I thought Steve was the one going after someone who is CLEARLY not interested in him?
I agree that Jonathan taking pictures of Nancy in season 1 WAS weird, but oh my god HIS CHARACTER HAS GROWN AND DEVELOPED.
Will is not a creep, he is a queer kid in the 80’s DURING the Satanic Panic who was also forced to come out by his abuser. Saying he’s a creep sounds incredibly homophobic and tone deaf.
Both Will and Jonathan were abused by their father, and Jonathan had to plan his LITTLE BROTHERS FUNERAL at 16. SIXTEEN.
I get your reasoning for Jonathan, but Will’s makes no sense. It sounds like you’re just mindlessly trying to justify your ship and the only way you can do it is to put down another character in a very frankly homophobic way.
never been this involved to this but you must see that is the look of someone who is interested and have feelings for someone and she's in denial but the audience can see it clear 🙂↔️
I thought Steve was the one going after someone who is CLEARLY not interested in him?
I agree that Jonathan taking pictures of Nancy in season 1 WAS weird, but oh my god HIS CHARACTER HAS GROWN AND DEVELOPED.
Will is not a creep, he is a queer kid in the 80’s DURING the Satanic Panic who was also forced to come out by his abuser. Saying he’s a creep sounds incredibly homophobic and tone deaf.
Both Will and Jonathan were abused by their father, and Jonathan had to plan his LITTLE BROTHERS FUNERAL at 16. SIXTEEN.
I get your reasoning for Jonathan, but Will’s makes no sense. It sounds like you’re just mindlessly trying to justify your ship and the only way you can do it is to put down another character in a very frankly homophobic way.
🎶 byler glee AU because I’m rewatching rn and all I do is relate byler to every media I’m watching 😔
(what makes me a bit sad watching it is seeing via kurt and blaine how easy it is to write a love interest for your gay kid </3)
in this AU will would transfer to dalton for sort of the same reasons that kurt did - plus dalton has a better art program and mike is still in the closet but very!!! ally!!! guys he’s just an allyyy that’s why he’s in the LGBTQ&A club bcs he’s an allyyyy
i wholeheartedly believe that if robin had never intervened during this moment, steve would've told jonathan that all that showing off he was doing was really for him the whole time.
౨ৎ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: before Hawkins High crowned him “King Steve,” Steve Harrington was your best friend. the boy you biked home with after school, the boy who knew all your secrets, the boy who swore he’d never change. then freshman year happened. his new friends didn’t like that he hung around someone so “pathetic”, and Steve didn’t defend you when they cornered you. one stupid moment of betrayal was all it took to end years of friendship. You hardened yourself, dropped the girl he once knew, and built a life where Steve Harrington no longer existed. but when Will Byers goes missing and your little brother Dustin starts acting suspicious, Hawkins becomes anything but normal. you start noticing strange lights, weird noises in the woods, and a mysterious girl hiding in the Wheeler's basement, and suddenly, Steve is everywhere again. you don’t want anything to do with him, but the world is falling apart, Dustin is in danger, and Steve keeps proving he isn’t the same coward who let you down years ago. as monsters crawl out of the dark and secrets unravel, old wounds reopen and so does the possibility that maybe Steve Harrington was never meant to stay out of your life.
౨ৎ 𝐓𝐖: bullying, verbal harassment, language, violence, past betrayal, alcohol, parties, drugs, toxic relationships, abuse, manipulation, aggression, trauma, jealousy, possessive behavior, angst, canon character death, smut scenes (18+/skippable), normal stranger things stuff, (lmk if I missed anything!)
pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
summary: your extremely professional relationship with coach steve may be under investigation by one (1) very observant six-year-old.
warnings: pure fluff, slightly suggestive, steve is just absolutely smitten, secret relationship, children being adorable, mention of marriage, post-s5 (2.3k)
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Little Eli Parker is zooming down the hallway on a Very, Very Important mission.
Six years old, sandy curls bouncing wildly with every step, he's panting hard through the wide gap between his two front teeth. One of the Velcro straps on his sneaker has come undone, flapping wildly as he skids to a stop just outside your classroom door.
5B
He doesn’t come all the way in. Just peeks around the frame, fingers gripping the edge as he rocks back and forth on his heels.
You pause mid-sentence, lowering the book you’ve been reading aloud. A few students crane their necks to look.
Eli’s bright blue mesh pinnie hangs crooked over his T-shirt, smudged with chalk dust and tiny white handprints—making it very clear which class he’s just sprinted away from. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like he’d forgotten the ‘no running in the halls’ rule until the very last second.
“Hey, Eli,” you call out gently. “You okay, honey?”
He sucks in a much-needed breath, eyes wide. “Um… miss you haveta come with me. Coach Steve says you need to!”
You tilt your head. “Coach Steve?”
He nods solemnly. “He said it’s a ‘mer-gency.’”
A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.
You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”
Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”
Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.
Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.
If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.
“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”
A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.
“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.
Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.
The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.
Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.
Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.
Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home.
Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.
Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.
“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”
“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”
“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”
Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.
“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”
Steve looks up. Sees you.
And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.
“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”
You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.
Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.
“Whoa—hang on, pal.”
Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.
Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.
“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”
Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.
Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.
“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”
His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.
“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”
You blink.
“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”
He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”
“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.
Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.
Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.
There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”
You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.
There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.
You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.
It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.
Still, you make it work.
A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.
you look beautiful today ◡̈
He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.
“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”
You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.
“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”
He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”
“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”
“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.
He smirks, lips twitching.
From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”
You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.
“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”
Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”
You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.
"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”
You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”
"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, c’mon, bab—"
“Coach Steve?”
Both of your heads snap down at the same time.
Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.
“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”
Eli nods.
Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:
“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”
Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.
“When—what?”
“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”
Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.
“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”
Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”
“Practice… practice married?”
“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”
Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”
Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.
“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”
“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”
Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”
Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”
Eli isn’t done.
“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”
“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”
Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”
He looks between the two of you, satisfied.
“So. I think you’re practice married.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”
“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”
Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”
Eli beams. “Okay!”
He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.
“Hey, Coach Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”
And then he’s gone.
Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.
“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”
“Mm, seems like it.”
He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.
“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”
You smile. “Probably way before then.”
Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.
He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”
He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.
“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”
Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.
Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.
The proof?
A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Coach!Steve x single mom reader. Tw: mentions of money problems <3
I’ve never done one of these before I don’t know if this is any good. Does anyone have ideas for these?
Coach!Steve who recognises you from high school, remembering how you fell pregnant during senior year with your shitty boyfriend, and ends up coaching your shy little boy James, who is now 5, encouraging him with the ball.
Coach!Steve who thinks you’re insanely pretty but is way to scared to speak to you, worried you still think he’s a douche or now think he’s a massive loser.
Coach!Steve who watches you rush across the field, still on your uniform, clutching James’ hand, apologising profusely, hoping you didn’t miss much.
Coach!Steve who ‘finds’ gloves and cleats and anything you could ever need for your son after his shoes fall apart on the field.
Coach!Steve who watches you stay for every practice and every game, cheering James on louder than any of the other parents with an exhausted smile on your face, rain or shine.
Coach!Steve who finds out you work three jobs from an innocent comment from James, and now has so much respect for you his heart swells with admiration.
Coach!Steve who finally has the courage to talk to you, only to find out you’re as shy as your son. After a few weeks of trying to talk to you, he convinces you to join him for lunch. You agree, with the one condition that James comes with. Well, how could he say no to his favourite kid?
The idea of Mike wheeler ending up just like his mother. Trapped in a loveless marriage while he watches the love of his life with another man.
The idea of Mike wheeler turning into his father, cold and distant, not really caring about his kids.
The idea of Mike wheeler forever having the painting. Whether it be in a box in the attic, framed on his wall, rolled up and collecting dust in a basement so similar to the one he spent his time in as a boy.
The idea of Mike wheeler waking up next to his wife, seeing his wedding ring on the beside table. Wondering were it all went wrong. Where he screwed up this badly. Why he never told will how he felt. He’ll never really understand why.
The idea of Mike wheeler not realizing until it was too late. Until Will had moved on, found someone who appreciates him how he deserves to be. That someone isn't Mike. It could've been, but his head was too far up his ass to ever see it.
The idea of Mike wheeler growing old and bitter, seeing how all his friends ended up happy. Eventually he cuts them off. He can't deal with it. What did he do?
The idea of Mike wheeler dreaming of Will. Every night in his dreams, the life they could've had. A dog, quiet mornings filled with bacon and eggs with syrup on them.
The idea of Mike wheeler dying surrounded by friends and family, but they aren't his last thoughts. His true last thoughts are of Will. That's what he thinks about as he closes his eyes one last time, dreaming off what he could've had. What he could've had if he hadn't been so goddamn stupid.
Don't listen to the copy cats Dalia I need more Steve I have an Iscablie hunger after seeing Steve in those tight ass jeans and purple shirt in the epilogue
As the World Caves In | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR VOLUME 2
Summary: In which you and Steve are trapped in a room in the Upside Down with no way out. As the world caves in and as death awaits you, you both finally admit what you should’ve admitted way sooner.
A/N: Nancy and Jonathan scene from episode 6 but make it you and Steve and NOT a breakup scene.
Warnings: angst, mentions of death.
WC: 2.0K
Masterlist!
“Stop.”
You grunted as you slammed the broken pipe in your hand against the hard, unwavering metal of the door as some melted substance flooded the room.
“Stop,” his voice sighed again, as he watched with tears in his eyes.
You slammed the pipe again and again against the door. Whatever the hell was filling the room covered your clothes and was dripping from your hair. It was trapping you both. “No!” you shouted at him, voice cracking.
Stop? How could he tell you to stop? You were both going to die in here, and he was telling you to stop? Why wasn’t he doing more? Why did he give up?
The sound of the substance sloshing sounded from behind you as he staggered towards you.
You continued to hit the pipe into the door, hoping for it to magically fly open.
But it wouldn’t.
In a world full of alternate dimensions and monsters, magic for you didn’t exist.
A happy ending for you didn’t exist.
“Stop, please,” he begged as he stood from behind you, his hands that were covered in who knows what, gently grabbing your wrists, an act that showed acceptance.
An act that showed he was content with what was.
“You stop!” you cried back, trying to break free from his grasp. “Why aren’t you doing anything?!”
The room was melting in on itself. The substance was rising at a quick rate, it was now pooling right at your knees.
“Because there’s nothing we can do!” Steve warned, turning your body to face him. He too was covered in the same thing you were.
He watched as your eyes widened in horror, scanned his face in a pleading way. You were silently begging him to not give up, to not back down. You both shouted for Dustin, Nancy, and Johnathan, but no one came. You both tried to find a way to break out, but there was nothing. You were stuck.
“There’s nothing…we can do,” he repeated, tone soft.
You blinked back your tears and shook your head slowly. You had chosen to deny the truth, chosen to fight. He had chosen to accept what was, and let go of a fantasy.
The fantasy that you two would make it out alive.
“Steve…” you muttered. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not trying to be heroes and save the world, save Holly.
You didn’t want to die a failure.
Steve’s bottom lip twitched slightly. “I know,” he cooed. “It’s okay,” he whispered, attempting to ground you. His eyes were locked on yours. The look in them told you everything you needed to know.
This was it and there was nothing you could do.
He was petrified. He tried his best to mask it for the sake of your own sanity. If he looked calm, maybe it would wear off on you and you’d go at peace.
The room was becoming more flooded as he ushered you to the table, the only thing that would provide you two with a few extra moments of life to spare.
You both sat perched on either end of the metal.
This was it.
You stared down at where the floor was no longer existent. You wondered how you ended up in that situation.
Maybe if you decided to go downstairs instead of upstairs, you would’ve never ended up in this room.
Maybe if you had never jumped into Lovers Lake in a heartbeat to save Steve, you wouldn’t have solidified a sort of unspoken bond.
Maybe if you would’ve never seen him in that Scoops Ahoy outfit, you would’ve never even looked his way again.
Maybe if you would’ve ignored Dustin’s request for help with Dart, you never would have spoken a word to Steve.
Maybe if you would have never went into the woods with the three weird boys you were babysitting, you would have never gotten involved and died.
Steve’s eyes weren’t staring at the walls caving in like you.
His eyes were on your face, taking in your features.
He could die looking into your beautiful face. The eyes he constantly got lost in.
For the longest time Steve wanted to admit how he felt, wanted to tell you how much he loved you, wanted to show you how much he loved you.
He longed for you, but never knew if you’d ever feel the same way.
He was running out of time to tell you.
Running out of time to be honest with his feelings.
“I hate the way your eyes make me forget who I am.”
You blinked in shock, eyes meeting his. “What?”
Steve faltered for a moment. “I hate the way your smile makes make me forget who I am,” he repeated. “Every time I look into them, it’s like I’m seeing the goddamn northern lights.”
Your lips slowly curved upward into a small smile. It was as if the dire situation you were once in ceased to exist.
It was just you and Steve.
“I hate your stupid smile,” you half sobbed, half laughed. “Your teeth are too perfect and your smile lines give away how fulfilling your life has been.”
Steve sat up straight with that same smile you were talking about. “You wanna talk about stupid smiles?” he chuckled. “I hate it when someone else beside me makes you smile. It makes me feel like I’m running in a race against my Beamer…or something.”
You laughed, making him laugh. “I hate the way you look after the kids as if they’re your own. It genuinely makes me think twice about how I feel about you.”
Steve scooted closer to you, as the walls caved in.
Your heart skipped a beat or two.
Not because you were scared to die.
But, because you were excited, anticipating.
Anticipating Steve Harrington.
“I hate how close you and Dustin are,” Steve said. “I hate how when it’s us three it makes me seriously imagine a future with you. Like, six little nuggets, a huge house, family vacations.”
Your eyes widened. “Six?!”
“Six!” Steve exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted a huge family.”
Steve never had a huge family. Steve never had his own parents involved in his life, and he wanted nothing more than to be the parent he longed for growing up.
You scooted closer to Steve, the table sinking in at the edges. “Remember when Dustin told you he found out you had a secret admirer?” Steve hummed, clearly amused. “He was talking about me because he overheard me tell Robin that I thought you looked kind of cute in your stupid Scoops Ahoy uniform.”
Steve laughed and shook his head slowly. “I spent two weeks begging him to tell me who it was…” he muttered under his breath. “Do you remember that once night you got a random call at like two in the morning and that guy said he was so, so, so, in love with you?” You nodded, heart racing. “Yeah, well…that was me, and I hate how true it is.”
Your bottom lip trembled.
You never wanted any regrets in life, but your biggest regret was not telling Steve sooner how you felt.
Maybe if you weren’t so damn scared you could’ve lived some of your life with him as your boyfriend.
Yet, here you were, welcoming death while at the same time embracing love.
A love you should’ve embraced sooner.
“I hate that I never told you sooner how I felt,” you admitted.
Steve leaned in closer. “I hate that I didn’t either.” His hand cupped your face gently as you leaned into his touch, looking into the very eyes you could get lost in. His hand on your cheek began to tremble. Not because he was scared or nervous to admit his feelings. No, not anymore did he fear rejection.
His hand shook because he was scared and nervous for you to finally share an intimate moment with you for it to all go to waste.
He feared death and here he was, moments away from welcoming it in with you.
He could try to prolong the confession for as long as he wanted, but truth be told, the longer he waited…the more he risked dying before confessing.
“I love you.”
Your hand reached for the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer, your foreheads touching.
This wasn’t how it was meant to be. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. A love confession was meant to be perfect. Perhaps on the beach during sunset, or within the comfort of your own home.
Not while you were both trapped.
Not while you were both covered in the very walls that were closing you in.
Not while you were both moments away from death.
“I love you too.”
The hand that cupped your face moved down to your back as Steve leaned in slowly, placing his lips onto yours.
You kissed him back, slowly, passionately, savoring every last moment.
Savoring your every last moment.
As the physical world caved in on you, your own worlds collided.
His lips were soft and warm on yours. It was intoxicating and felt like the only source of comfort in such a horrific moment.
You jumped, feeling the floor rise up and cover your jeans.
Steve pulled away and lifted your chin so that your eyes met his. “Hey…” he muttered. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”
Hot tears filled your eyes as you nodded slowly. A few spilled out as you looked at the tears that filled Steve’s eyes.
Your bottom lip trembled as you glanced down, the substance rising more and more. Steve noticed and used his other hand to wipe the tears on your face. “Hey, eyes on me.” You looked up at him, one of your hands cupping his face too. “It’s just me and you, yeah?”
More tears fell down your face as a few fell down his. “Just me and you,” you repeated.
If only you could just end it all now, and stop awaiting the end for longer than anyone needed.
You knew it was coming, but it was happening so, painfully, slow.
Your hand shook against Steve’s face as you now no longer anticipated Steve Harrington.
You anticipated death.
Steve’s fingers ran up and down your back as he looked down at you with the most loving eyes. “We made it out alive, right?” he said, voice choking up.
You nodded slowly. “Yeah, and we saved Holly.”
“And the world,” he added, a small smile.
“Become heroes,” you smiled sadly.
“And we move, far away from this shit hole,” Steve began, moving his hand that was on your chin to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Like, California or something, somewhere on the coast.”
“We become beach bums,” you add, pulling him closer to you as the floor rose up to your waist. “Surf every day, and get high in our tiny beach house.”
Steve laughed and pecked your lips. “I propose on the beach one night, at sunset. It’s perfect, right?”
You nod with a small laugh. “So perfect. And we get married and everyone comes.”
“Move out of that small house, buy a huge one with a dog,” Steve continued.
“Six dogs,” you say with a laugh. “I can’t do six kids.”
Steve laughed and placed his forehead on yours. “One?”
“One,” you agree. “One kid.”
“It’s a girl,” Steve announces. “She’s just like you in every way.”
“But she has your stupid smile.”
Steve laughs, tears falling down his face. “We finally get our happy ending.”
“Yeah,” you breathe out, the floor rising past your waist. “Our happy ending.”
“Steve…” you mumbled. “I’m really scared.”
Steve held onto you tight, the floor rising up to your chest. “Me too,” he finally admitted. “But I’m glad you’re here with me.”
“Me too…”
Steve pulled you in for one last kiss.
One last act of love to seal the deal.
You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you closer. As close as humanly possible since you’ll never truly get as close as two humans can.
Maybe in another life all those things you’d discussed would have happened.
In another life, perhaps, you’d get the happy ending you deserved.
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