found my old notes from a few years ago when i was planning a full stranger things story with steve as the love interest and honestly i was kinda cooking
would... anybody be interested in a potential show reader!rewrite??
summary. after years of fighting, the upside down is gone and hawkins is safe once again. now you can finally wash your hands clean of it all.
warnings. reader wears a bra, mention of minor injuries and blood, hurt/comfort. spoilers for the stranger things finale. everybody lives!
The smell might be the worst part about your current states.
It’s unlike any scent that you’ve ever crossed before, rotten and sour and so acrid that it makes your mouth involuntarily salivate in that telltale ‘mere moments from vomiting’ way. Yet as disgusted as you are by it, you still don’t want to let Steve out of your sight.
You hadn’t even been fighting the creature from below the way he and Dustin had, but one desperate hug once you’d reunited means the odour now sticks to your clothes too, added into the mix with the otherworldly dust coating your hair and a few bloodied scratches from a nasty tumble taken during the fray.
Once the full party finally made it home and split off into their natural groups for the night, Robin couldn’t have ushered you towards the bathroom sooner. Hesitant to even put her hands on your shoulders, she chooses to shoo you both in the right direction instead before tiredly trudging upstairs for her own shower. Steve’s house is big enough to require more than one bathroom and instead of teasing him for it like you normally would, you’ve never been more grateful.
Steve strips off a lot easier than you do. Each layer of clothing falls to the floor in a rapidly growing pile until he’s left in nothing but a pair of underwear, thumbs hooking into the waistband in preparation before suddenly stopping short.
You’re only a few inches away, movements slow as you force your arms above your head to remove your shirt next. Like everyone else that fought tonight, your muscles ache with every push and pull made, but he saw the fall you took as you all frantically ran for your lives. Hell, he was the one who pulled you back to your feet and kept you moving. He knows how badly it must have hurt.
“Hey,” he says softly, breaking the sombre silence that had fallen over the room. He waits for your gaze to meet his before continuing. “Why don’t you sit down? Let me help you.”
Your mouth opens to protest, but he sees it coming and is already moving closer.
“It’s okay. I just need a minute.”
“Mhm. Yeah, I hear you. How about we just… take that minute over here?” Rough palms come to rest upon your upper arms, gentle in the way he guides you towards the edge of the bath and encourages you lower to sit. You do so like a puppet with its strings being pulled. You are tired after all. “There we go. Good job.”
The praise could easily come across as condescending, but not when it comes from Steve. Never when it comes from Steve. He says it with far too much care for you to ever question his true intent. He’s just been to hell and back himself — fuck, he almost died — and still, he frets.
“I think we might have to burn these clothes once we’re done here,” he says, deft fingers working to unlace your dirtied boots and pull them from your feet once you’re settled. Your socks follow close behind. “No offence, babe, but you smell like a sewer.”
“Are we positive that’s me?” you retort with a lazy sort of amusement. There’s no room left to care about appearances, so you reach forward and let your own fingers brush over the top of his (frankly disgusting and crusted over) hair. His hat saved him from the worst of the pus soaking the strands, but it’s still going to need one hell of a scrub to get rid of the stench from those sacs. “Look at you... I’ve never seen your hair so flat.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. You know, this might be my first bad hair day like… ever.”
“Then I’d say you’re long overdue.”
He makes a small noise that suggests he disagrees and at his light tap against your frame, your hips lift just long enough for him to free your legs from your jeans and underwear, which he swiftly discards with a careless toss to the side. He’s too focused on assessing the state of your skin to worry about the mess he’s making of his bathroom floor, soft brown eyes zeroing in on your knee that he knows took most of the initial impact.
The terrain of the Abyss hadn’t exactly been the smoothest to begin with and in the panic of trying to urge Lucas ahead of you once the Mind Flayer came to life, your foot had caught on a protruding rock and sent you toppling to the ground. There was no time to check you over then, only a split second in which Steve grabbed the back of your jacket and pulled you up, but now he can see the aftermath. Your palms are scuffed, small flecks of pale dirt lodged into the indents made, and your knee is skinned — no longer bleeding, but showing obvious signs that it had been. All things considered, it could have been much, much worse, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy to see you like this.
It shows in the downturn of his lips, the way his perfect brows push together until a line appears between them. This shower is going to sting.
“You think Robin is doing okay?” It’s asked to distract him from thinking too hard about your injuries, but the concern for your friend is real.
You get a hum of consideration in response as he moves to switch the stream of water on, hand placed underneath to test the temperature. “Yeah, she’ll be okay. A bunch of Russians torturing her for information couldn’t break her. What’s killing an interdimensional being gonna do?”
“Right...” Robin is tough, you know that well enough by now. She hides a lot of her fear and anxiety behind silly attempts at humour and borderline nonsensical run-on sentences, but she’s no fool. She joined this fight a few years back purely on a whim, when she was just a bored ice cream server looking for a more exciting way to spend the summer, and she’s been an integral part ever since. That girl is a fighter through and through. “And what about you?”
The Russians hadn’t broken Steve either, but they sure left their mark in more ways than one. He’s had a number of restless nights since then and his hearing was never the same after that day of relentless beatings, almost as if one of his ears is now permanently stuffed with cotton wool.
It understandably frustrates him sometimes, makes him feel as if he’s broken somehow, and while he’s more than entitled to a few moments of weakness after how strong he’s been for everyone else, he doesn’t let them stop him for long. Tonight, however…
“I’m okay. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really fuckin’ tired… Feels like I could sleep for a week straight and if I’m not disturbed, maybe I will.”
“You... You almost died, Steve.” Even though he doesn't need the reminder, you have to address the elephant in the room before it demands the attention itself and you do so with teeth pulling at the skin of your bottom lip. “It happened so fast. One second you were next to me and then...”
Maybe it’s not the most appropriate topic to bring up when you’re both half-naked and weary to the bone, but now that there’s no longer an imminent threat quite literally looming over your shoulder, the moment plays on a loop in your mind. The abrupt way the radio tower had jolted, the sight of Steve falling further out of reach. You tried to move, but you hadn’t been close enough to close the gap in time. If it wasn’t for Jonathan’s quick reflexes, he wouldn’t be here. You would’ve lost him.
“Yeah, I… I did think I was a goner for a minute there.” Fingers lift to scratch at his chin, a nervous tic. He can try to hide it all he wants, but you know the moment rattled him more than he’s willing to show. That’s Steve for you — always putting on a brave face. “Thank god for Byers, huh? Shit, I guess I owe him now.”
“Like you haven’t saved all our asses before, including Jonathan’s,” you say, forcing a lighter tone into your voice for both your sake and his. You can postpone crying until tomorrow. “You used to be pretty deadly with a baseball bat, in case you forgot. I think the two of you are even now.”
The loss of his precious bat drains the remaining bravado from his face and he gives an exaggerated huff as he tests the water once again and seems to deem it acceptable to use. While he’s busy removing his last article of clothing and you successfully remove your bra without wincing, you make the decision to get him another one soon, ideally sans the barbed wire this time. It’ll be much easier to replace than the Beamer.
“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up before I pass out.”
Hand in hand, you step under the heavy stream of warm water and let your eyes fall shut as the run off is quickly stained a deep, hematic red from your scabbed knee and an odd greyish colour from… well, everything else that still clings to your bodies. It means you miss the way Steve’s hair gets matted right in front of his eyes before he’s pushing it back with a splutter, but you’ve seen it so many times now that you know it’s happening without needing to watch.
It makes your lips twitch and of course he notices, rolling his eyes as if the first hint of joy on your face doesn’t make his own mouth split into an easy grin.
“Not a word or I'm kicking you out of here.” Encouraging you to turn around with a nudge to your hip, the next five minutes are spent with sudsy hands placed deep in your hair to scrub the lengths clean. Once he’s finished, you’ll return the favour if he lets you, though you suspect he’ll be more concerned about the state of your scratched palms and insist on doing it himself to spare you any potential pain.
You don’t care. No matter how badly you hurt, you’d wash him top to bottom twice over if it meant he’d be comfortable in the end and after utilising the pout that you know he has trouble saying no to, he’s kind enough to let you try; each of you taking turns to help the other lather soap onto skin until your muscles begin to loosen and the dust and horrible, dried gunge is rinsed clean from his hair and flows down the drain.
It’s a relief when the comforting smell of Imperial Leather eventually replaces that of the Abyss, yet neither of you make a move to leave just yet. His arms have found their way around your waist, your head to his chest, and you both take a minute to just… breathe. Revel in the fact that you’re here and alive and that somewhere upstairs, so is Robin. Downstairs, so is Dustin, Lucas, Max, and Erica.
At the cabin, Hopper and Joyce tend to all three of their kids, as well as Mike who was reluctant to leave Eleven’s side after her own close brush with death. By default, that obviously means Nancy and Holly headed back with them too — two families that seemed destined to meld together from the very beginning.
You have your own right here in your arms, his heartbeat a steady thump thump thump in your ear while he takes his own sense of comfort in the warm breaths you slowly inhale and exhale against him; undeniable assurance that despite the odd bump and bruise, you’re perfectly fine. Everyone made it out alive.
“I like what you said earlier… about staying in bed for a while.” The water is getting colder by the minute and you know you’ll have to get out soon.
“Hm, I believe I said a week,” he corrects without malice.
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how realistic that is, but I’m willing to see how far we can get. I can’t remember the last time either of us slept until noon.”
He pulls back from the embrace just enough to see your face properly, two hands coming to frame it on either side as he smiles warmly. “Yeah? Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe in the morning, we’ll see if the kids wanna get involved too. We could get a big celebratory cuddle pile going... I bet Erica would love that.”
The thought of coaxing a bunch of teenagers who fake gag every time they catch the two of you in any kind of romantic embrace into snuggling together makes you laugh and you reach behind Steve to finally turn the shower knob off. You’ll risk getting sick if you stay any longer and he silently agrees, sticking a hand out past the shower curtain blindly to grab the nearest towel. Your arms lift instinctively, already knowing he’s going to wrap you up first.
“I don’t know how willing they’d be to join the fun, but we would at least have to invite Robin,” you decide, amusement still prominent on your features. “You know she's always trying to work her way into our hugs. She's like the world's sweetest third wheel.”
“Oh, don’t worry. She was included when I said kids.”
i have a pinned post now just for u that i hope works!!
a lot of the fics on my masterlist are embarrassingly old so i'll find a better way to organise everything soon. consider it a wip but i wanted to get something up quick <3
summary. in pursuit of little holly wheeler, you and your friends search the flipped version of hawkins lab based on a hunch from dustin. danger could come from any angle, even right beneath your feet.
warnings. angst, hurt/comfort, crying. spoilers for stranger things 5: volume 2.
Things have been rather… tense, to say the least.
As if Max being in a coma in Hawkins General and the threat of Vecna constantly looming over your heads wasn’t enough, now Holly Wheeler has gone missing, her parents are gravely injured and could likely die at any minute, and you’re stuck with a group of people who have been walking on eggshells around each other for months now.
And look, you get it. Really.
If your sister was taken, you would be just as stressed as Nancy. If your hero had died in the battle last year, you would be just as angry as Dustin, whose grief is so strong that Steve feels utterly helpless; another feeling you understand all too well. Meanwhile, Jonathan is downright terrified — for his brother, for his relationship, for what comes next, and fuck, who isn’t? The horrible blend of emotions hanging heavy in the air makes sense.
It just isn’t helping.
When the time soon comes to part ways, you know the only real decision is to stick with Steve and Dustin, but you begin to regret that approximately sixty seconds after Nancy and Jonathan’s forms disappear on their journey upstairs.
The silence that remains between your little trio is only broken by the occasional pointed jab from boy to boy and sarcastic comments that your best attempts to mediate do little for.
Now that you think about it, a fight breaking out was sort of inevitable.
Like a coiled snake, Dustin has been poised and ready to strike at the first sign of potential disrespect no matter who it’s from, no matter how much they truly care about him. For a while, that group of assholes at his school have been the main victims of his wrath and as worried as you've been every time he appears with another bloodied nose or limp he tries to hide, you can't honestly say they haven't deserved it.
They've been relentless in their hatred of Dustin's loyalty, their disgust at Eddie and the mere memory of the man who had helped save their lives unbeknownst to them. Hell, you've wanted to punch those losers yourself, so you can't exactly blame the kid every time he snaps.
You just hadn't thought the end of his short fuse could also come in the form of a Rubik’s Cube straight to Steve’s face.
The next few minutes are an utter disaster. You’re yelling frantically, Dustin is all sharp elbows and evasive manoeuvres, and poor Steve is doing whatever he can to stop each of you from getting seriously hurt in the fray. He takes every blow that’s thrown his way, never retaliates, and when you get pushed back into a table by a stray flailing limb and hit the ground hard, the look of concern he instantly gives you only opens him up for more blows that pull his focus back to the issue at hand.
Truth be told, it hurts a lot more than you let on. Your palms are stinging from the failed attempt to catch yourself and you swear you can still feel the sharp corner that had jammed directly into your hip, but there are much bigger problems to deal with than a couple of future bruises, so you soldier on like you always do, albeit with a pained wince.
By the time you push yourself back to your feet, it’s gotten significantly quieter in the room and you look up in time to catch Steve walking away from the scene with a downward turn to his lips and defeat in his eyes.
“Steve—”
“It’s okay, honey,” he says quickly, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m… I’m fine. It was nothing. What are you—”
“I’m just gonna check the next floor, okay? I won’t be far. If you need me…” He trails off without finishing, a little scoff following because why the hell would anyone need him in times like these? He isn’t the smart one, he isn’t some weapon master, he isn’t even the leader that people look to when they're afraid. The only thing he’s contributed so far was getting everyone here and he fucked that up by crashing the damn car five minutes later. He’s a screw up, he knows it, and the only thing that stops him from continuing down the familiar path of self-flagellation is the feeling of your hand coming to rest on his arm.
“If I need you, I’ll call your name,” you say steadily, leaving no room for doubt. “Just... be careful. Please.”
A nod and a quick press of his lips to your forehead and then he’s moving again, Dustin’s voice calling out from behind making him flinch as he exits. You have a sneaking suspicion the quick retreat is less about wanting to search the lab from top to bottom and more about the feeling of his throat closing up.
“Yeah, that’s it… Run away, you- you fake asshole!”
The anger is beginning to leave the younger boy, much like the disappointed look on your face that slowly fades once you catch a glimpse of tear stained cheeks and shoulders laden with guilt.
You don't speak. You just wait.
“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hit you.” He doesn’t quite meet your eye, but the sincerity of his words isn’t lost on you. He’s regretful, not only for what he did to you, but for how he just treated his best friend, his brother. The venom he conjured in order to successfully push him away for good.
“I know. You didn’t hurt me.” A lie for the greater good. You wish there was time for a therapy session right now, but the longer you dawdle, the further away Holly gets. The further away Holly gets, the stronger Vecna grows. “Look, we really shouldn’t split the party any more than we already have… I have to go after Steve, bring him back so we can continue this together. You stay here. Understand? Keep your radio on and do not leave this room... It isn’t safe.”
Dustin nods feebly, clearing his throat before he can trust his voice not to break. “Yeah. Yeah, I hear you.”
The smile you offer is a shaky one, but it’s the best you can muster before allowing yourself to leave. For all his faults and stubbornness, you trust Dustin. He's a smart kid. If he says he’ll stay, he’ll stay.
Not that your faith makes you feel much better as you traverse the dark halls of the lab, torchlight rapidly bouncing between wall to ground and back again. The bickering before had been driving you nuts, but now you’re actually missing it. It’s ten times more difficult searching this place alone, your nervous breaths and calls for Steve seemingly reaching no ears but your own. Fuck.
He said he wouldn’t go far, yet this floor is clearly empty, so that was obviously a damn lie. You don’t particularly want to venture further, but the only thing scarier than being here by yourself is the thought of Steve stumbling into danger without anyone there to watch his back.
Continuing to push higher, you climb the vine ridden staircase and clear floors one by one. You’re not certain of how many you’ve covered — the scientists clearly weren't big on interior design so they all start to blur together after a while — when the whole building starts to shake.
For the second time today, your knees buckle and you scramble to keep yourself upright against the nearest door with a startled yelp. You don’t know what the fuck that was or even what caused it, but you don’t necessarily need to know. This is the Upside Down and it's never on your side. All that matters is that people you love are in this building.
To the next floor.
“Steve? Jonathan!” Your legs pump faster now, blood spiked with adrenaline and a hot dose of fear. If Dustin has kept to his promise, he should be safe down there — or at least far safer than you are right now. As for the others… “Nancy? Are you there?”
Oh, this was such a stupid idea. This building might as well be a giant maze and you were never great at directions to begin with, meaning you rely purely on instinct to see you through. Your hand is gripping your torch so tightly that the tendons of your wrist begin to ache, feet pounding against the floor as you run and run and run.
It’s the desperate need to set eyes on a safe and sound Steve that keeps you moving through the repetitive halls, though the lack of response with each call you make fills you with a growing sense of dread. It’s so strong that you don’t notice the changing landscape, the drip drip drip of melting white that falls from a hole in the ceiling up ahead. It creates a sticky pool on the floor beneath that spreads larger by the second and begins to eat away at the tiles that rest below.
“Steve, where are you? Where— Oh, what the fuck?” Directing your beam of light downwards, your brows push together in confusion. Your foot has gotten stuck, surrounded by what you can only describe as a weird goo that feels thick as molasses and refuses to let go. You grunt with every pull of your leg. You get nowhere. “Shit.”
The attempts to free yourself get more frantic the longer you remain trapped, the dripping non-stop and forcing you to bend at the waist to try removing your shoe. Traversing the rest of this place in your socks isn't ideal, but you'd take that over being frozen like Han Solo.
You shouldn't be surprised when it doesn't work, only succeeding in almost getting your fingers stuck in the process, but you curse anyway.
Alright. What else?
Deep breaths, first and foremost. Something to calm your racing heart and help you think more clearly. More like your friends who easily would have thought of a plan before they let their laces disappear from view. You swear it feels like tiles are moving.
In, out. In, out.
None of you are going to die here.
That’s the last thought you have before the floor gives way beneath you.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Admittedly, he went a little further than he told you he would.
The first space he searched yielded no results and considering the dull ache of his cheekbone was nothing in comparison to the pathetic sniffles he couldn't seem to get under control, Steve continued to walk and considered no news to be good news.
Yeah, they haven’t found anything remotely helpful as of yet, but he can’t dwell on that if his goal here is to calm down and make sure everyone gets back home — that you get back home. For now, there’s been no panicked yelling or the sound of demogorgons running through the halls and he decides to be grateful for that instead. Small victories should still count.
It’s when he reaches his fourth floor that a sudden rumble sends him flying shoulder first into the wall, knocking the side of his head in the process and adding another injury to his already comically long list. “Jesus, what the hell?”
He doesn’t move again until he’s certain another shake isn’t incoming and even then, he does so cautiously, eyes wide and breaths heavy, steps slow. Fuck this pointless search. Fuck the petty squabble. He needs to get back to you.
Descending flight of stairs after flight of stairs with ease, his old King Steve days of participating in practically every sport Hawkins High had to offer have inadvertently prepped him for constantly being on the run these last few years. He’s faced a lot of physical setbacks since then — small scars now litter his stomach with a longer, raised one that spans the circumference of his neck, and the loss of hearing in one ear was particularly difficult to come to terms with — but at least he's kept his speed.
It means he’s able to get down the next flight of stairs in seconds in the moments that follow the sudden sound of a painfully familiar scream, not a hint of hesitation in his steps as he prays his good ear isn’t leading him in the wrong direction. He’d open himself up to being scarred head to toe if it meant he could hold on to the one skill that might save you.
“Steve! Steve!”
Your voice is strangled with fear and it petrifies him, spurs him on to keep moving through the sudden tightness in his lungs and start yelling your name so you know he’s coming for you. That he’ll always come for you.
“Steve, please!”
Shoes skid along the ground, coming to an abrupt halt in front of a huge gap that opens up to the floors below and threatens to swallow him whole. Now that he’s stopped, he can see the whole space around him looks as if it’s melting like an ice cream in the summer sun, but that’s so far down his list of priorities right now that it becomes irrelevant as quickly as he discovers it. The Upside Down has found a new way to be a dick. Shocking.
“S-Steve?”
Carefully peering over the gap, his breath catches in his chest at what he feared he would see. It’s you, wonderful you, looking more afraid than he’s ever seen before while clinging desperately to the railing of some stairs. Your legs hang freely over another hole in the floor that continues down, down, down; further than even the light of his torch can reach. Whatever this sludge is, it’s eaten so far through the building that one wrong step could be fatal.
“Holy shit. Hey, I-I’m here. I’m right here! Just hang on, okay? I’m coming.”
“I can’t… I can’t pull myself up,” you say in a rush of panic with unshed tears stinging the back of your eyes. There’s no leverage remaining beneath for you to rest your feet or boost yourself up over the railing and you fear that trying to adjust your current grip on the metal bars will end in disaster, so you continue to quite literally hang tight to the best of your ability. Your hands are growing sweaty though and your upper body strength leaves something to be desired on a regular day. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. You hear me, honey?” Yeah, you can hear him. The soft assurance he wants you to hear and the fear he tries to hide underneath. “I’m coming.”
As much as it pains him to leave you in a moment of despair, he has to get down to your level if he wants any chance at getting you out of there and he moves faster than even Steve thought himself capable. The door to the staircase slams against the wall in his haste, speeding down the next flight until he finds you and your white knuckle grip that’s the only thing keeping you alive.
He presses his torso right against the railing to hold himself steady and immediately offers a hand. “Okay, hey— You gotta listen to me. I need you to give me your hand and I’m gonna lift you up.”
“I-I can’t.” You made the mistake of directing your gaze downwards while you waited and your stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of plummeting. Nobody could survive a drop that big, not even El. “I can’t let go, I’ll fall.”
“No, you won’t.” It’s said so confidently that you almost hesitate to doubt him. “You won’t ‘cause I’m right here and I’m not gonna let you fall. All you have to do is grab my arm and I’m gonna pull you up here. Then we’re gonna find that little shit down there, and Nance, and Jonathan, and then I’m never wandering off again. I-I mean it, I’m gonna find a way to chain you to my hip. I bet Hop has some handcuffs I could use.”
A watery little sound leaves your throat, one slightly too devoid of genuine humour to be considered a real laugh. He makes it sound easy. “Steve, I’m scared.”
“I know you are, but I’m not going anywhere unless you’re with me, so we can stay here until more of that shit comes to destroy the stairs and takes us both out, or you can let me help you.” His eyes turn pleading, brown and sweet and swimming with emotion. “C’mon, honey, let me help you.”
A small nod that won’t rock you too much. “O-Okay.”
“Yeah? Okay, you ready? On three, just reach up with one of your hands and I’ll do the rest. You have nothing to worry about. Okay, one… two… three—”
You hold your breath as you let go and your hand isn’t empty for longer than a millisecond before Steve is grabbing it tight and pulling. He doesn’t ever want to hurt you, but he needs to put all his strength behind the act in order to lift you higher and higher, his other arm quickly wrapping around your waist the moment it’s within reach. He doesn’t release his grip even when his back eventually touches the wall behind him and he’s certain, absolutely certain, that there’s no risk of you coming to harm.
You don’t let go either, the solid ground beneath your feet pushing a relieved sob out of your throat as you wrap yourself around him and feel strong arms squeezing you tight in return.
“You’re okay, it’s okay... You’re safe. I got you.” His sweet whispers sound shaky too, large palm coming to cover the back of your head and keep you close despite the drops of drying sludge that stain the back of your locks. It’s not clear if he’s trying to reassure you or himself. “I’m right here.”
“I couldn’t find you,” you sniffle into his chest. “I called your name.”
“It’s my fault.” Eyes shut, Steve’s jaw tenses. “I didn’t stay close like I said I would. I just… I needed the space. Space to think. I didn't mean to- I didn't mean what I said before. I just don’t know how to get through to him anymore.”
“You will. He’s just scared of losing you... It wasn’t right, but I understand it. When the building shook and you weren’t answering, I thought…” A sigh that deflates your shoulders. “I was so worried something had happened to you.”
“That how you ended up almost falling down into Wonderland?” His voice is taut, but he does his best to inject a smidge of humour.
“It’s not funny,” you retort with a squeeze and he rests his chin atop your head in response.
“No. No, it’s not. It’s just… It’s weird for me to think that there are people who care enough to worry like that, you know? Who see danger ahead and still come running because they think I might need help. My own parents never gave two shits about what I did and I never hung out with the right crowd at school and it… it taught me that I wasn’t the kind of guy people care about that way. There’s always gonna be someone better for them, more important.”
His parents, Nancy, Dustin. Even Robin, who he adores to pieces and couldn't possibly live without, has Vickie now. What if she decides she doesn't need him anymore?
“Not for me. Never.”
After a near death experience, you aren't in the best state to be reassuring someone else. Your body shakes from inside Steve's grasp and your voice is thick with lingering fright, but that doesn't diminish the truth behind your words or the comfort he finds in them. You've never lied to him before and you certainly aren't about to start now.
So maybe he isn’t the smartest of the group, or the most deadly, or the one holding everyone together. Maybe Jonathan will always think he's a show off and Dustin will always have some resentment towards him, and the party as a whole will always brush off his ideas and opinions.
But it was his name you called when you needed help.
He’s your favourite, and that means more than any other measly title ever could.
summary. the battle for hawkins is over and the damage has been done. still reeling from the loss, your heart feels much more bruised than your skin.
warnings. reader uses she/her pronouns, soft steve, hurt/comfort, crying. spoilers for stranger things volume 2.
“Head up, sweetheart. Let me take a look at you.”
The words are spoken so softly in the quiet of the dark bathroom that for a brief moment, you wonder if you simply imagined them. After all, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since the so-called ‘earthquake’ occurred and to say your mind has been scattered would be an understatement.
It’s almost laughable how Hawkins can be violently split into four, leaving the town covered in dark smoke and disarray, and the general masses still manage to find a rational explanation for it.
In reality, there’s nothing rational about what happened. Nothing rational about Eddie’s heroic sacrifice for a town that hated his guts or what happened to poor Max, now resting in a hospital bed with little signs of life remaining. Shit, just the mere thought of them causes the back of your eyes to sting painfully with unshed tears.
You used to have so much faith. Maybe not in deities or some omniscient presence way up in the sky, but in the world. In people. You believed there was a purpose to it all, that you and your friends could tackle just about anything when you came together.
Today, you lost that faith in one fell swoop.
“Come on… Don’t go quiet on me now.” The pads of Steve’s fingers reach to graze the length of your jaw and you’re suddenly grounded back to reality, blinking rapidly to stave off the obvious upset.
You’re both exhausted right down to the bone, still covered in the disgusting dirt and grime of the Upside Down. The ligature marks on Steve’s neck from his previous demobat attack have only been made more prominent by the vines that had wrapped tight around him back at the Creel house — and now, you have your own battle wounds to match.
That’s what he’s so damn insistent on checking over as you both sit on the edge of the bathtub; the bruising that’s beginning to darken harshly along your skin. You swear you can still feel the effects of the choking, like your lungs haven’t yet returned to their regular capacity and are struggling to gain a full breath. Then again, that could also be attributed to the overwhelming guilt and panic that continues to rest upon your shoulders.
“I’ll be fine,” you say feebly. The last thing he needs to do right now is dote over you. “You have it a lot worse than I do.”
“What, you mean this old thing?” He gestures towards his neck before swiping a hand dismissively through the air. “Please, I’ve gotten worse injuries in the past just from play-fighting with you.”
“Are you saying I’m deadlier than a demobat?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
The familiar teasing brings a whisper of a smile to your face and though it’s barely visible in the grand scheme of things, Steve’s heart lifts with hope.
“There she is.” The hand that had been hovering near your neck shifts slightly to cup your cheek, thumb sweeping delicately over the skin, even as a hot tear finally falls from your eye. It’s a miracle he hasn’t broken down yet, too. “It’s okay, I’m here. You don’t have to hide from me.”
“We lost, Steve.” Just three words — three measly goddamn syllables — yet they have the power to open the floodgates before his name has finished leaving your lips. His arms are wrapping around you within seconds, pulling you into the comfort of his lap to hold you close to his chest. You’d done what you could to put on a brave face in front of the kids, but now that they aren’t around, there’s nothing holding you back from breaking down.
You weep for them. For Max and Eddie, a grieving Dustin and a sick to his stomach with worry Lucas. For a devastated Nancy and Robin. For Eleven, wherever she is, and the rest of the Byers family who are blissfully unaware of the night’s events. For Hopper. So much pain and death, and what was it all for?
Hawkins has fallen. You can’t see a way to bounce back from this.
As you cry — the horrible type of crying that has you shaking like a wet dog in his arms — Steve remains quiet and guides your head to rest into the comfortable crook of his neck, the wetness from your lashes dripping onto his skin. He swallows thickly past the growing lump in his own throat. Tonight has taken its toll on everyone and he is no exception, the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins and keeping him moving slowly waning until he’s finally nothing but a dull husk of stress and panic.
“I’m not very good with words,” he begins softly, voice thick with emotion while he shakily tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear. “I never have been. I mean, let’s face it, I’m not the most poetic or even that smart, so… all I really know how to tell you is that I’m here. I’m here. Things are at an all time low and I’m terrified, too — believe me, I am. But we don’t have to be terrified alone. You hear me? No matter the time of day, no matter what I’m doing, all you have to do is call and I will drop everything to be there.”
Now that, you know, is true. Steve has never lied to you before and he would never start now, especially not when he’s never seen you so utterly broken. For the last few years, through each fight that came your way, he’s been your one constant. The one thing you can always rely on.
“We’re going to get through this,” he continues. “We’ll regroup and figure this out. Max will get better in time and be back to rolling her eyes at us before we know it. But for now… For now, just take my hand and we can pretend like we’re anywhere else but here.”
A beat passes before your hand slips safely into his.
hypothetically if anybody wanted to send in some stranger things prompts (mainly steve harrington x reader but i’m open to others!!!), that would be nice <3
prguitarman
ellievsbear
snowghoul
stormborns
titsay
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
