brought your toothbrush and a bracelet you'd made him. He wonders if you'll ask him to do face masks again. 

"How about we leave it to its Friday night and get on with ours, huh? We'll come look for it again tomorrow," he promises. 

"I think they only come out at night," you say. You're morose. 

"Then… how about we go have dinner, and then we'll come back out and look again?" He can tell you're genuinely disappointed to have lost the bug and he'd do anything to make you smile, even if it means he spends the night on his knees in damp grass. 

You stand up and almost fall into his side, arm wrapping around his back and smelling like grass and earth. You speak softly but with clarity. "I really think I saw one. I tried to be quiet, but… they have wings, I think. It might've flown away. I even took off my shoes."

Said shoes dangle from his hand. When you see them, you smile. "Thanks, baby," you say.

Steve shepherds you inside. "Yeah, you're welcome." 

"Do you have a magnifying glass?" 

He thinks about it. Probably not. "I'll look." 

He's rewarded with a chaste kiss. 

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things #gn!reader #steve harrington x gn!reader

[katyawriteswhump]

Home to you (Platonic Stobin Day fic)

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles, Day 17, Platonic Stobin. A year or so after the events of S4, Steve and Robin both struggle to get on with life. They had NOT planned in any way to spend Christmas together…

WC: 984. Rating: T.

CW: None (except only a small Steddie subtext in this one!) Tags: Chronic pain, OCD, platonic soul mates.

***

Steve had just gotten through the kitchen door—Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ blasting in his ears—when his boss got right in his face.

“You’re fired, Harrington.”

“Come on, man, no way.”

“You’re late. Again. You sleep through your alarm. When the order bell goes off, you sit and chill, like you don't freakin' hear.”

Oh, I hear, dipshit.

Your crappy bell sets off a stabbing pain between my eyes, and I’m blacking out, or shitting myself I’m having a stroke. So, yeah, I take a moment. I’m still your best waiter, plus it’s Christmas Eve!

He didn’t say it. Wished he had.

Ten minutes later, he was out on the snowy street, half-a-week’s pay in his pocket. Not enough to settle his rent. He was jobless, verging on homeless, out of meds. Yeah, he knew where he wanted to go. Christ, he missed her, but…

He sucked it up, called his mom: “Not working after all. I’ll be home tonight.”

“That’s… lovely. I’m afraid Aunt Lobelia has your room, and the couch is taken—”

“Wow. Can I go in the stable with the donkey?”

“Very droll, darling. For Christmas Eve nibbles, it’s the carparking we’re really concerned about.”

Carparking? Hilarious! He'd sold his car to pay medical bills. That was gonna be a fun conversation with his Dad.

In the queue at the bus depot, the fumes worsened his headache. He sat cross-legged on the ground, his face in his hands, spiralling deeper toward despair.

He heard mutters: “Is that guy drunk?”

Hilarious! Again! Like I could touch alcohol these days.

He wanted to punch somebody. That ache of loneliness settled in his guts, panged tightly in his chest.

Screw them.

He got on a Greyhound in the wrong direction. It sure felt like the right one to him.

***

She found him sitting on the steps of her dark university halls, curled forward with his arms around his knees. He was actually wearing that ghastly overlong scarf she knitted.

“Steve?” She wanted to blub, her rush of emotion kinda overwhelming. “Thought you were working Christmas, too?”

He looked up, groggily, started to rise. Two seconds later, they were in each other's arms.

“You're freezing,” she murmured, her cheek tucking against his scarf.

“Back at ya. There’s, like, frost on your stupid, crocheted bobble.” She hugged him a little tighter and took him inside. Beneath his jacket, he wore the ‘lame-ass’ sweater she knitted for him too.

They sat on her bed, sharing a tube of prawn cocktail Doritos. Everything pent up inside her burst free:

“My waitressing gig is the worst. Next a-hole who grabs my butt is gonna get slapped silly. Talk about objectification—it’s a billion times worse than Scoops.”

She noisily crunched a Dorito; he crunched one, too: God, I miss working together. I miss you so much.

“I’m totally behind on my college work. Nobody else gets it, because they, like, have money, and go home for Christmas, but my mom’s not talking to me, and—”

She paused for another crunch. They shared the last Dorito. He sank heavily against her shoulder, and before she knew it, she’d gotten his head in her lap.

I hate touching people, having them touch me. Then there’s you. Something else she didn’t need to say.

“It’s spookily quiet here, Steve, with the other students gone. I end up, like, checking every window and door a thousand times, because if it's spooky, there’s gonna be spooks, right? Or other supernatural shit, because after what we’ve seen, nothing can be ruled out, and don’t get me started on what I do when the lightbulbs flicker… uh, Steve? You okay? Too much prattling?”

“I’m with the spooks,” he mumbled. “Hot for the quiet. Though you’re not making my head any worse, so shoot.”

Nope. She’s done. With Steve, she can have this thing called comfortable silence.

She stroked his hair; it’s still damp, but they’re warming up, snuggled together. She skittered fingers across his brow, down his cheek. His face is toasty hot.

“Your fingers stink of prawns.” His snicker tugged her lips into a smile.

“You can talk, Mr Dorito-breath. I’ll wash.”

“Come straight back—you’re helping. Best treatment I got, till I can bag more opioids.”

She turned on the faucet, wanted to scream: I hate how nobody cares about your pain. I hate the price you paid for helping others, saving lives. You never ask for help. Why can’t anybody see? And then there’s Eddie. Healing all alone, while living on the run...

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, when they’re settled back as they were.

“What the hell for?” He slid his hand under his cheek, taking some weight off her knee.

“Oh… nothing. I guess, it was… nothing.”

“You think about Eddie much?” He tugged that smile from her again, this time blurred with tears. Brain-share, huh?

“Only every single day.”

“Yeeeah. Me too.” He unleashed a long, shuddering sigh. “He called last month. I'd drop everything and run to him, if he just... said the word."

"Did YOU say the word yet?"

A faint harrumph.

"If you never tell Eddie how you feel, Dingus—"

"Hey, is it midnight yet?”

“Yeah." She shook her head, lovingly. "Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry… Christmmm…”

He sighed again, long and slow. She sensed immediately that he’d fallen asleep. 

That night, she only checked the windows and doors twice.

***

It was great to wake without an alarm piercing his skull. Without that grind of loneliness in his gut.

They’d squished into the single bed. He’d gotten most of the pillow, and she’d hogged most of the blanket. His head hurt less, and Robin’s soft snores had to be one of the few sounds in the world that didn’t bug him.

Okay, they grated a bit. He was still stupidly relieved to be here.

He curled up behind her, spooning like a pair of furry sloths, and went back to sleep.

#platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin fic #stobin friendship #steve and robin #steddieholidaydrabbles #steve harrington whump #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington hurt/comfort

[edmetalqueer]

♛STRANGER THINGS MASTERLIST♛

STEVE HARRINGTON

nsfw alphabet steve with a artistic reader** polyamorous relationship w/ eddie hcs bandages & kissies** poppin' pills***

BILLY HARGROVE

billy w/ a delinquent d&d bf* music*

JONATHAN BYERS

sweet words ** lovers* in the backseat* california polyamory, argyle and jonathan polyamory hcs california polyamory pt2 men in skirts* ** california polyamory pt3 pervert byers* new things* christmas present* autistic reader hcs

EDDIE MUNSON

polyamorous relationship w/ steve hcs eddie being railed by his boyfriend blub.* the new king** *** tattoos**

ARGYLE

marijuana & hickeys* california polyamory, argyle and jonathan polyamory hcs california polyamory pt2 men in skirts* ** california polyamory pt3 coming out** amor** argyle with a autistic s/o** christmas present

JASON CARVER

brat*

my boy*

#masterlist #stranger things #male reader #amab reader #nonbinary reader #smut #fluff #angst #eddie munson #steve harrington #jonathan byers #billy hargrove #jason carver

[crystaldragonette]

ANYONE AND EVERYONE

JUST SEND AN ASK!♡♡♡

Imma do short stories, all you have to do is pick characters from this list, then pick an emoji and/or theme word. I'll type it up! Trying to get rid of writer's block.

RULES

NO NSFW

NO GORE

VOLTRON

NO HORROR

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Eddie Munson

Wayne Munson

Dustin Henderson

Nancy Wheeler

Mike Wheeler

Ted Wheeler

Karen Wheeler

Holly Wheeler

Lucas Sinclair

Erica Sinclair

Sue Sinclair

Charles Sinclair

Max Mayfield

Susan Mayfield

Neil Hargrove

Billy Hargrove

Jim Hopper

Eleven/Jane

Joyce Byers

Jonathan Byers

Will Byers

Keith

Tommy Hagan

Carol

Chrissy Cunningham

Gareth

Jeff

Grant (unnamed freak)

Benny

Brenner

Sam Owens

Steve's Mother (I've named her Patricia)

Steve's Father (I've named him Richard)

Lance

Altean Lance

Hunk

Pidge (Katie Holt)

Matt Holt

Sam Holt

Colleen Holt

Shiro

Kuro

Kuron

Sven

Slav ( First dimension, Crazy)

Slav (Second dimension, Crazy but actually does field work)

Keith

Galra Keith

Princess Allura

Coran

King Alfor

Emperor Zarkon

Haggar

Kova (Haggar's alien cat)

Lotor

Sendak

Acxa

Ezor

Narti

Zethrid

Kolivan

Blaytz

Thace

Ulaz

Trigel

Gyrgan

Keith's Father

Space Mice

Space Caterpillar

Laika (Yupper, Basically a really really big alien that acts like a dog)

Commander Iverson

Sal

Rax

Shay

Plaxum

Ryner

Rover (small pyramid flying Galra robot that Pidge reprogrammed to help her)

Beezer (Robot)

Rolo

Nyma

Throk

Anok

Xiavon (an bird reptilian alien OC that is basically a father figure and was a prisoner with Lance in a story I wrote)

Curtis

Adam

DANNY PHANTOM

Danny Phantom

Samantha "Sam" Manson

Tucker Foley

"Jazz" Fenton

Jack and Madeline "Maddie" Fenton

Box Ghost

Dark Danny

Desiree

Ember McLain

Fright Knight

Ghost Writer

Johnny 13 & Shadow

Kitty

Pariah Dark

Skulker

Nicolai Technus

Vlad Masters / Vlad Plasmius

Walker

Valerie Gray

Clockwork

Danielle "Dani" Phantom

Cujo

Wulf

GRAVITY FALLS

Dipper Pines

Mabel Pines

Grunkle Stan

Jesus Alzamirano "Soos" Ramirez

Wendy Corduroy

Stanford Filbrick "Ford" Pines

Waddles

Candy Chiu

Grenda Grendinator

Fiddleford Hadron "Old Man" McGucket

Sheriff Blubs

Deputy Durland

Bill Cipher

Gideon Charles Gleeful / "Li'l Gideon"

Pacifica Elise Northwest

Robert Stacey "Robbie" Valentino

OBEY ME

Lucifer

Mammon

Leviathan

Satan

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Belphegor

Diavolo

Barbatos

Simeon

Luke

POKEMON

Trainer Red

Trainer Blue

Trainer Green

Trainer Ethan/Gold

Rival Silver

Train Lyra

POKÉMON LEGENDS ARCEUS

Akari

Rei

Volo

Adaman

Irida

Ingo

POKÉMON SWORD & SHIELD

Piers

Leon

Raihan

Marnie

Peony

Victor

Gloria

Of course most of the pokémon as well

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Nezu

Recovery Girl

Tomura Shigaraki/Tenko Shimura

Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Himiko Toga

Jin Bubaigawara/ Twice

Spinner

Mr. Compress

Magne

Kurogiri

All for One

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Toshinori Yagi/All Might

Hizashi Yamada/Present Mic

Nemuri Kayama/Midnight

Snipe

Yuga Aoyama

Mina Ashido

Tsuyu Asui

Tenya Iida

Ochaco Uraraka

Mashirao Ojiro

Denki Kaminari

Eijiro Kirishima

Koji Koda

Rikido Sato

Mezo Shoji

Kyoka Jiro

Hanta Sero

Fumikage Tokoyami

Shoto Todoroki

Toru Hagakure

Katsuki Bakugo

Izuku Midoriya

Minoru Mineta

Momo Yaoyorozu

Itsuka Kendo

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Neito Monoma

Mirio Togata

Nejire Hado

Tamaki Amajiki

Hitoshi Shinso

Mei Hatsume

Emi Fukukado/ Mrs. Joke

Yo Shindo

Inasa Yoarashi

Camie Utsushimi

Enji Todoroki/ Endeavor

Keigo Takami/Hawks

Kugo Sakamata/ Gang Orca

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fat Gum

Kai Chisaki/ Overhaul

Hari Kurono/ Chrono/ Chronostasis

Naomasa Tsukauchi

Eri

Oboro Shirakumo/ Loud Cloud

Masura Bakugou

Mitsuki Bakugou

Inko Midoriya

Hisashi Midoriya

MIRACULOUS LADYBUG

Marinette

Adrien

Nino

Alya

Luka

Juleka

Rose

Lila

Ivan

Cloe

Sabrina

Nathaniel

Marc

Jagged Stone

Penny

Lê Chiến Kim

Alix

Max

Kagami

Mylène

Felix (but like original concept for Chat Felix, not canon gremlin Felix)

ANIMAL CROSSING

Redd

Tom

Timmy

Tommy

ZELDA

OOT Link

Malon

OOT Zelda

BOTW Link

BOTW Zelda

Sidon

Yunobo

Riju

Teba

Kass

Beetle

Urbosa

Mipha

Revali

Daruk

LINKED UNIVERSE

Time

Twilight

Sky

Warriors

Wind

Legend

Four

Wild

Hyrule

INVADER ZIM

Zim

Gir

Dib

#miraculous ladybug #obey me #linked universe #leviathan #voltron #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #volo #marinette cheng #lu twilight #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me simeon #obey me mammon #danny phantom #gravity falls #fic challenge #fanfic challenge #zelda #loz #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi #hawks #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #stranger things #eddie munson

[mxtantrights]

NOW TAKING BLURB REQUESTS FOR STRANGER THINGS

yes my inbox is open to blurbs starting now. send in any ramblings or ideas you have! I���d love to answer and talk and create new things along with you all. or just gush over these characters. 

who I will write for 

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

(and maybe more, send me an ask and I’ll let you know)

YOU CAN FIND THESE BLUBS UNDER THE TAG: #stblurbs

#stranger things x reader #stranger things blurb #Steve Harrington blurb #Eddie Munson blurb #Eddie Munson imagine #Steve Harrington imagine #stblurbs

[upsidedownwithsteve]

We Tried The World CH2.

THE MASTERLIST THE OZARKS, MISSOURI, 602 MILES FROM HOME.

You woke up early the next day to the shrill, digital beep of the cheap motel alarm clock and Steve’s bare chest. 

The day had hardly started, the morning bringing in a new kind of heat, an immediate warmth that only grew stronger when Steve pushed open the sage green curtains and let in the sun. It was already unforgiving, the blue sky hazy in the early morning hour, still tinged with the leftover colours from the sunrise. 

You were both quiet as you moved around each other, comfortable but barely awake, last night’s secrets lingering in the air between you. There was the smell of coffee and toast coming in from under the motel door, Steve’s mint body wash riding on the steam from the bathroom after his shower and you were so very aware of the sound of his pyjama shorts hitting the tiles behind the privacy of the thin door.

His bruise was beginning to fade a little, turning shades of green instead, still mottled around his brow bone. After his admittance, you wanted to run your fingers over it, kiss it better, tell him that he didn’t deserve a father like that, that any man who could that to their son wasn’t really a father at all.

Instead, you turned to let him dress, facing the wall with warm cheeks because the boy had come out of the bathroom with wet skin and a towel around his waist, murmuring shly about forgetting his clothes. Steve tapped your shoulder once he was dressed, the same worn jeans from yesterday and a shirt that was yellow and white stripes.

His hair was still a little damp, messy across his eyes and he had a flush to his skin from the hot shower, the sun from yesterday. Steve Harrington looked like summer, bruises and all, and he quirked a brow at you as he headed for the motel door, asking:

“Coming?”

You crossed the Mississippi River with coffee in takeaway cups that burned your hands, a too big cinnamon roll that you shared with Steve, holding it between you both as he tore chunks off of it with his free hand whilst he drove. 

The roads out of Illinois were just as long and empty as the way in, more green fields and farms, the smell of sunscreen, coffee and Steve trapped in the warm car with you. The Champ Clark Bridge took you into Louisiana, a small town with too many tobacco shops and roads that were a little uneven. Steve drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hanging out the open window to catch some fresh air, the music low, the day just starting. 

Small towns rolled by like dollhouses, wooden framed homes and too big trucks in their driveways, green and gold pastures in between, blues skies above and muddy ponds on the sides of roads. Four hours in and lunch time had passed, stomachs rumbled and the day was getting too hot, so Steve rolled into a small parking lot, a tiny supermarket next to a dentist's office and an off-licence that was opened earlier than it should’ve been. 

There was something so entirely domestic about the whole thing as you pushed a shopping cart around the aisles, Steve by your side, shoulder’s brushing, a hand on the cart to help you steer. You both loaded it up with snacks, stuff for sandwiches, a hummus dip that the boy wrinkled his nose at and when you got to the candy aisle, you argued with him until he relented and grudgingly put the extra two bags of red vines back on the shelf. 

It felt familiar, like a scene from a movie, from a book you’d once read. Like something you should’ve done before now, with a friend at your side, a lover, a partner. It made your chest ache with a nostalgia for something you’d never had and suddenly you were overcome to know this boy a little bit better, to make him your friend, your something.

Steve Harrington deserved to be known as more than the boy from Maple Street. 

“Hey,” you said, turning to Steve as you both lingered by the freezers, hoping to catch some cool air before walking back out into the Missouri heat. “What’s your favourite colour?”

You thought, for just a second, that the boy was going to laugh at you. But then Steve’s confused face smoothed out into a smile and he titled his head to appraise you, taking his time to think about your sudden question seriously.

“Yellow,” he said after some consideration, “but not like highlighter yellow, more like sunshine yellow, like when it starts to set and it goes all golden, y’know?”

You grinned, nodding, suddenly feeling so shy and Steve was blushing, cheeks a pretty pink as he coughed and waved a hand to you in return. “What about, uh, what about you?”

“Green, I think,” you mused, eyes set on the cart as you pushed it, wheels rattling, Steve just behind you. “Like forest green, a deep shade.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, and the surprise in his voice made you stop and turn. 

“Oh?”

“Well,” Steve started, moving into your space for a second as a family passed by with an overflowing cart and two screaming kids. His hands were on your waist for just a second, but the skin he touched burned for so much longer. “I guess I thought you were gonna say blue, like the ocean? Carmel, y’know?”

It made you smile, the way he mentioned the town, your destination, some sort of shared goal. Like the ultimate show of the new found friendship. And you nodded again, understanding but you shrugged your shoulders, head tilted to him as you both started to walk again.

“I’ve never seen it, remember?” 

Steve clicked his tongue and grabbed some bottles of water, throwing them into the cart. “Right.”

“But hey, maybe I’ll change my answer when I do.”

You gave Steve another smile then, all soft and warm, and he nodded, smiling back. Unbeknownst to you, the boy decided there and then that he wanted to give you every ocean you wanted. He’d flood the world to keep making you smile at him like that.

----------

The world got a little less flat as you drove further towards The Ozarks, the land around the roads lifting into small rock faces, dipping and rolling into green hills, valley’s of trees, raised land that was painted in red clay. Steve kept the windows down, the smell of pine and hot asphalt flying in with the unmistakable smell of fresh water, that clean, light feel in the air that made your stomach flutter.

And then the boy was rolling off of the highway, down winding roads that were smaller and less busy, framed with green and trees and startling blue skies. You couldn’t see a cloud above you and it made your chest thump, like something special was about to happen. 

Water came into view when Steve took a sharp corner, the flash of navy blue between trees and road signs and you gasped, you actually gasped. The sound made Steve grin, no, beam,  and he was driving a little faster, laughing when you did. He drove you over Bagnell Dam, the lake closer than ever, shimmering like something out of a movie, the sun dancing off of the surface until it hurt to look at it for too long.

The roads got smaller as they took you both through tiny towns and then patches of land, water on the edges and houses bigger than Steve’s scattered between bridges and beaches. Summer homes on the lake gave way to fish shacks and run down diners, a Taco Bell that Steve groaned at appreciatively but kept driving. Everything turned green and blue, trees and the sky, lakes turning bigger after every winding turn. 

You passed summer camps and small marinas, docks lined with boats, leftover oars on the grass edges and then the road turned to gravel and dirt. Steve drove you into the forest and you would’ve cracked a joke if you weren’t perched restlessly on the edge of your seat, belt pulled tight across your chest as you desperately searched for that patch of sparkling blue through the woods. 

You passed signs for lodges and campgrounds, wooden a-frames that had the smell of smoke lingering around them, burgers and something else that smelled sweet. Creeks broke between the shrubs and everything around you got a little wilder, but Steve kept driving, only grinning when you looked at him, puzzled. He took you through more trees, cedar and pine and oak and finally, eventually, the forest broke out into a clearing.

Sand and dirt lined the edges of the lake, that dazzling blue that made your eyes hurt, your chest swell, perfectly framed by tall, tall trees, flat rocks in the water that looked like makeshift floats. There wasn’t anyone else around and when Steve cut the engine, you could only hear birds, the soft buzz of a cricket or two nearby.

“Did you know this was here?” you whispered to the boy, already knowing the answer. The map was tucked into the front of your sketchbook, so far unused.

“Nah,” Steve murmured back, both of you too scared to disrupt the peace. “Someone just told me that I should always take the scenic route.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, flushing at hearing your own words parroted back to you. But it seemed so worth it. You both clambered out of the car together, into the heat and the sun, the slight breeze that came off of the lake and you couldn’t get over the sight of the lake before you, blue stretching for miles, the wooden huts and boats in the distance seeming toy sized. 

Your head felt empty for the first time in years. 

The quiet felt like a pillow, like someone had pulled a soft blanket around you and this part of the world. Your footsteps were even cushioned by fallen pine needles, the soft scrape of your shoes against the forest floor hardly heard. 

But then Steve took a step forward and then another, and another and all of a sudden, he was running towards the watersedge, shedding his shirt as he went and letting out a whoop. 

You laughed, taken aback at his sudden outburst, snorted when he tripped over his jeans that he was trying to climb out of, his shoes tangling in the denim as he toed them off at the same time. You burned, turning to stare at a tree trunk when you realised too late that the boy was only left in black boxers, the cotton tight and cut around the muscles of his thighs. 

There was a splash, silence, a burst of water on the surface along with a gasp and then:

“You’re not gonna leave me hangin’, are you?”

You turned back, eyes a little wide at the sight of Steve a little ways out from the waters edge, arms circling the surface. His hair was a mess, soaked and darker than it was supposed to be, dripping water into his eyes, across his cheeks.

He glittered like the lake, like the sun was made just for him and god, he was grinning at you like this was the best day of his life. Maybe it was. Maybe it was yours too. 

You shuffled your feet, nervous, hands hovering at the waistband of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and you tried your best to seem calm, collected. Fucking normal. “Hey, turn ‘round, would you?”

Steve obliged without any comment and you were greeted to the sight of his bare back, all strong lines of muscle, broad shoulders, tanned skin, a collection of freckles that you wanted to play join the dots with. You swore again, feeling stupid, feeling like you were sixteen and without overthinking it, you shucked off your clothes and left them in a patch of grass on top of your shoes.

Your underwear didn’t match, ‘cause Jesus, when did it ever? You were a clash of red and baby blue, tiny dots printed over a bra that turned scarlet in the water and you dove straight in, head under to avoid Steve’s gaze, just for a few seconds more.

You broke the surface a few feet away from him, gasping a little at the chill of the water as you slicked your hair back from your eyes. Steve was already watching, a small smile on his face. The world seemed to go quiet as you both tread water, staring at each other in the sun, like you were both waiting for something to happen.

It felt a little magic, floating out in the lake like that, under the sun, the cool water lapping at way too much bare skin. It left you exposed, like Steve could see right through you, the beam of sunshine you were swimming in left you translucent.

Maybe he could see your secrets like this, maybe you could see his. Maybe that’s why you dunked your head under the water to escape his gentle stare, swimming through the sun that broke though the surface, hands out in front of you like you could swim all the way to California.

It was a little later when Steve joined you on one of those flat rocks, the smooth surface of it big enough for both of you to stretch out on. It was warmed by the sun, drying you both on in little time and you lay there, your head by his toes and vice versa, until the sun started to dip and turn your little patch of world golden.

The heat lingered, like it always did in July, making the air sticky and sweet. Neither of you had been back to the car since you’d jumped out of it hours before and you have a fleeting image of the inside being overtaken by bugs, maybe a rogue squirrel, both windows still down. 

“Hey,” Steve said, nudging a knee to yours and interrupting your thoughts. “What’s your favourite movie?” 

You grinned, sudden and like you couldn’t help it, ‘cause the question made you feel like maybe Steve wanted to be your friend the way you wanted to be his. Like he was trying to work you out too.

You kept your eyes closed as you hummed, thinking his question over. You felt him fidget next to you, bare legs brushing your own in a way that felt deliberate. He felt warm like the sun, like the summer.

“Uh, The Princess Bride,” you told him, smiling to the sky. You heard him laugh softly, a little harder when you nudged at his shoulder with your toes and you sat up, leaning on your elbows. “What’s so funny?”

Steve peered up at you from behind messy hair, the strands a little wild from the lake. He was smiling, not unkind, eyes honey and soft. He patted at your knee in what you thought was meant to be a reassuring way but it set your heart thumping, blood racing full throttle and you hoped you could blame the heat on your cheeks on the sun.

“I’m not, sorry, I am,” he was grinning still, dimples on show, “it’s just that’s my friend Max’s favourite movie too. Except she won’t admit it ‘cause she likes everyone to think she’s tough.”

Steve sat up, mirroring your pose. “Even though she’s like, one of the most badass people I know.” He sniffed, looking off to the water. “Kinda miss her, all of them.”

You smiled, heart softening at his admission. Steve had made it clear that he wasn’t too concerned about leaving his parents behind as he jumped over state lines with you, but you hadn’t really thought to ask about his friends. It was hard to miss them around Hawkins, a mismatched bunch of kids and almost adults, a squadron of bikes and the crackle of walkie talkies following them wherever they went.

It was even more difficult to miss the way some of the kids looked at Steve, like a brother, like a lifeline. You cleared your throat, garnered his attention and twisted your lips in a sad display of sympathy for him. But he merely shook his head and smiled back.

“S’fine,” he told you, “I’m gonna call Robin soon, check in with them all. Make sure they haven’t killed each other.”

You snorted and nodded like you knew what he meant. You didn’t not really, because the ache of missing someone the way Steve missed his friends was foriegn to you. You spoke to Robin, sure, had even turned down a few invitations to a movie night you were sure was held at Steve’s house. But you’d always felt like you were intruding on something that didn’t belong to you.

So instead of telling him that you had no one to call, no one back ‘home’, you tapped your foot into his bare hip and set him with a questioning gaze.

“What’s your favourite movie, then?” You grinned, teasing, “Top Gun, right? No, no, wait, Die Hard?”

Steve rolled his eyes at you, good natured in the way he scoffed and leaned back into the lake to splash water on you. He smirked at your squeal, huffed out a laugh when you pushed at him and shook his head. 

“No, actually, you presumptuous ass,” he licked his lips, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s Stand By Me.”

There was something about his choice that made you pause. That found-family feeling, the sense of leaving home and going on an adventure. You gazed at him, still smiling, knowing that your grin was softening on your lips, a sense of warmth and understanding washing over you.

But it seemed too heavy to talk about, to ask if he felt the same way as the characters in the movie. Did he feel scared of growing up like Gordie? Did he wanna run away from it all like Chris?

So you hummed a noise of approval, looked out to the sun that was setting over the lake, turning the sky shades of peach and red. “That’s, uh, that’s a good movie.”

It was over a dinner of turkey sandwiches and chips that you both decided that it was too late to drive back out to a town in order to find a motel. The day had quickly turned to evening, twilight making the forest look a little magic, the lake inky, the forest floor lit up with the yellow green glow of fireflies.

You stood by Steve’s side when he popped the trunk, faces set in matching expressions of concern when he managed to source his one pillow he’d taken from home, a bundle of crushed clothes and a blanket from underneath an old gym bag.

He held up his finds with a wary smile. “You can take the back, I’ll stretch out in the front.”

It seemed silly, the idea of his tall frame in one of the front seats. No matter how far back they reclined, you knew it wasn’t going to be a comfortable night for him. For either of you, probably. Which is why you wanted the ground to swallow you whole when you said:

“Just sleep in the back with me.”

The slow hoot of an owl was the only sound for a second or two. It seemed a little mocking, taunting, as if a tumbleweed should’ve rolled by your feet at the same time. But then Steve was scratching at the back of his neck, looking at you through his lashes. He didn’t say anything when he shrugged a hoodie on, the air finally dropping temperature now that the moon was in place of the sun.

You held your breath when he opened the back door, threw in the pillow and blanket and gestured to the back bench with a wave of his hand. He seemed nervous, a little shy but he cleared his throat and told you, “ladies first.”

The forest was even quieter at night, the dots of light from summer homes and camp sites a blur in the distance across the shore, and when Steve slid in behind you and shut the car door, it was fucking silent.

He followed your lead when you tugged off your shoes and dumped them in the front seat and there was a breath or two when no one said anything. But then the boy was shuffling around with the blanket, his shoulder brushing your own. 

“How’d you wanna do this?”

You looked around, body burning as you stupidly realised there wasn’t that much room in the back either. Of course there wasn’t, it was a fucking car. A shiny BMW that hardly had any leg space but the leather of the seat was cool against your sunwarmed skin and you swallowed hard, turning to face the boy. 

“Uh, I don’t know.” Another awkward cough, a flinch when his hand met your bare thigh by accident.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, god, it’s fine, I-,” you waved a dismissive hand, grabbed the boy’s pillow and shoved it at him. God, it smelled like Steve. “Here.”

“No, no, you take it, m’fine.” 

Steve was not fine, his head angled awkwardly against the hard wood of the door, neck crooked, eyes narrowed in discomfort. 

“Jesus, Harrington,” you huffed, pushing the pillow under the boy’s head. “It’s yours.”

After a few more minutes of tense fumbling, hands pushing up against places they weren’t supposed to touch, you were a tangle of feet and legs, forearms pushed to ribs, the blanket a mess between you both. Tiredness made everything more difficult, patience wearing thin and the croak of one lone frog was making Steve’s eye twitch.

“Okay, right!” he didn’t yell, not really, but his sudden outburst in the small space made you jump and he looked apologetic as he lay himself back against the door, pillow fluffed underneath him. He seemed to take a second to gather himself, or maybe it was courage? “C’mere.”

He waved a hand at you, patted his chest like you were supposed to know what he meant and when you simply stared at him, still perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat, he curled a hand around your arm and tugged gently.

Steve didn’t stop until you got the hint and slid down the leather with him. It was a close squeeze for both of you to fit on the seats and your face was burning when he coaxed your knee between his own, legs slotting between legs and there was nowhere to put your head apart from on his chest. 

You were practically on top of him.

Fucking Christ, you were practically on top of him. 

The sounds of both you and Steve’s slow breaths mixed in with the noises of the forest, the night. Neither of you moved, not an inch, the tension making your shoulders hurt. But then Steve shifted just slightly, and you slipped further into his side, his arm coming round to rest across your back, keeping you on the seat and by default, holding you closer to him.

Your cheek was pressed to his hoodie, to his chest, breathing in Steve’s cologne, the mint body wash he’d used at the motel in Illinois just that morning. You’d only left Hawkins three days ago and now you were pressed against Steve Harrington in the back of his car like a pair of teenagers after a first date.

It took some time but you let yourself relax, body melting to Steve’s, bones lazy, sleep tugging at you, the sun and warmth from the day making you more tired than you have even realised. The boy’s breathing evened out underneath you, chest falling soft under your cheek and he mumbled sleepily when you turned and pushed your nose into his hoodie, curling into him in a way that you didn’t dare do when you were more awake.

You both slept like that through the night, no room to toss and turn. Steve kept hold of you, making sure you didn’t slip from the bench, the blanket shared between you both like it was the most natural thing in the world. At some point, Steve’s head grew heavy and he nodded to the side, shifting from his pillow to lean his cheek against your hair, lips breathing out soft puffs of air.

He stayed like that until dawn broke, when the sun and the sound of the world waking up stirred you both. Neither of you said anything as you untangled yourselves, stretching out arms and legs, rubbing at stiff necks as the lake and the inside of the car glowed pink.

The sky was lilac when Steve went to the trunk, pulled out some bottles of water and a few cereal bars, shuffling across the grass to join you at the edge of the lake. You ate breakfast shoulder to shoulder, suddenly not as shy as you’d been before when it came to touching.

It was in the burst of blue sky, that first proper shine of light from the sun that made the day seem new, that Steve turned to you and asked, “wanna tell me a secret?”

It seemed unfair to pull out something heavy like the last time you decided to swap something no one else knew. You didn’t want to sully the morning, the warmth of the sun over your skin. Steve’s eyes looked like honey in the light, pretty and soft and you wanted to keep that.

So with a small smile, somewhat self-deprecating, you told him, “I headbutted the first guy I kissed.”

Something told you that the boy wasn’t expecting that kind of secret, because he choked on his water, spraying his jeans with drops of it as he tried to quieten his laugh. When he looked at you, his eyes were sparkling, full of surprise and warmth. 

“You what?” he gasped, wiping at his lips and chin with the back of his hand.

“It was an accident!” you exclaimed, indignant. “I didn’t mean to, it was all just really bad timing and like, sheer lack of experience.”

Steve stared at you until you cracked, lips pursing to hide your grin before you were laughing with him, the sounds of both of you mixing with bird calls, the water that lapped at the toes of your shoes.

“God,” he muttered, brushing his hair back from his face. “You’re trouble.” There was something about the way he said that that sounded like a compliment, like an affection. It made you warm.

“Your turn, Harrington,” you whispered, shoulder nudging him, your cereal bar forgotten in your hand. Who needed breakfast when a pretty boy was sharing secrets with you?

He decided to keep with the theme you noted, but he didn’t seem all that embarrassed when he told you, “I didn’t have my first kiss until I was sixteen.”

You tried not to let your surprise show, you didn’t want to be rude. But it still seemed like it was apparent on your face because Steve took in your wide eyed stare and parted lips with a shrug and smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“But you were King Steve,” you mock gasped, laughing when he scoffed and flipped you off.

“Let’s just say I made up for lost time,” he told you lowly, and it shouldn’t have been as hot as he made it, but he was looking at you from the side of his eyes, from beneath thick, dark lashes. 

“Who was it?” you enquired, far too invested in knowing everything you could about this boy. “Your first kiss?”

Steve sighed, maybe a little wistfully, stretching his legs out across the dirt and sand as he leaned back onto his hands. “This girl that used to live on my street,” he told you, squinting at the sun. “She only lived there for the summer, I think her dad was in the army or something - she was called Ruby. She let me take her to the movies one night after I got my licence. Kissed me in the back row ‘cause I was too chicken shit to make the first move.” 

You grinned, feeling a little warm from the heat of the sun and the boy beside you and you couldn’t help but think of the fourth of July, the kitchen, the kiss.

“Are you still?”

You remembered the way the boy had moved into you, all smooth and full of confidence, smelling like smoke and boy, tasting like alcohol and bad ideas. You’d liked the way he’d cupped your chin, held you with finger and thumb and moved you the way he wanted you. Steve was all soft lips and firm touches, it was hard to forget.

“Still what?” he asked you, brows furrowed, puzzled. 

He’d looked a little dazed, you recalled, when he’d pulled back from you, just enough that his nose bumped yours and you could still feel his fingers ghosting over your jawline. It’d been so nice having him so close, a kiss in a stranger’s kitchen from a not so stranger, a boy you wished you knew better.

“Still chicken shit?”

Steve bit his lip at your words, maybe to hide his surprise, maybe to hide his grin. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t let on about remembering the same kiss that you thought about too much. But he scrunched his nose and shrugged all lazy, as if to say, ‘maybe we’ll find out.’

—————

You spent the next few days at the lake with the boy, neither of you ever very far from the other. It stayed quiet, the little spot that Steve had picked, just the two of you and the car, the lake, the sun, the stars and the trees. 

When it got too hot, you shed your clothes, dipped back into the water with less shyness, almost daring Steve to look at all the bare skin you put on show. You liked it when he joined you, legs brushing under the water, the sun bouncing off the surface, reflecting rainbows onto both of your faces. 

You liked it even better when he watched, shirtless and on the shore, sometimes sitting on the hood of the car, stretched out with his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, eyes hidden like he could get away with staring. You always felt his gaze, warm on you like the summer, a boy full of sunshine who was never far away. 

And when it got colder at night, Steve lit fires, small things that burned on pine needles and twigs, bright flames that sent smoke to the sky and seeped into your clothes, your skin. You could still smell it on Steve when he let you clamber over him when it was time to sleep, the two of you curled in the backseat of the BMW, like you’d been having sleepovers together for years and years. 

It was dizzying the way your head fit on his chest, cheek pressed to his collarbone, the mess of your hair tucked under his chin. Hands stayed safe, away from bare skin but there was a crackle in the air every time you moved into each other, bathed in darkness, chests tight with what ifs and remember when we kissed?

It went like that for the next day or two, a peaceful harmony between you, Steve and your part of the Ozarks. Something lingering, something unsaid, but it felt nice, it felt new, it felt like the beginning. 

“What’re you drawing?”

Steve flung himself down on the grass across from you, sprawled out lazy in the patch of sun, letting it light him up in shades of gold and honey. You were crossed legged and barely dressed, unbuttoned shorts and a red bikini top you’d finally pulled from the depths of your bag. 

Your pen stalled on the page, your hand covering the barely there lines as you tried to pretend your heart wasn’t hammering. 

“Nothing,” you told him and you hated that you sounded like a petulant child, a little shy, a little scared of Steve seeing the ink on the paper. 

“Is it me again?” He grinned, knowingly. His fingers threaded through the long grass, plucking a stem of a wildflower, a pretty violet thing with butter soft petals. The boy held it out to you, placed it on the page of your sketchbook like an offering. “Can I see? Please?”

You groaned, cheeks hot, chest flushed, but you didn’t protest when Steve curled his hand around your wrist and pulled gently. Your hand fell away with his, the pen trapped between your fingers as the black outline of Steve’s face appeared. You’d started when he’d been sitting on a rock in the lake, shorts wet, hair damp and messy, falling into his eyes. 

You could feel his gaze on you, even as you stared at the grass by your knee, body feeling too heavy with the weight of his attention. 

“S’really good,” he told you with a hushed voice, “no bruises?”

You glanced back at him at that, eyes flirting over the lines of his face, the skin at the corner of his eye, the high of his cheekbone. The marks were fading, barely there unless you stared, unless you caught him under the bright afternoon sun. 

You shook your head, smiling. “Almost all gone.”

He seemed to like that, knowing that whatever was left with his father had disappeared, like the lake and the sun had washed it away. There was still a small cut on his lip though, thinner than ever and no longer angry looking. A paper cut split on his skin, nothing more. But he licked at it, whether he meant to or not, eyes darkening like he was remembering. 

“Hey,” you nudged your bare foot to his thigh. “What’s your favourite song?”

It was a distraction, Steve knew that, one he was thankful for ‘cause he smiled and let his body fall back into the grass, his head dangerously close to laying in your lap. Your fingers itched to comb through his still damp hair, the strands around his forehead messy and untamed. It suited him, like the new tan on his skin, the freckles on his nose earned from a full afternoon in the water.

“Right now?” He asked you, lips pursed as he thought. “Probably ‘This Must Be The Place.’ You know it?”

“Talking Heads, right?” You asked him, and he smiled when he nodded. He hummed the opening bars, his voice a little rougher than the usual soft tune but it was just as nice, just as sweet. 

An ironic choice you’d thought, singing the lyrics in your head, the very first line a stark contrast to where you and Steve were sitting now. 

“Home is where I wanna be, pick me up and turn me ‘round.”

Steve must’ve known what you were thinking, cause he sang it, voice hushed, scratchy, eyes on yours with a sick smile on his lips. You huffed out a laugh, put your pen back to paper and wondered if he’d stay still enough for you to draw him like this. 

“Where’s home?” You asked him, way too nonchalant, a coy smile on your face as you started to sketch out the strong arm he’d thrown behind his head. 

“Are you drawing me again?” He answered instead, but he was still smiling, eyes closed, the sun on his bare chest and his face, more violet flowers clutched between his fingers. 

“Maybe.” Steve hummed at your lie, a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “Stay still,” you ordered. 

He whispered your name when you were sketching out the dip in his Cupid’s bow, eyes fluttering, just to see if you were listening. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You didn’t know why that made your stomach tumble, something inside of you dipping, rolling in nervousness. You swallowed, kept your eyes on your paper and said, “sure.”

“How old were you when your mom left?”

It should’ve been a punch to the gut, a slap to the face that left you with whiplash and the awful ache of having to remember the day your mom didn’t come back for you. 

But Steve said it so softly, the sun turning his brown eyes into caramel as he looked at you from a line of thick lashes. He didn’t sugarcoat it, he didn’t apologise. He just looked at you with such genuine interest, a soft need to know about that part of you. It made your heart thump for a different reason. 

“Um,” you tilted your head, recalling that time, remembering how small you were, barely to your aunt's knees. You were clumsy, all grabby hands and eyes that never seemed to stop tearing up. “Three I think, almost four.” 

You scratched the nib of your pen to the paper, scored in the shadows underneath the boy’s jaw and your eyes flicked to him once, twice, memorising the cluster of freckles there. He was staring right back, gaze still soft, lips a little parted but he didn’t say anything, he just let you keep talking. 

“She wasn’t good, you know? Not bad. Just… not made to be a mom, I think. She was young, all alone ‘cause my dad left before I was born.”

You sighed, dragged the ink across to make the slope of Steve’s nose, strong lines on the sun soaked page. “We lived somewhere in Virginia, I don’t even know what town, isn’t that sad?” The question was rhetorical, because you didn’t pause to let Steve answer. 

“She didn’t do drugs or anything, nothing bad bad. I think she drank a lot though, left me with a neighbour on the weekends and I just remember always crying. All the time. Must’ve been a headache to take care of,” you laughed, humourless. “That’s what my aunt told me anyway, I was such a whiny baby. She told us she’d come back and don’t think either of us believed her but… it was nice to pretend for a while.”

Steve’s hand fell from where it rested in his chest, laying in the grass and the flowers, close to your ankle. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, maybe curl them around your leg, a little bit of comfort. But he wasn’t brave enough, not yet. 

“Have you seen her since?” Steve asked quietly, barely heard over the rush of the breeze across the lake, through the trees that sat behind you both. 

You shook your head, kept your glassy eyes on the paper and kept drawing. 

“Nah. She called once on my birthday, my seventh, I’m sure.” You shrugged, uncaring. “I didn’t even know who it was at first, I didn't recognise her voice. But I remember my aunt yelling at her after she sent me into the garden, tellin’ her that it wasn’t fair.”

The tips of Steve’s fingers touched your ankle then, just when your first tear rolled down off your cheek and onto the paper on your lap. It was soft, a gentle push of his pads to the bone, barely there warmth but it made you sniff. 

You huffed, lips twisting as you watched the inky shadows on Steve’s neck blur and smudge but you just shrugged. “It’s fine, I knew she wasn’t coming back for me. Even then.”

And then - with a finality that told the boy you were done talking about it - you dropped your book into the grass and stretched yourself out alongside him. 

You lay on your tummy, flowers pressed beneath your skin, sun warming your back and your head pillowed on folded arms. Your gaze met Steve’s and he smiled, warm and soft and a little sad. He mirrored you, head tilted to the side, resting on the arm he’d thrown behind his head, the tips of your noses not all that far away. 

“Why did your dad hit you?”

If you weren’t already looking at him, you wouldn’t have caught the way Steve shrugged. He hadn’t told anyone, not really. Robin knew, Eddie knew. The kids were scared to ask, old enough now that they saw through his lies. No one had outright said the words so he’d never really had to confirm it. 

It felt more freeing than he thought it would’ve been. “Why?” you didn’t mean to sound as angry as you did, your voice coming out a little biting, frustration and upset colouring your tone. “Why’d he do that?”

Steve sighed, eyes downcast and he didn’t answer, not for a second or five. He picked more wildflowers, let the petals fall onto the slope of your back, greens, whites and lavenders dotting along your spine. They settled in the dip above your shorts and the feeling made you smile, it made you feel warmer than the sun did. 

And then:

“My dad doesn’t like me,” Steve told you, his gaze carefully focused on the flowers on your skin. “Doesn’t like who I am, who I wanna be, the way I turned out.”

God, that hurt. It hurt to hear, to listen to the way Steve sounded, tired and burnt out. 

“He wanted me on the basketball team, so I did. Tried out and tried hard, made captain. Swim team, too, worked at the pool at the weekends. But then my grades weren’t good enough.” The boy scoffed, let his hand pick up a petal that was tumbling down to the denim of your shorts and he dropped it again, watching it roll down your shoulders. 

“So I quit swimming, tried even harder. Got a tutor, got my marks up, managed to graduate without throwing myself off of the water tower.”  

Steve sniffed and tilted his chin up to the sun, eyes clenched shut and jaw jutted. He looked like a Greek god, bathed in gold, too bright, like the boy who flew too close to the sun and fell from the clouds. 

Fuck. 

You wanted to catch him. 

“Still wasn’t enough.” Steve told you with a grin that had the same sharp edges it did in the diner that first morning. “You should’ve seen him when I told him I didn’t wanna go to college. M’surprised he didn’t sock me then.”

“What about your mom?” You whispered, eyes frozen on Steve, the outline of his features, strong jaw, strong nose, full lips, all backlit by the sun bouncing off of the lake. 

“She does what he says, agrees with him, stays quiet, walks away.” Steve frowned at the last part, like he was remembering something that hurt. “She’s never home, never really was. Neither of them were. Business, y’know? The same one I told my dad I wasn’t interested in that night.”

The boy cracked an eye, golden honey staring back at you, holding less sadness than you expected. 

“Was the last straw for daddy dearest,” he snorted. “God forbid Michael Harrington’s son works at Family fuckin’ Video. He had me against the fridge before I could blink. Knew it was comin’ though, y’know? Like the way you know a storm is rolling in?”

You nodded. 

“Figured I’d just get in the car and drive,” he whispered, looking at the sky, the white clouds that floated by. “Drive and try and find something that might feel like home.”

Your lip twitched at that, such a sweet sentiment off the back of a cruel story. 

“Have you found it yet?”

The boy turned to you, gazed straight at you for almost a little too long, a little too soft before he looked back to the trees overhead, the blue above that. He shrugged, closed his eyes and smiled. 

“Maybe.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blub #stranger things fic

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Jelly's Eddie Masterlist

*Mature Content Warning*

18+ NSFW *No Minors | All stories with FemReader

Need to Know Threesome DP Smut

When you bump into two of your old flames at a party, you can't choose between them. So, why not both? They won't mind sharing, right? This story takes place at least 10 years after high school.

Hey Trouble Return to Need to Know AU

Threesome Smut

Take It Spanking Smutacular

After spending the evening teasing your boyfriend Eddie, you get the attention you've been seeking.

Twisted Pretzel Smut

Eddie wants to make sure you don't forget him while you're at camp.

A Big Fat Tip Anon Request Smut-o-Rama

Eddie visits his hairdresser.

Black Dark Angst Request

Trying to heal through art, you grieve for Eddie

Torn 4/12

Twelve years after Eddie Munson broke your heart for a life on the road with nothing but a mixtape as a goodbye, you finally feel like you have two feet on the ground. Engaged to Steve Harrington with the career of your dreams it feels like you’re going to have your happily ever after, but what happens when the boy that broke your heart comes back as a man with a revelation that changes everything?

Loophole 2/2

Married life in the Forrest Hill trailer park can be pretty boring until you meet younger neighbor Eddie. The attraction is undeniable. You want him, but you don't want to break your vows. Maybe there's a way to have your cake and eat it too?

In The Cold November Rain 13/13

You've had the ideal childhood in Hawkins with your best friend & and protector, Steve Harrington. When it's ripped away, can you pick up the pieces? Eddie Munson may be able to help.

Aftermath 7/7

In the wake of an earthquake that has left Hawkins in crisis, you're reunited with your boyfriend Eddie and find yourself living with Steve Harrington. After sharing yourself with both of them, can you go back to only loving one of them?

Dark Fairy Tale Vignettes on going

Smutty blubs with dark fairy tale themes

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #jelly's eddie munson masterlist

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Jelly's Steve Masterlist

18+ NSFW *No Minors | All stories with FemReader

*Mature Content Warning*

Steve @ the laundromat

A Hard Day

Favorite Mistake

Addiction

Blurb | Mini-Smut

Need to Know Threesome DP Smut

When you bump into two of your old flames at a party, you can't choose between them. So, why not both? They won't mind sharing, right? This story takes place at least 10 years after high school.

Hey Trouble A return to the Need to Know AU

Threesome Smut

Come Together

Boyfriend Steve wants to help you with a problem.

When It Rains

Friends to Lovers | Falling for your new neighbor.

This Is Not A Love Story

King Steve | Lovers to Enemies

The Letter (no smut)

Steve finds Max's letter.

Torn

Part 4/12

Twelve years after Eddie Munson broke your heart for a life on the road with nothing but a mixtape as a goodbye, you finally feel like you have two feet on the ground. Engaged to Steve Harrington with the career of your dreams it feels like you’re going to have your happily ever after, but what happens when the boy that broke your heart comes back as a man with a revelation that changes everything?

If Tomorrow Never Comes

Part 4/4

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Mr. Harrington's Secretary AU

Stand Alone Fics | Ongoing

Taking a job as John Harrington’s secretary comes with some great perks. Good pay, travel, and the boss's charming son, Steve.

In The Cold November Rain 13/13

You've had the ideal childhood in Hawkins with your best friend & and protector, Steve Harrington. When it's ripped away, can you pick up the pieces? Eddie Munson may be able to help.

Aftermath 7/7

In the wake of an earthquake that has left Hawkins in crisis, you're reunited with your boyfriend Eddie and find yourself living with Steve Harrington. After sharing yourself with both of them, can you go back to only loving one of them?

Dark Fairy Tale Vignettes on going

Smutty blubs with dark fairy tale themes

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #jelly's steve harrington masterlist #steve harrington x fem