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sheisjoeschateau · 9 months ago

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART VI

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: tw - mention of death, injuries, emotional smut (minors: DNI), language, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency. 18+

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You felt like you could sleep for five years.

That electric fence had robbed you of your energy, draining your battery completely. No doubt you were useless at this point. But you were just so exhausted, you couldn’t even bring yourself to fight against what you were physically experiencing.

Everything hurts. Your chest. Your shoulders and back. Your legs, your lungs. Even your neck.

Guess being brought back from the dead can take it outta you.

A lot of what went down after you…well…blacked out… It’s honestly a blur.

You remember Steve eventually lifting you up, carrying you bridal style. And you remember seeing his eyes. Dark brown orbs, scanning you like a hawk and uncharacteristically glassy. You also remember Hopper over the walkie, telling your group to abort the plan and head back to base for a re-group. His crew was on their way back, and Group 1 would be back with the supplies later that night.

Jonathan offered multiple times to help carry you, along with Eddie. But Steve just shook his head every time, insisting he was fine, clinging to you tightly while tucking your head against his chest. Dustin worriedly asked them if you would be alright a handful of times, and you kept wanting to tell this sweet kid all sorts of sweet comforting things. But damn, you were wiped. So you just let the guys assure him that you are fine.

The way Steve held you felt so…safe. Almost familiar, despite the nurturing touch from him being so foreign. Just last week, you never would have thought him capable of being so gentle. Then again, it seemed that the ones who show the least amount of affection tend to be the most capable. He definitely struck you as someone who is affectionate in a relationship, given how he used to be with Nancy. You gathered that much. Touchy, flirty, all that jazz.

But this? This was different.

He was different.

You were right. You fucking knew it.

The past few days had changed so much between you and Steve. And if you could think straight at the moment, or even think at all, it would overwhelm you. You knew that it would eventually.

…you also knew that your uncle was never gonna let you live this down. The thought made you internally laugh, as you were carried through the trees until you all reached your destination. Although, Murray probably would cut you some slack. Given the whole… temporarily dying thing. At least that would work to your benefit, you think to yourself morbidly.

You had drifted off in Steve’s arms during the journey back. As you all approached the house, you stirred back awake. You could hear everyone shuffling out the front door, getting closer to you guys.

Murray was the first to race his way over to you, hovering above you in Steve’s arms. His eyes were uncharacteristically glassy, his scruffy face etched with worry and relief. He struggled with what else to do or say. Sentimentality did not come naturally to the Bauman bloodline…

But after he swallowed, thickly, he told you — “Don’t do that to me again kiddo, alright? The rest of our family is crazy, you’re gonna have to…stick around. Got it?”

You smiled faintly. “Love you too, Murray.”

Your uncle gave you a curt nod, but you could see him tearing up. He sniffed aggressively, biting back emotion and looking up at Steve. Lucas and Erica stepped closer, coming into view for you. Poor babies looked so worried.

Murray managed to convince Steve to hand you over to him, but that didn’t stop him from staying glued to your uncle’s hip. Everyone else shuffled inside, too. Steve asked Eddie to stay and watch the kids, giving his shoulder a grateful squeeze. Jonathan said he’d wait up for the rest of the gang to make it back while Steve moved to give Dustin a bone-crushing hug.

You were carried off to the master bedroom downstairs, where Joyce and Hopper have been sleeping. Suddenly you hissed in pain as Murray sat you down on the bed.

Steve knelt in front of you, immediately asked you nervously, voice soft, “What is it, what hurts, talk to me...”

You tried to lift your arm but couldn’t. The adrenaline was wearing off, now letting your body really feel the damage done. “M’shoulder.”

Your uncle and Steve looked you over, realizing.

“Might be broken,” your uncle murmured, then sighing, “shit.”

“We have to tell Owens,” Steve said, his hand on your thigh.

Murray nodded, “I’ll tell Jim we need to get him over here.”

Your uncle watched Steve gingerly take your hands into his, assessing the deep tears in your palms from where the fence had scorched through them. Even Murray had to admit — the Harrington kid definitely exudes sex appeal, especially when he looks dismayed. It’s very Patrick Swayze. But more than that, your uncle could tell this wasn’t just some puppy love thing. It seemed like the real deal.

...ahh fuck, he thought.

When Jim answered his call, Murray walked away to talk and let him know they’d need to get you medical attention. Steve was examining every single inch of you, touching you carefully and protectively. He stood, moving to carefully lift your good arm over his shoulders.

“Bathroom. Need to wrap up those hands.”

You leaned into him, and when you finally got into the restroom inside of the master, Steve put the toilet seat down and helped you sit before moving to get the first aid kit out from underneath the sink. Steve was back in seconds, kneeling in front of you and pulling out the items he needed for patching you up. You watched his perfect hair flop in front of his eyes while his head was down, admiring him silently.

“Here,” he spoke gently, moving to delicately hold one of your hands. He looked up at you, his eyes rimmed red from earlier. “S’gonna sting. But we’ll get them done quickly, yeah? Tell me if I need to stop?”

Off your dazed nod, he moved to peck the swiftest of kisses to your cheek before getting to work.

Your eyes were closed while he did, scrunched shut in pain with a small hiss as the antiseptic made contact with your ripped palms. Steve murmured, so quietly, “Sorry, baby, I know,” along with other whispered apologies that included the word baby or angel. It made something strange flutter inside your stomach, despite all the pain.

You made yourself find joy in the unlikeliness of it all, grateful for the fact that you all were still alive and in one piece. Otherwise, the dreaded truth that you were all a day behind schedule — putting you all in even bigger trouble — would consume your mind. You felt guilty. Everyone had to slow down because you’d been the one to get hurt. You’re the one who went and died on everyone, having to be resuscitated.

Jesus, you thought. As if I wasn’t already a nag.

The feeling of Steve’s fingers tenderly closing around both of your hands made you realize that Steve's self-appointed nurse work was finished. Yours hands were freshly wrapped up and covering the raw, bloody cuts that the electric fence had seared into your palms.

Steve carefully brought all of your fingers, curled around his, to his lips. He planted a long, soft kiss over all of your knuckles. You opened your eyes and saw his gaze fixed on the gauze wrapped in a makeshift pattern, encasing your small damaged hands. He held them delicately, more than you ever thought him capable. He was always so brash, cocky and arrogant with you. But right now, that person didn’t seem to exist. This Steve was gentle. Soft. His pretty brown eyes seemed lost, deep in thought.

You looked at him fondly. God, you loved this boy. You realized that now, that you loved him. Truly loved him. You couldn’t help but reach one of your gauzed hands up to his cheek, and he turned his head to lightly kiss your palm and hold it there, his large hand curling around your wrist.

“Steve,” you breathed.

He still stared at nothing, but finally his eyes glanced up at you. They were sad, bloodshot and strained. You hated it. This was your fault.

“You alright?” you breathed.

He pinched his brows together, nodding with feigned assurance, pressing his lips into a tight-lipped smile. But he didn’t speak. And you knew that was because he wasn’t alright. Not at all.

But he clearly was not ready to say that. He sniffed, standing up. “Let’s get you some water, yeah?” he asked tightly.

You nodded, letting him help you stand while minding your bad shoulder.

The kids were already outside of the bedroom door, anxious to see you. Lucas, Erica, Mike, Will and El. They all went to ask questions, hesitant but unable to help themselves. They kept their voices lower, knowing they needed to not bombard you fully. You gave the kids all a soft smile, wobbly on your legs as you reached to pull them in for a little group hug.

“Careful of her arm, guys, it might be broken,” Steve told them, motherly. They obeyed. “Let’s get her some water,” Steve added.

Erica immediately went off to fulfill the request.

Steve and El guided you over to the living room with Murray, who walked over to you to put an arm around you and walk you over to sit.

Hopper now stood in the living room. Jonathan was standing with Argyle. Dustin was there still, with Eddie. Poor kid looked so shaken up. You gave him an apologetic look, extending an arm to him -- and he raced over to you after you’d sat down.

You ruffled his hair, letting him wrap his arms around your waist for a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your jacket.

Your heart broke. “Dude, don’t be. Better me than you. Still, I’m…m'sorry you had to see that.”

Hopper was looking over at you with a relieved expression, walking in your direction. He glanced over at Steve as he did, seeing him standing there with his arms crossed and teeth sunk into his bottom lip with a pensive expression. Hopper gave his shoulder an assuring squeeze, and a hard pat on the shoulder.

Then, looking back at you and kneeling, “How you doin’, champ?”

You sighed. “Feel like my battery’s on its last percent.”

Hopper nodded, breathing a light laugh. He ruffled your hair. “A little static-y up here. You been sticking your finger into some sockets?” You snorted, feeling tired all over again.

Erica got back with water for you, handing it over. You sipped, feeling the couch sink down beside you. It was Steve, sitting next to you. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling you into his arms, knowing that the kids — well, aside from Dustin — didn’t know anything yet, or Hopper. Maybe not even Murray. Although, Steve was beginning to highly doubt that now.

Everyone began talking about what happened. What went wrong, why didn’t it work? Lucas explained that the calculations weren’t wrong, regarding the hacking into the breaker switch system. Murray flusteredly agreed, saying it didn’t add up.

But then Eleven spoke up, saying, “Another hacker.”

You all looked at her, confused. She explained.

“With their mind. Someone used their mind.”

It turns out, she had used her powers to see that it was being tampered with by some invisible figure. Meaning that they had sensed your whereabouts. Who “they” were, exactly? That had yet to be figured out. Point was, you all were doomed from the start.

The kids started saying something about El being able to control it with her mind — to “counter the counter.”

Hopper wasn’t keen on the idea, nor was Murray. Steve definitely had his doubts. Eddie and Jonathan did, too. But Eleven said it could work, as long as she went there in her mind.

But that raised an even bigger question: were you all at even bigger risk now that your visit had clearly been known by someone? Something?

Eleven said it was just an entity. Not human. But that made everyone gulp… Was it Vecna? Was he not dead after all?

“Regardless,” Hopper was saying. “We’ll need to lay low. The evacuation mandate starts next week. If we’re gonna stay here and figure this thing out, we’ll need an entirely new plan.”

“Orrrr,” Mike interjected. “We do this before the mandate happens.”

It was definitely a light argument amongst the group now. More of a debate than anything. The kids were insisting that it could work, while Steve was insistent it was too dangerous to risk it again.

“Hopping that fence is clearly out of the question right now,” he said, shuddering.

Jonathan looked at him sympathetically, along with you.

“...what if we go over it?”

Everyone turned to look at Eddie, confused. He looked at everyone nervously, but with an idea clearly in mind. The lightbulb over his head flashed.

“What if Miss Superpowers here — gets us over it? Meaning we don’t climb it, or mount it. We just…float…?...over it…?”

Dustin begins to grin, looking over and Mike and Lucas. Even Eleven looks hopeful. She turns to Hopper. “I can do that.”

Hopper sighs, battling it still. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t in for a rude awakening on the other side.”

“We’re in for a rude awakening no matter what we do,” Lucas speaks with fervency.

It’s a lot of back and forth from there, and you feel Steve’s arm slip across the back of the couch so that he can massage your neck with his fingers. You sigh at the touch, relieved to have him touching you somehow. You inch closer to him, and he does everything in his power not to lift your legs so that they can drape over his.

“But if we all wait until after the mandate,” Jonathan is saying. “That’ll only put us in even more danger rather than doing it now. Or, well, before this weekend. Before next week.”

“I think it’s worth it.”

Your voice causes everyone to look in your directions. Steve’s fingers halt but stay in place. You take a breath, continuing.

“If we…branch off again. In our groups. This time we’d only need 2. The group here, and group 1, can go with us, or with Hopper and El over to where the gate might be re-opening.”

“That’s true,” your uncle agrees.

“Actually, no, we’d need 3,” Jonathan points out. “Someone has to stay here. Make sure no one seeks shelter here, or tries to break in and steal supplies. Shit’s getting gnarly out there. Nancy said so over the walkie.”

“Okay, so 3 groups,” Mike said. “That’s worth it.”

Lucas and Dustin verbally agreed with him.

Hopper was contemplating it deeply.

Murray nodded at him, “Jim, this could work.”

The retired cop pursed his lips, still thinking. But he didn’t argue it.

Just then, the others got back. Will, Joyce, Robin and Nancy all walked in. When they saw you, they sagged with relief.

Joyce made her way over with Robin, kneeling in front of you.

“Sweetie, how’re you doing?” Joyce stroked your arms while Robin gave you the saddest of smiles.

You returned their smiles, weekly. “M’alright.”

Joyce fawned over you like a doting mother, and you saw Robin looking over at Steve with a furrowed brow. She could tell he wasn’t okay, and it worried her.

“We have a plan,” Dustin said enthusiastically.

“Nooo. We have an idea,” Jim corrected firmly. Dustin scoffed along with Mike, both beginning to argue back.

“Guys, we have to make sure no one else dies out there, alright?”

Steve’s words come out harsher than he meant for them too, and his voice slightly hitches at the end.

Everyone stares, and the silence is thick.

You look over to see Steve, his eyes hardened with trauma. He sighs, feeling bad and running a hand through his hair as he looks down and mutters an apology to Dustin and Mike -- who both honestly can't even blame him.

You reach out to squeeze Steve's thigh, unable to not offer him comfort. You really don’t care who sees it right now as your thumb massages his pant leg.

Robin definitely pinches her brows together, looking between the two of you. But she figures that Steve just probably feels bad, given how he has treated you like shit then had to deal with bringing you back from the dead. That’s probably it…right?

But Nancy knows that look in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t ever look that way unless he’s…in love. No matter how traumatizing or upsetting something is, this look is different. And that’s confirmed for her whenever Steve goes back to massaging your neck, instinctively tilting his head towards you, even as he stares down at his lap.

Jim clocks Steve’s outburst, frowning. “Exactly,” he agrees in a low voice, carefully. “No one’s going through that again.”

Everyone shuffles their feet. After some silence, Mike speaks first: “I’m really glad you’re alright, Bauman.”

That breaks the ice, and everyone adds their verbal agreements. You feel your cheeks flush.

“Bauman Squared is a badass,” Jonathan adds, smiling softly.

“Never seen someone cheat death like that,” Eddie nods. “Most metal shit I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a breathy, sheepish chuckle while Steve’s fingers absentmindedly trace the nape of your neck and top of your spine, seeking silent comfort.

“You guys saving my life was way more metal,” you say, voice weak but grateful. You look at Eddie and Jonathan, then turn to Steve — squeezing his leg again. His hand on your neck slips to rest there, wrapped around the curve protectively. Almost possessively.

Now Robin is onto something.

“Steve never stopped,” Dustin adds. "Not for a second."

Jonathan's nodding. "Not one."

Steve digs his toe into the ground, eyes staring a hole into the carpet. He’s seated so close to you, letting it ground him as he frowns at the ground.

Jonathan can tell someone needs to change the subject, for both your sakes. He clears his throat. “So let’s figure this out then. A plan that won’t cost any of us our lives again.”

You turn to look at him, nodding. Everyone else nods, too.

Hopper takes a deep breath, looking at everyone intently before turning to Joyce. “Alright. First, let’s sift through the supplies you all got today. Get it stashed. We also need to start storing things in the basement soon, so that we can all stay there safely after the mandate gets put in place. We'll need to do it this weekend.”

Joyce gets everyone to follow her outside to her car and unload everything into the kitchen, so that they can all sort through the canned food and other supplies. Robin quickly knelt to give you a tight hug first, saying how fucking relieved she was that you were still here. You hugged her back before she ran off to help the others. Hopper stays behind with you, Murray and Steve.

“Dr. Owens will be coming here in the morning to check on your shoulder,” Hopper is telling you. He really is a comforting father figure, and a strangely calming presence. “Here, lemme take a look real quick.”

You let him feel around, swallowing down the urge to hiss out in pain. Hopper says it could just be sprained, or maybe even fractured. But he says it's best if you don’t take any chances. “Go ahead and lay down for the rest of the day, alright? Get some sleep. You’ve done…more than enough.”

You look down, ashamed. “I’m so sorry.”

That makes Hopper look at you quizzically, brow furrowed. Murray does too.

“Why in the world are you sorry?” Hopper asks.

Steve looks at you in silent dismay. But you're sighing with your eyes downcast, not noticing...instead feeling his gaze.

“...'cause, if this hadn’t happened," you were saying, "We might’ve actually gotten something. This put everyone behind. I just…hate that I did that.”

Your uncle looked so disheartened. “Kiddo, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t do this.”

“It’s my fault,” Steve murmured, shamefully. “I should’ve – should’ve…”

“No one is at fault here. Period.” Hopper spoke firmly, but with parental empathy and assurance. He looked at Steve, hard now. Then back at you. “You guys did everything you could. Alright? We’re not behind. If anything, we’re farther along now that we’re all safe and can actually come up with a better plan.”

You nodded. He was right. Hopper gave your knee a squeeze, ruffingling your hair for a moment before looking back at Steve sadly. Steve hadn’t looked up again, frowning at his lap. Hopper ducked his head to his eye level. “Hey, kid. You busted ass in making sure we didn’t let us lose a soldier today. You get that, right?”

Steve shuddered a deep breath through his nose, curling in his lips. After a few beats, he gave a curt nod. Hopper’s frown deepened.

“Steve. You saved a life today.”

Steve looked up at him with the saddest eyes. Murray was watching him with more empathy than you’ve ever seen. You reached over to take Steve’s hand with your wrapped one. He clutched it instantly, mindful of your injured palms and applying the pressure of his grasp to your fingers.

“Yeah, you did,” you added softly.

Murray swallows, shuffling. “Thank you. For saving my niece today, Steve.”

Steve gives him the quickest of smiles and nods. It’s clear that he’s fighting off emotion.

Hopper can tell that Steve is really struggling, and he gives his shoulder a squeeze before rising to stand. He looks between the two of you. He’s…picking up on the vibe. He thought that maybe Steve just felt really shaken up about having to watch someone actually die today, then save their life. That shit causes lifelong PTSD. But Hopper could tell, it was more than that. He cleared his throat. “Let’s help her upstairs.”

But Steve immediately stood. “I got her.”

Hopper and Murray watched him help you up, hooking your good arm over his shoulders. Tenderly. Kindly. Protectively. Steve's eyes, soft and fond, never looked away from you.

…yeah, the two grown men knew. They were 19 once.

Robin rounded the corner. “Steve, can I help?”

Steve was walking up the stairs with you. “S’okay, I got it. Love you, Robs.”

Robin scrunched her eyebrows together, confused as she watched her best friend continue to mount the stairs with you. But Hopper, who was still watching you both as you walked upstairs, just gave her a reassuring nod. Robin cocked an eyebrow. What did Hopper know that she didn’t yet? And Murray, who had an all-knowing expression on his face. It was much more somber, compared to his usual shit-eating-grins that he wears when he’s onto something. But still. He was onto something.

Murray cleared his throat awkwardly, before moving towards the kitchen.

Hopper stopped him. “Hey. You alright?”

The smart-alec know-it-all actually paused to reflect before answering that question. He took a deep breath.

“You know that feeling you get when you’re worried sick El won’t come back, or something’ll take her?”

Something flashes in Murray’s eyes, and it holds more vulnerability than he has ever shown.

“I get it now. That’s how I felt today. And it did get her. And I was the one here, telling them –” Murray stopped, intasking a sharp inhale and collecting himself. “I get it now.”

Hopper’s concerned gaze exuded empathy and kindness towards Murray. He patted his shoulder, hard, before Murray nodded and walked off to his room, muttering something about being back to help in a bit. Hopper let him go.

Robin was still standing there, awkwardly. “Hop, should I…do something? I mean, my best friend just brought someone back from the dead today, and I’m not really sure he’s alright because he’s never one to crack but I know that he needs to eventually and —”

Hopper sighed, giving her a polite shake of the head and gently cutting her off. “I think he needs to be with her for a while. Trust me. He’ll thank you for it.”

With a pat on her shoulder, he walked to the kitchen. Robin stood there, perplexed. Because while the circumstances were grim, and Steve was the most giving person that she knew — since when did her best friend fall hard for the girl he hated the most?

***

Steve was helping you slip out of your combat boots and socks. Then your army pants. He carefully helped slip some of his sweatpants over your legs, fasting them over your hips and tightening the string as tight as they’d go. Then, he gingerly peeled your shirt off — mindful of your bad arm. He slipped your hands into the arms of his yellow crewneck before you ducked to let him pull it over your head. It was all definitely baggy on you...which you found yourself adoring. It felt intimate. Special.

The whole time, Steve was quiet. The air felt tense. And you knew that he was not about to make it much longer without finally releasing whatever it was that he was holding back.

Until today, you had never seen Steve Harrington cry. You began to wonder if he ever let himself cry. Even when the Russians were torturing him, he panicked instead of crying. The only time that Steve had allowed himself to even get tearful was about Max. But even so, he didn’t let it show much. You figured that he maybe let himself cry whenever he was alone, or whenever it was just him in Max’s room. He’d shown vulnerability that one day, when you both sat with her, when you read her letter to him out loud. Steve was just…determined not to break down.

So yeah, seeing him like that today? Bawling his eyes out over you, of all things? You were still processing that.

“Hey… How you feeling?” you asked him in a low voice, ducking your head and trying to catch his gaze. Reaching up with your good arm, you played with the ends of his hair. But he didn’t answer. He seemed distracted, lost in thought as he stared at his shirt on you, his hands on your hips.

You swallowed, trying again. “...wanna talk about it?”

He pursed his lips so you wouldn’t see them tremble. The words he should have said got stuck in his throat. He swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing. He settled for —

“M’gonna shower real quick, okay?”

Your heart sank at his words, breathed more than spoken.

Steve looked up at you with his best tight-lipped smile. You almost cried at the pain you saw behind it. It was unfamiliar. Completely foreign for him. But there was a time for everything, and you knew it best not to push him right now. Not that anything had stopped you before. Normally, you’d grill him and not pay any mind to whatever argument it would cause. But something about the way that Steve looked right now — so solemn, almost defeated — made you want to forget any sort of friction that the two of you so often had. It had seemed to subside a bit.

After that night.

Not completely, of course. Would it ever be gone completely? This catastrophic rivalry between the two of you? Unlikely. Then again, maybe it was just a matter of figuring out what to do with it. For now, you knew it best to let him be.

You cautiously cupped his cheeks and dared to peck his lips. “Okay. I’ll be right here.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew that he was silently grateful. He gave you a nod and headed into the bathroom.

You laid in bed, waiting patiently. Some time passed before you heard the shower turning on. Maybe ten minutes or so. Finally, you could hear the faucet squeaking and the water began to run. You laid underneath the covers, twiddling your thumbs and trying to not feel the pain in your shoulder. But when another 20 minutes went by…then another 10…you couldn’t help but feel worried. Something inside of you told you to go check on him. It was like this…gut feeling. Still, you waited.

...and then you heard it.

A strangled choke.

The door had been left cracked, so you followed the sound and slowly pushed it open. The air was hot, steamy. You swallowed hard, hesitant to speak.

“Steve?” Your tone was wary, timid. “I just…wanted to check on you.”

The silence that followed felt like it lasted a year. The water splashing onto the ceramic floor of the tub is all you heard behind the shower curtain.

"Can I come in?" you asked softly, pleading.

Then finally, a tight voice answered —

“Please."

Your clothes were on the floor in seconds, even though you grunted and hissed in pain when removing the shirt. You couldn’t get into the shower fast enough.

Peeling back the shower curtain, you found Steve’s back to you with his head underneath the stream of water. He was engulfed in steam and mist, yet you could make out his back muscles and how tense he was as he leaned a palm against the tile wall. His head was down, the hot water seeping down and hard onto the tub at his feet near the drain. God, he was beautiful. Even when he was such a prick in high school, you knew even then that Steve was still pretty. If you were being honest, though, he seemed far more beautiful now. His toned, athletic torso glistened underneath the shower head, his skin the perfect shade of sun kissed tan.

Steve turned his head over his shoulder in your direction, slowly. Almost afraid. His gorgeous brown eyes were red and bloodshot, even more than they had been before. Sad brown orbs stared back at you, water clinging to his lashes and his soaked hair. There were unshed tears pooling inside those eyes, and he was just a blink away from letting them all fall down.

He finally turned his whole body to you as you looked back at him, heartbroken, stepping towards him and reaching for his waist. You could see his breathing intakes were short, the way you get just before you have a breakdown.

“Steve,” you started, devastated.

“I just — c-can you just —”

Hold me, you knew he was trying to ask. Just hold me.

Steve’s voice broke halfway, timid in a way you’d never heard before. Not even that night, when you two had let all the walls come down. You knew what he was asking now. To be held, comforted. He just couldn’t say it, because he didn’t know how. For a fleeting second, you wondered if he considered the possibility of you saying no. If he thought that maybe his pain was some kind of burden, or shameful.

You brought him into your arms without saying a word, using your good arm to wrap up around his neck and your bad arm — screw it — to hold his waist. You stroked and gripped at the wet hair that sat at the nape of his neck, feeling his lips dig into your shoulder. You turned your head so that your lips were pressed to his temple, breathing against him. Steve clung to you desperately, as if trying to use it as confirmation that you were actually still here...

Despite the last two nights, this is the first time you both truly felt naked in front of each other. You both stood, skin to skin, the water falling around you both, and while there was nothing sexual about this time — that seemed to make it stronger. It felt as though your bodies were connecting in some sort of irreversible way. Two souls being tethered, permanently intertwined.

“I almost lost you today.”

Steve’s words sent shivers against your skin. You felt them more than you heard them.

The memory of it was haunting for you, yes — but the way that his body trembled against yours with a barely restrained sob in his throat while in your hold, made you believe it had been even worse for him. It’s not every day that you witness someone’s eyes go lifeless in front of you. It’s not every day that you almost have the person you began to care about be taken from you in the worst possible way.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Harrington,” you tried, but when the only answer you got was him squeezing you tighter, you stopped deflecting.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured into his shoulder, brushing your lips against his skin. “M’really, really sorry.”

You felt him shake his head against you. No, don’t be sorry.

“I know that you…” you trailed off, sighing. “You guys went through hell. Bringing me back. But hey, I knew that you’d be there for me. Even when I was astral planing.”

He still didn’t laugh. Not even a little. He just clung to you like a lifeline, trembling against you and haunted by the memory.

You knew he was mentally fucked up from it. Hell, you were too. But if you were being honest, there’s not much hell you’d had to go through on your end. You were out like a light, then back again. Sure, the pain was excruciating. But for you, it was over just as soon as it had started.

Steve didn’t have such luxury, though. You realized now that he’d had to watch you.

Watch you fall.

Watch you get hurt.

Watch you die. Before —

“You saved me, okay? I’m right here.”

Pulling back only enough to look at him, you dared to cup his cheeks again and brush away his stray tears with your thumbs. Normally, he’d cringe at the mere thought of being emotional in front of you. That just wasn’t like him to be that way in front of anyone, least of all you. But right now, he looked lost and afraid. And he didn’t seem to care in the slightest how weak he looked or felt in front of you right now.

In fact, the way he was looking at you — so haunted and traumatized — brought your heart a sense of pain that it never usually felt. You wanted to take it away from him, make it go away.

“Not going anywhere,” you promised him in a whisper, gently pulling the nape of his neck towards you so that he was leaning his forehead against yours.

In this moment, you thought back on how Steve had always had an oddly comforting presence about him, despite his cocky attitude. It surprised you, really. It came so naturally to him. But right now, it’s him who needed it. And that was alright with you.

“You guys got me,” you murmured.

Steve closed his eyes, his sharp nose nuzzling yours.

“But what if we didn’t?” he breathed.

You watched as trails of shower droplets and tears made trails, finally released and passing over his perfectly placed moles and faint freckles.

“Fuck, Bauman, if I didn’t — if you’d…”

You held your breath as he choked on his whispered words, scared of them as he bit down hard on his lip. He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t.

“God,” he shuddered in a whisper, clenching his eyes shut again as he leaned his forehead to yours. “If you were gone…”

“Hey, hey,” you shushed him gently.

“After everything I’ve said, fuck…”

“Steve, it’s okay,” you breathed, your fingers stroking the wet locks of his hair near the nape of his neck.

“Can’t lose you,” Steve said in the most inaudible, croaked whisper.

“You didn’t, okay?”

“I did,” he managed to wheeze, whispered and cracked. “I fucking did.”

You pulled back, forcing him to look at you. His chocolate brown eyes were rimmed red, strained and distraught at the memory.

Your hands still cupped his cheeks, gently tugging at the skin beneath his anguished eyes. “You didn’t, and you won’t.”

You carded your fingers through his dropping locks of hair, pushing it away from his face so that you could look him dead in the eye when speaking to him. You spoken in that foreign hushed tone that you seemed to only have reserved for Steve, breathing the words against his skin in the hot mist of the shower. You pecked his lips between the words of comfort, letting each one linger long and longer. And Steve leaned into each one, becoming more desperate and passionate each time. And he physically refused to part his lips from yours, even when coming up for air was something you both needed. He just kept pressing short kisses, both feather-like yet urgent, to your lips in a series multiple pecks before burying his head back into your shoulder again. Steve curled more into you as you stroked his back.

“I’m right here, Steve,” you murmured to him.

Finally, he choked on a broken sob that he’d been so desperately holding back. The way it sounded so strangled and strained, you could tell just how painfully lodged it had been in his throat this whole time. It broke your heart into a million microscopic pieces, and as you held him in your arms you realized just how vulnerable this boy was despite never letting it show. Steve Harrington might’ve been an arrogant heartthrob in his teen years, but underneath it all he was just a boy longing for something more. He had so much love to give, despite not knowing what it felt like to have it given to him.

Except with you. With you, he could.

He would. He did.

“Here as long as you’ll have me,” you promised him.

The two of you stood there in the shower for God knows how long. You let him break down for however long he needed, which still felt cut off too soon. And after you both finally got out, Steve kissed you all the way from the bathroom to the bed, mindful of your injury. You let him lift you up and carry you there, lowering you onto the mattress with his lips still glued to yours. You let him feel every inch of your skin, delicately exploring it with hunger and need, as his lips glided across your jaw and his perfect teeth nipped at your neck. You let him suck your nipples as he squeezed your hips, keening in his grasp and allowing yourself to let go.

And when Steve’s hard length pushed against your thigh, you let his hand lift you from underneath the bend of your knee so that he could push into you until you felt him up in your ribcage.

Everything was slow, lovesick and heartfelt.

This time it wasn't sex. This was lovemaking.

You let him groan into your mouth as you moaned into his. You let him whisper things to you that were somehow dirty yet beautiful, and when he began to quietly murmur into your lips something about needing you — something about not leaving him alone — you pulled his perfect mess of damp hair and swore into his lips that you would never leave him. Never never never, thrust thrust thrust. He fell apart, and so did you. He was desperate, and so were you. He needed you, and you needed him.

Steve loves you.

And you love Steve.

Neither of you said it yet. But it didn't matter, because your uncle was right.

We do love Steve.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fanfiction #enemies to lovers trope #Steve is a hopeless romantic #even when he's an idiot #you're an idiot

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