a/n: first drabble in three years so bare with me while i try to get into the hang of things - request for superman are open btw. find my prompt list here if you fancy... possibly considering a part 2 to this teehee
key:
y/h/c - your hair colour
y/n - your name
word count: 704 - only a tiny drabble whilst i get warmed up/any inspiration strikes
pairing: clark kent x reader
"oh my god" cat's scream rings out through the whole of the daily planets bullpen. although it wasn't surprising to hear, it's the same reaction she has too new shoes or a celebrity break up, clark can't help his ears twitching - just incase there is a possible threat. what he doesn't expect however, is to hear the click clack of cat's heels fast approaching him. enhanced hearing or not, he could tell she was heading straight for him from the front desk.
his coworkers movement's is enough to send his head reeling - the only time cat has ever ventured towards his desk was to ask where lois was, and he was currently making direct eyecontact with lois. his eyes were almost bulging out his head as he mumbled "what have i done?" over and over to which lois could only provide a subtle shrug whilst equally whispering "i don't know" repeatedly.
"CLARK KENT" she was directly behind him now, he froze in place for a second before slowly wheeling his chair around, with a bashful smile he attempts to lean his elbow onto the desk infront of him in order to look as casual as possible, he misses the desk and almost faces a concussion as his chin whacks the table with a dull thud. shaking it off, he straightens and faces cat's perfectly drawn raised eyebrows, "hmmm?" he muses, trying to ignore the childlike fear that he's in trouble.
"when on earth where you going to tell me?" cat demands, if clark thought his heart was beating fast before, it's just about doubled in speed, oh my god everyone knows i'm superman. the thought flashes through his mind as his hands begin to shake, he has no idea how to broach this topic and decides ultimately on playing dumb, praying to any extra-terrestrial life that he can talk his way out of this, "tell you what?"
"about how you know the very attractive young woman behind the front desk." cat jabs a french manicured hand towards the door she'd just burst through, now this caught clark off guard and he leans backwards into his desk chair to catch a glimpse of what cat is gesturing towards, thats when he sees y/h/c and he can't help the dopey grin which breaks across his face, he's so distracted by seeing you at the front desk of his work infact, he overshoots how far back in his chair he can lean and suddenly finds himself on his back with his legs in the air trying to ignore the onslaught of lois' laughter from beside him. instead, cat's head peers into his vision, "well?" she demands.
"that y/n." to him that is answer enough - you are y/n. "oh the babe's got a name?" jimmy decides to chirp into clark's interrogation clearly finding the way the taller man's cheeks have begin to flush entertaining. "and is there any reason why y/n has just asked for you?" cat continues to push, emphaise on the 'you'. all the while clark is trying to tidying his desk, collecting his things haphazardly and roughly shoving the chair from the floor back under the hard desk.
like an idiot, clark completely forgot he'd agreed to meet you for lunch, your office wasn't a far walk from his own and you'd agreed to meet in a cafe inbetween, however, judging from your slightly flushed expression and your raised heartbeat bouncing in clark's ears, you'd clearly decided to rush all the way over.
quickly cramming the last of his belongings into his briefcase, clark straigtens to full height before striding confidently across the office floor, towards you, at this point you can clearly see him coming towards you and raise your hand in greeting.
he pauses before the door and turns on his heel to face his friends,
"because she's my girlfriend and we are going for lunch."
the simple sentence causes lois' jaw to drop, and cat to squeal whilst jimmy breaks out into a smile and bellows "that's my boy! go get her clarky!"
the last thing clark hears before the door swings shut is once again cat's exclaims, "don't think your done explaining yourself! i'll be waiting!"
Welcome to Shellfire - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (Plus Sized)
Summary: Eddie spills hot chocolate on your blouse, and the quest to find you something to wear leads to the initiation into Shellfire.Â
Words: 1.4 k
Warnings: Swearing, FLUFF, suggestiveness, friends to lovers (not that thats a warning exactly??)
a/n: plus sized reader bc !!! bc i said so !!! iâve read this over and over again for like a month, added and taken away because i wasnât sure what i wanted it to be - but here it is!! whatever it is!!
reblogs and feedback all welcome! <3
__________________________________________
âShit!â
It was a Saturday night at Eddieâs and he had offered to make you a hot chocolate, but with his haste and trademark enthusiasm, he spilled the aptly named drink down your front.Â
"F-â
âTake it off now, before it burns you,â he points at your blouse and puts down the offending mug, rings clanking against the porcelain, âIâll find you something you can wear.â He gestures loosely into the air as he thinks.
âEddie.â You groan. âBe serious.â In all the years you had known Eddie, you had never been able to borrow any of his clothes. You were bigger than Eddie. He scarcely acknowledged it but you were hyper aware of it, especially in a scenario such as this. âNot a single one of your shirts will fit me.â You mumble.
âOff. Now.â Those two words trickle down your spine deliciously, and whilst you can feel the hot drink permeating through the fibres of the shirt and onto your skin, you wonder if some part of the heat youâre experiencing is due to Eddieâs insistence that you undress.
a/n: part 2! sorry itâs not very long but iâm still tryna get the dynamic flowing but overwhelmed steve and comedic dialogue have my heart.
word count: 2.6k(ish)
requested?: no but requests are open and my prompt list can be found here
pairing: steve harrington x f!reader
warnings?: nosebleed? jason?Â
read part one here
The day had finally arrived. Jason, alongside his jock friends, entered during the middle of your shift meaning you didnât waste any time in calling Steve at Family Video to come visit, to âkeep an eye on them.â you said.
As Steve walked across the retail park to the diner you worked at, his mind moved 1000mph. He had spent the past week trying out different apologies to Robin, each ending with an elaborate way to ask you out but they all got the same response from his best friend, âEw no. You canât say that sheâll probably hate you more creep.â Therefore, even as he speedwalked over, he still had nothing, no flirty pick up line, no useful complement, nothing. It was like his mind went blank when it came to you. He snapped out of his thoughts as the sound of the bell on the door rang and you were alerted of his presence. He found himself with his jaw slack, previously when he visited you were sporting your own clothes on top of your uniform but now seeing you in a slightly baggy black polo, a apron hung lazily off your hips and jeans that were just tight enough that his mind yet again pulled a blank. âHey Harringtonâ You nod a small smirk shooting towards the flustered boy, before he had time to respond you nodded towards a seat that was close to the bar.Â
âOh no, she does, sheâs told me. Many times âfuck I hate that Steve Harrington kidââ Robin uses air quotes to do her best impression of you, but Max continues, âI mean she probably did but I donât know if she still does I mean she was blushing when you gave her a paper towel.â âShe wasnât blushing,â Steve tries to redirect but canât help the way his heart soars with the young girlâs words, âWas she blushing?â He asks the group
Steve, your mild insecurity is showing bby.<3 but again, such good exploration of Steveâs character!!! or at least how I have come to see him!!
a/n: okay so i started a series, welcome to part 1! this is more of an introduction/setup for the rest of the series but y/n was kinda based on this post. hopefully posting part 2 later this week, let me know your thoughts and requests are still open - my prompt list can be found here. ily guys! also have a playlist for this series so let me know if you wanna hear it
word count:3.4k(ish)
requested?: no
pairing: steve harrington x reader
warnings?: um awkward steve, enemies, nancy slander (sorry not sorry)
summary: you hate steve harrington. until you are forced to save hawkins together. then you donât hate steve so much?
âHi, Iâm really sorry but we are closed now.â You smile at the customer in front of you, praying they would retaliate with the same kindness. However, that would be too easy, âCanât you just make me a coffee? I just want a small one.â You grit your teeth trying not to let your customer service smile drop, âUnfortunately, everythingâs shut down and I was literally just about to lock the doors.â The older gentleman who stands before you exaggeratedly sighs, âWell, youâve just lost a customer. You should make your opening times WAY more clear.â He turns on his heel and leaves, ironically speeding past the door with your storeâs opening time clearly printed on. Letting out an aspirated sigh, you continue cashing up - today feels like it has gone on forever. It had been a hot day in Hawkins so of course it felt like the whole population decided to flock to your place of work, a small and normally quiet coffee shop which conveniently also sells milkshakes - you had made a lot of milkshakes. As if God couldnât give you a break, you hear the bell above the door ring again, assuming itâs the same guy coming back because he didnât get his kick out of being rude and pouting to a teenage girl earlier therefore, without looking up youâre beginning to say âLook-â while simultaneously cursing him out in your head, yet before you manage any other words a voice you recognise calls out, âGooooooood afternoon gorgeous!â Your best friend Eddieâs voice bellows across the store, âHiya Eds, how are you?â You look up with a smile and a fond shake of your head, slightly surprised to find Eddie standing with others - who werenât in his little DnD group. âBetter now Iâve seen you.â Eddie shamelessly flirts but thatâs just how your friendship worked, everything was strictly platonic but to an outside eye may not seem that way.
âBecause,â Robin says cockily, âShe hates you.â She says it as if itâs a fact everyone should know. Like, oh the grass is green, the sky is blue and Y/N Y/L/N hates Steve Harrington. Steve canât help but whip his head back round to the passenger seat, âWhat? Why would she hate me? She doesnât know me.â Robin tuts slightly, âOh but Stevie,â She teases with a shit eating grin, âShe does.â âSince when?â Steve shoots back, a part of him thinking Robin is just making this all up. âSchool you imbecile, she had the locker next to you and from that experience, she hates you.â A singsong tone covering her voice. Itâs like everything clicks into place, he falls back into his seat, head thrown back as he groans, âOh my god.â He mumbles before running both hands over his face, memories flooding back to him, you rolling your eyes everytime you tried to get to your locker, sighing and walking off when he was spending time with Nance, or mumbling curse words under your breath when you saw him heading towards his locker, Â âYouâre right. She does hate me.â
Love this lil passage because I can so her Robinâs know-it-all tone and Steve being slow to realise why someone might hate him. And I like that itâs a totally reasonable reason to have a bit of a distaste for someone and sets a good premise for their interactions!!
a/n: just something to get me back into writing and rn iâm crushing so hard on steve harrington, maybe a future series? just some fluff lol, not my gif!
word count: 1k(ish)
requested?: no, requests are closed but ships are OPEN
pairing: steve harrington x reader
warnings?: usual stranger things vibes/warnings, steve being wholesome,Â
summary: mutual pinning between the scoops ahoy worker and the barista across the food court.
robin was sick and tired of watching steve stare at the new girl across the mall. ever since you started working at a cafe opposite scoops ahoy in the food court, steve had suddenly taken a new found enthusam for being on the front desk - and robin wasnât stupid, she had noticed his âslightly creepyâ staring at the poor girl who she remembered from their shared timed in high school. what was also creeping robin out was the fact steve was now early to his shifts, steve was many things but early was not one of them. robinâs breaking point was when she picked up on the fact steve had stopped trying to hit on every teenage girl who entered a 5 foot radius.Â
Synopsis: You canât figure out why Steveâs always ragging on the guys you like. (Steve wants to be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust. He wants to be your Ford Cortina, he will never rust.)
Word count: 5.1K
Warnings: jealous Steve, cursing, entirely too much detail and one long, sweet kiss
a/n: (weâre going to pretend that Chrissy isnât with Jason for the purposes of this fic, okay?)
The bell above the door to Family Video is rusted, burnt sienna with streaks of tired ochre and tarnish.
Having suffered through several, sweltering Indiana summers, itâs a wonder that itâs still able to chime at all. The clapper within it should have long since oxidised, coated with sticky humidity and wet heat.
It does, however, and youâre bathed in cool air as you enter the establishment. The sweat beading the back of your neck stills, and you huff a sigh of relief, sneakers hitting hardwood as you head for the counter.
Steveâs fiddling with the Fast Times display when you pass him.
âDo you ever do any work, Harrington?â You tease, slowing to a halt to greet him. The light catches his dreamy head of hair first, the brown in his irises as he looks up. Itâs airbrushed gold, and transforms the deep hues into something softer, almost pastel.
âThis is work,â Steve returns without missing a beat; he thoroughly enjoys your cat-and-mouse game, almost as much as he does you. âIâm analysing her bod â you know, in case someone asks me why they should rent the movie out. Need to be able to provide said patron with every, small detail â well, these two,â he gestures toward Phoebe Catesâ bikini top, âarenât exactly small details, but ââ
âDisgusting Steve Harrington, seriously?â You interrupt, sending him a look of disdain. But thereâs no fire to yours words, eyes twinkling a little as you say them. Soft enough to make this hurt; melt him into a puddle of hopeless goo.
âWhat?â He shrugs, âItâs boobs.â
âYeah, babe, boobs,â a voice behind you reiterates, an endearing sort of hoarse, as though sticky honey has glued her vocal chords together. Robinâs voice has always been a little croaky. You think itâs because she laughs very loudly, or perhaps because she sings pop songs off-tune. She also yells at Steve entirely too often. You like this about her; the way she never apologises for her quirks.
âYeah, yeah,â you concede, turning toward her with a roll of your eyes. âMoving on from boobs ââ
âThereâs no moving on from boobs,â Steve says then, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.
âI hate to agree with Harrington,â Robin adds, fixing you a solemn look, âbutâŠâ
And then she trails off, the corners of her mouth twitching, requiring little less than a second before sheâs smiling wide, unabashed. You glare. Pointedly. Itâs sweet, Steve decides, as though youâre trying to be endearing. He fights the urge to lean in close, swipe his thumb under the pocket of your bottom eyelid.
âOkay, shit, weâre done,â she assures, raising her arms in playful surrender. Steve watches her search your features, the soft gleam in your eye, the bruising hue to your lips. Thereâs heat in your cheeks, as though someone else has touched them. Rough, calloused, with a pleasure driven carelessness. âAnyway. How was the date?â
âDate?â Steve clears his throat. Something white-hot licks the guilty crevices of his gut. âYou went on a date?â
âNot exactly a date,â you correct, waving your hand in the air. But thereâs a shyness to the way you say it, your voice lowered several decibels, as though the revelation is a secret kept. Steveâs eyes travel to the pillow of your palm. Someone elseâs hands (not his, though he fantasises about it far more often than heâs willing to admit) have creased the skin there.
Steve tries to play it cool. He fails. âNot exactly?â He echoes, and then, he clears his throat again. âWhat does that even mean?â
âHe was just there at the end of my shift,â you say with a shrug. âSo we shared a milkshake. No big deal.â
âYeah, after he spent the last two weeks using his little sister as an excuse to see you,â Robin adds impatiently, raising her eyebrows at you.
She hasnât known you and Steve long enough to understand why youâre playing this down; sheâs doing the opposite of diffusing the tension, and you find yourself wondering whether strangling her would shut her up. Perhaps using the superglue Keith keeps behind the desk, the industrial kind he swears he only uses on the tapes â not to fix the broken awning, the other parts of the store that are in disrepair.
âWho?â Steve asks with a frown.
âThat dude that goes to Indiana State,â Robin says, brow furrowing some as she takes in his features. Her eyes fall to the iron-clad grip he has on the Fast Timesâ cut out; his knuckles are blanching, and she can see the makings of a ruck within the cardboard. âUh, Jason, I think? He was on the basketball team when he was at Hawkinsâ,â she adds helpfully, taking a step forward to snatch it from his grasp. âDude, youâre fucking with the display. Relax.â
âJason?â Steve echoes with a scoff, abandoning all attempts at cool disinterest. The fingers that had puckered cardboard Phoebe Catesâ fly to the back of his neck, freshly hand-mussed tips of hair kissing the skin there. âSeriously?â
You try not to grimace.
This is how it always goes when youâre caught up in someone new; Steve rags on them like itâs his full-time job, like you donât deserve to play the field like he does. His behaviour used to be a source of significant bemusement, once upon a time, and you even remember questioning him about it back then.
Youâd interrupted his rant about Willie Olsen the âselfish douchebagâ, who âonce brought a babe â and Iâm talking, seriously out of his league, here, I mean â have you seen the dudes nose? Itâs all messed up, and way too big for his face, and â alright, anyway, he brought this chic to Scoops!Ahoy, right? Didnât even pay for her ice cream. Stood there while she fished around for quarters in her little purse⊠I mean, seriously? No way youâre going out with this guy. Heâs a total dickwad ââ with a drawn out sigh. The introspective kind, solemn eyes meeting his gaze with something akin to tiredness.
âWhy,â youâd started, knitting your brow slightly, âdo you always do this?â
And Steve had brushed his knuckles over your cheek, smooth charm that left hot static in itâs wake, saying, with entirely too much ease, âDoing what?â Saying, âIâm just being a good friend and warning you about him.â Saying, âTrust me. Iâm a guy. Youâre wasting your time with him.â
But what if you wanted to waste your time? What if you wanted someone with slippery intentions, wanted to tuck screaming and crying and textbook heartbreak into your repertoire?
âYou didnât hear me ragging on Nance when the two of you first started dating,â youâd grumbled then, fixing him with a look for fierce resolution.
And when heâd winced, the wound still fresh, youâd almost felt sorry for him. Almost, until youâd remembered the way he was acting; the fact that heâd been on a million dates, stolen several more kisses, and done stupid things with many, many, stupid girls.
Barring you.
âYeah, well,â heâd answered, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, âkind of wish you had, to be honest.â
And though youâd ended it at that, the conversation had set spark to something small â a tiny, barely there inkling that grew, and grew, and grew. Hope. Because perhaps Steveâs overprotectiveness stemmed from a deeper emotion, one that was far more unforgiving. Perhaps it was gnawing jealousy calling the shots; perhaps he didnât like the idea of you and Willie because he was intent on the idea of you and him.
Except that, no, that couldnât be it. Not when Steve was taking someone new to Skull Rock every other night; bragging about his many conquests, meeting you with lipstick stains on his collar, smelling of pink bubblegum, lavender and fainter musk.
So youâd given up. On trying to figure out his intentions; on attempting to decode the male psyche as a whole. He was acting this way because he was selfish, thatâs all, and maybe even a little bit stubborn. He didnât like you, nor was he in any way jealous â you couldnât afford to think like that, entertain the idea of letting him in.
Pining for your best friend is a funny thing.
And Robin, sweet, unassuming (âinfuriating, frustratingâ), Robin, doesnât quite understand it, just yet.
âWhy do you care, Harrington?â She asks archly, raising an eyebrow. âDidnât you take Stacy to that party at Bobâs last week?â
âBesides the point,â Steve dismisses. He takes a step toward you, placing his hands on either shoulder. Itâs a firm, heart-squeezing pressure, juxtaposing the soft abandon in his eyes, the barely-there crease in his brow. âHe sucks. Weâve been through this.â
âSteve,â you groan, though you make no move to shake him off. You fold you arms across your chest, elbow knocking the sliver of skin beneath his polo. Itâs a tendril of electric touch, but itâs enough for the temperature in the room to rise several degrees. âYou need to stop meddling.â
âIâm not meddling,â he argues, to which Robin says, âUh, yeah you are.â
Steve fixes her with a pointed glare, his hold on your shoulders loosening some. He doesnât quite slide his hands down the length of arms, but heâs close enough for the static to raise goosebumps. His touch feels like feather-light fire, and he halts at your wrists, giving them a fleeting squeeze each. You let out a tired breath. It comes out quick and terse, as though you didnât know that you were holding it in.
âItâs nothing,â you insist, prompting Steve to look back toward you. âJust a shake. Donât think heâs my type, anyway.â
The reassurance acts to subdue him, if only marginally, the wringing ache in his chest growing weaker, settling. âGood,â he decides, nodding his approval. âYou deserve better.â
Better than Jason, better than Willie, better than a mundane, small-town existence in middle-of-nowhere, Hawkins Indiana. Better than perfectly preened hedges and the purlieus of dead end suburbia; better than a family of four, an absent husband, an American dream that doesnât exist anymore.
Better than him.
â
Steveâs sorting through a box of returned tapes when Robin brings up the date (not date, almost date) again.
âSo,â she starts, knocking a brown edge with her hip. âWhat do you have against this Jason kid?â
Steve fights the urge to scowl. Thereâs a knowing lilt to her tone, as though itâs a rhetorical question, and he knowing placating Robin is the only way heâll be able to avoid it. âNothing,â he answers mildly, watching her swipe a tape from the pile.
âPretty in Pink,â she reads intently, smiling with teeth. âIronic.â
Steve knows he shouldnât ask. And yet, âWhy?â
âOh, you know,â Robin answers easily, turning it around to read the synopsis. âBoy has unrequited crush on girl. Boy gets angry when girl likes someone else ââ
âIâm not Duckie,â Steve interrupts, scowling. âCome on. Iâm Blane. Iâm the blueprint of Blane.â
âKing Steve is Blane,â Robin corrects. âOr, was Blane, and is now working at Family Video and babysitting a bunch of dipshits and is probably, definitely, Duckie.â
âThe fact that you even know the plot of Pretty in Pink,â Robin adds thoughtfully. âFurther proves that youâre Duckie.â
Steve grinds his teeth together. âNance made me watch it,â he mutters resolutely, snatching the tape from her grasp. âI get the number of like, every second chic that walks into the store. Iâm Blane.â
âBlane gets the girl,â Robin says then, unperturbed by his pained expression. She thoroughly enjoys riling him up, especially when said riling brings forth secret revelations. You know â like hopelessly smitten Steveâs big, fat crush. Heâs pathetic over you. Robin canât believe itâs taken her so long to clock it.
âYou wonât,â she adds, punching a forefinger into his chest. Itâs pressure enough to bruise, as if his poor heart hasnât already been manhandled enough. As if the strings that hold it together donât already strum a symphony every time youâre near. Steveâs long since given up on deciphering his emotions. All he knows is this â where thereâs a beginning, thereâs you. Where thereâs an end, thereâs you. And every detail in between; every thought, every feeling, every time he closes his eyes and every time he allows them to open, thereâs you. âNot the way youâre going.â
Steve feels panic drum through his veins. âGet the girl?â He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. âWhat are you talking about?â
âJason? Seriously?â She mimics, her voice dropping several octaves as she pinches the column of her throat. âYou deserve better. Also, my hands are like really, really, sweaty and Iâm acting really, really, stupid because I like you.â
She turns then, twirling her hair and sighing dramatically, voice higher like sheâs pretending to be you. âOh Steve,â she says then, practically swooning, âI had absolutely no idea, because youâre a complete and total douchebag and have never even hinted at the fact that youâre crushing on me ââ
âIâm not crushing on her,â Steve lies, through his fucking teeth. âIâm just being a good friend, alright? Making sure guys donât fuck with her.â
âWhat?â Robin accuses, cocking her head to one side. She looks infuriatingly smug. Steve wants to strangle her. âThe same way you fucked with girls when you were in high-school?â
Steve winces, having the common sense to appear a little sheepish. âNot what I meant.â
âNo,â Robin agrees. âNot what you meant, but exactly what you were thinking, huh?â
âIâm not crushing on her,â Steve repeats.
âMy bad. Youâre right. This is way too far gone to be just a little crush ââ
âOkay, enough,â He interrupts with a scowl, muttering a fair few expletives under his breath before continuing. âI get it.â
âDo you?â Robin asks pointedly, and the light catches her eyes then, speckling deep blue with fire and mischief. âBecause shitting on all the dudes she likes isnât doing anything but pushing her away.â
Steve scoffs, shaking his head dismissively. âIâm not about to take girl advice from a girl who likes boobs. Thatâs dumb. It has to like, cancel out or some shit. PEMDAS.â
Robin rolls her eyes, deciding against rising to the bait. âDude,â she sighs, plucking another tape from the heaping pile. Risky Business, this time, with a protagonist that Steve worships, a title that reads exactly as his love life does. âUse your brain.â
She pauses then, rapping her knuckles against the side of his head for good measure. âThereâs one in there, right?â
âRobin,â Steve mutters through gritted teeth, sending her a warning glance. âYour point?â
âRelax, Harrington, think about it,â she answers easily, retrieving her hand. âYou didnât even know about her date.â
Steve expression falters, brow furrowing a little. âSo?â
âSo,â Robin presses, waving the tape in the air, âI did. Got all the deets the other day. The same ones sheâs been hiding from you.â
âHiding from me,â Steve repeats, painstakingly slow, and itâs as though you can see the cogs turning in his brain. âFuck.â
âFuck,â Robin agrees sagely.
Steve turns to her then, folding his arms across his chest. âHow many have there been?â
âDates?â Robin questions, to which he nods curtly, âOh, shit, I donât know. There was that Tommy dude that took her to the arcade last week, and Dave, too, think he asked her out when she was working? Oh, and Walter that works down at the dock gave her his number, but I donât think that one went anywhereâŠâ
Steve feels the first name like a knife to his chest, plunging deeper with the second, twisting back with the third. Thereâs a sticky sense of jealousy that coats the base of his stomach; itâs cruel and cloying, ugly enough to ache. Long, drawn out pangs of envy, as though someone is wringing out his heart until it shrivels.
ââŠanyway, none of them have turned into anything serious,â Robin finishes, seemingly unaware of the carnage sheâs left behind. Steve is spiralling. Heâs thinking about Tommyâs thumb brushing a crescent moon on your cheek, his palm caressing your jaw, his lips pressing conviction into yours. Heâs thinking about arcade lights, how romantic you look in technicolor, the way your eyes shine bright and your full lips pucker. Heâs thinking about Dave winning the fucking lottery, receiving the luxury of a few, uninterrupted moments in your presence. Heâs thinking about stupid Walter who works at the docks, good-for-nothing, and yet, possessing a tendril more bravery than he does.
And heâs thinking about Jason fucking Carver, his stupid letterman wrapping you up tight. Your bergamot perfume, faint lavender and notes of petrichor, imprinting the cotton itâs made of. Heâs thinking about the two of your sharing a straw, of the strawberry shake on your lips, the way it dampens the sheen of your lipgloss. Heâs thinking about Jason pulling you close, his hands on your soft skin, chaste kisses on softer lips. The base of Steveâs throat is inflamed, angry, and heâs thinking about Jason getting to call you his, Jason asking you to settle down, Jason giving you his last name and you giving him six little nuggets.
Not Steve.
He didnât get there in time; didnât quite manage to get his shit together.
The revelation is panic and adrenaline, and Steve findings himself straightening on instinct. âRobin,â he says suddenly, taking the tape from her hand and throwing it back into the box. âI need to go.â
Robin raises her eyebrows, surveying Steveâs features with someone akin to mild amusement. âWhere?â
âYou know where.â
âI want to hear you say it, dipshit.â
Steve sends her one, last glare, pointing a stern finger in her direction before turning on his heel. âLock up when youâre done,â he throws over his shoulder, âIâll be the one Keith kills if you forget.â
â
No oneâs home when Steve arrives at your door.
His ignition is still rumbling, car wedged right against the curb with the driverâs side door still open. Itâs a haphazard park job, definitely not his best, and the noisy whir of his engine is commotion enough to cause a din.
The kind thatâs sure to alert your next-door neighbour to his arrival; the grinning, fresh-faced leech that loves to annoy him.
âSteve!â Dustin calls loudly, rolling his bike toward him. His helmet sits precariously on a full head of curls, carefully decorated with DnD stickers, Hellfire Club stuff that Steve doesnât concern himself with. âWhat are you doing here?â
âLooking for your neighbour, actually,â Steve returns, sending him a nod before heading back down your porch steps. He makes for his car, raising his eyebrows as Dustinâs route changes to follow him. âWhat are you doing?â
Dustin waits until heâs at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning his bike against the passengers side door. âI know where she is.â
Steve stares at him expectantly, gesturing for him to continue. âWhere?â
âI can tell you,â he adds then, flashing Steve that infuriatingly toothy smile. âAfter youâve dropped me off at the skate park.â
Steve sighs. Dustinâs grin widens.
âFucking fine,â he mutters, opening the backseat and throwing Dustinâs bike in. It lands on top of an old cardigan of yours, one youâd left behind the last time youâd been in his car.
âDude, donât manhandle the Hendo machine,â Dustin admonishes, peering over Steveâs shoulder with a frown. He catches a glimpse of soft coral, peony hues, that one, ketchup stain thatâs fading near the neckline.
âThatâs not yours,â he notes.
âVery perceptive Sherlock Holmes, thank you,â Steve returns.
âPerceptive?â Dustin echoes, cocking his head to one side. âBig word for your vocabulary. You been studying up for something?â
âSomeone?â He adds pointedly, gaze darting back to the pink cardigan.
âYouâre on thin ice, Henderson,â Steve warns, decidedly ignoring his question. He rounds the back of the car tersely, wasting no time opening the driverâs side door and buckling in.
âBeen on thin ice for months,â Dustin shrugs, quick to follow suit. âHappy staying here a few more.â
The drive to the skate park isnât very long, but that doesnât stop Dustin fiddling with the car radio incessantly. âTo find the perfect tune for the occasion,â he insists when questioned, tongue pressed between his teeth as he skips through static, the news, catchy, bubblegum pop that makes Steveâs head hurt.
When he finally settles on a station, itâs to the chords of a song Steve knows entirely too well. The last time he heard it, he was parked up at Skull Rock; you had discarded of your cardigan, turned the volume dial right up.
Your shoulders had knocked then, skin-on-skin like dizzying static, and youâd leaned right over the centre console, fading sunbeams softening your irises. And Steve remembers thinking, fuck if any of this makes sense, but you look so out-of-reach, almost iridescent. A live wire.
âSet my alarm,â youâd breathed out with a soft laugh, allowing your lashes to flutter shut, features twisted in mock concentration. And your hand had fallen to his shoulder, barely-there pressure that took the oxygen from his lungs, and heâd inched closer on instinct, eyes darting to your full lips, the way they moved as you sang. It was mesmerising. He wanted to feel them against his, touch you everywhere, and then, do it again. And again. Over and over, enough times to commit all of you to memory.
Heâd sang, âturn on my charm,â eyes gleaming danger as he placed his hand on the dashboard. The movement corralled you in, but you felt safer here, somehow, the air a concoction of bergamot and cologne, of anticipation, unrequited love.
And then, the moment had passed. He wasnât going to let it do so, this time around.
âOkay,â Steve says impatiently, slowing to a stop near the side of the skate park. He can see a few of the other kids in the distance, a flash of fiery auburn, a hard-to-miss bowl cut that he wishes Will would grow out. âWeâre here. Spit it out.â
âGrocery store,â Dustin supplies, reaching back to grab his bike. A wheel knocks Steveâs headrest as he pulls it into the front seat, a resounding sort of thump that is oddly reminiscent of Robinâs knuckles. âWent to grab some milk.â
âSeriously?â Steve scowls, rubbing the back of his head. âMilk? So I couldâve just waited for her?â
âI guess,â Dustin nods thoughtfully, pushing open the door.
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose frustratedly, shaking his head in defeat. âYou owe me,â he says, though thereâs no way he means it.
Dustin knows this. He smiles with teeth. âSure.â
And then, âIâll be done in an hour!â
âWhy the fuck are you telling me?â
âWho do you thinkâs gonna pick me up, genius?â
â
Steveâs hold on your cardigan is soft, gentle. Itâs the first thing you notice when you open the door to him, the way his feather-light touch juxtaposes the Demogorgon-related scars on his hands, the rough callouses that surround them.
âSteve,â you greet, a hint of surprise in your voice. âWhatâs up?â
Steve flounders. âUh,â he says, pressing the pink fabric into your chest, âthis is yours.â
âYou came to my house to give me my cardigan back?â You question bemusedly, covering your hand with his. The skin of your palm is smooth, unblemished, and Steve feels an overwhelming urge to keep it that way. No fighting creatures from the Upside Down. Heâll wield a million, spiky baseball bats if it meant keeping you out of harms way.
âYes,â Steve falters, rocking back on his heels. Your nimble fingers slip under his, retrieving the cardigan from his grasp.
âUh, okay?â You say then, gazing at him intently. âIâll see you later?â
And youâre about to turn around when Steve stops you, one hand clasping your wrist, the other one the door hinge. âNo,â he insists, âwhat are you doing tonight?â
âOh, um,â heâs taking up all of your personal space, the inches between you amounting to a single breath of oxygen. âNothing. Is Robin free?â
âNo, I mean,â Steve winces then, his brow furrowing slightly. This close, you can count every freckle smattering his nose, and thereâs a pert dimple near the corner of his mouth â has that always been there? âJust us.â
You furrow your brow. âWhy?â
âBecause,â Steve answers, gesticulating awkwardly. This close, his Family Video vest brushes your skin; heâs wearing a polo underneath it, and his biceps ripple as he moves his arm about. You find yourself fixating on how strong he looks, how easily he could pick you up. If he wanted to. You want him to. âI donât know. We were friends first, werenât we?â
âOh,â you say with a nod, chewing your bottom lip absently. âHanging out as friends.â
âNo â shit, I ââ Steve stutters, resisting the urge to grimace. This close, he can trace the outline of your full lips. Your shoulders are bare, save the spaghetti strap of your tank top, and when you swallow, the column of your throat bobs up and down a little. Goosebumps grace the space beneath your earlobe. Steve wonders how many more he could raise with sloven kisses, with teeth grazing, with hot lips and roaming hands and unwavering conviction.
ââ not what I meant,â he finishes with a sigh, combing his fingers through his hair. And then, feeling brave, he adds, âWhy didnât you tell me about Jason?â
You frown. âBecause I didnât want you to rag on him.â
âI only do that because I donât want you to get hurt,â Steve insists. âIâm just trying to look out for you ââ
âWell,â you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest. âJason was perfectly nice this afternoon.â
âMaybe,â Steve agrees reluctantly, âBut â but heâs a jock. Total waste of time, not the kind of guy you wanna settle down with ââ
You let out an exasperated scoff, throwing your arms in the air. âWho says Iâm looking to settle down?â
âNo, shit, not what I meant,â Steve flounders, pressing his hands into your forearms placatingly. âWhat Iâm trying to say is, you could do better. Way better.â
You try to ignore the firm pressure he places, how safe it makes you feel, taken care of. And just when youâre sure you have it down, he lets his hands drop to yours, fingers brushing skin like hot waves of electricity. You feel them in your cheeks, fleeting tendrils that bloom bright, and then, uncomfortably warm.
âBetter?â You hedge, brow furrowing. âWho?â
âA movie star,â Steve offers, âTom Cruise.â
You roll your eyes then, allowing your arms to unfold. The base of your knuckles hit his chest as you do so, right where his heart sits, squeezing itâs way into his throat. âYou need to stop.â
Steve frowns. âStop what?â
âThis,â you sigh, âThis thing you do with the guys I like. Obviously Iâm not looking to settle down right now, but I will â eventually, you know? I need to figure out what my type is if thatâs gonna happen. And your lack of support is putting a serious downer on me doing so.â
Thatâs exactly what Steveâs afraid of.
Heâs fucking terrified that youâll figure out that your type isnât him; that youâll find someone better, and heâll spend the rest of his days drowning in unrequited love.
âI want to be supportive,â Steve says softly, âI just â itâs hard, alright? Itâs hard seeing you with guys that donât deserve you.â
âGuys like Jason fucking Carver,â he adds bitterly, his mind a mess of jealousy, hopelessness, longing. âWho donât know shit about making you laugh, couldnât name your favourite movie, that one Queen song you always sing off-tune. Like, does Jason know that you can only stomach chicken soup when youâre on your period? Or the fact that youâre allergic to one of the ingredients in Airheads â imagine if he got you some for movie night. Imagine if he didnât buy you sour patch kids, the extra sour kind that no one but you likes, which seriously, something has to be wrong with your tastebuds, because ââ
When you cut him off with a kiss, Steve feels as though heâs been struck by lightning. He stumbles backward at first, not due to the force of the movement, but of the nerve-endings you light aflame, a heat that sears through his insides. His hands find purchase on your hips, and he pulls you close, closer still, youâre not close enough, he wants to feel you fucking melt into his skin. And the pressure of your lips on his â soft at first, firmer with encouragement, itâs dizzying, all-consuming, like heâs a drug addict getting a hit.
His large hands trail fire up your arms, your shoulders, your neck, finding home in the space where it hinges, your soft jaw. He cradles your face as though youâre delicate China, his barely-there touch making up for scraping kisses. Hard on your lips, wet as he finds your cheeks, careless and open-mouthed down your neck, the osculate of your collarbones.
When he halts, itâs to catch his breath. He realises heâs getting carried away. He isnât sure he cares.
âYou kissed me,â he murmurs, into your skin, like a prayer.
âI needed to shut you up,â you say then, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him up to eye level.
Steve grins, bad decisions dilating his pupils. âShould shut me up like that more often.â
âShould profess your undying love for me more often,â you tease.
âIs that what I was doing?â Steve questions with a frown, brow furrowing in mock concentration, âBecause I swear I was just telling you all the reasons Jasonâs bad for you ââ
âInsufferable, Steve Harrington, honestly,â you interrupt, shaking your head bemusedly. âYouâre lucky I know how to read between the lines.â
Steve raises his eyebrows, swiping his thumb over the contour of your cheek. âWhat did you find?â
âThat,â you say pointedly, feeling his touch like blooming warmth, heart-squeezing love. âThe real reason my stupid best friend Steve Harrington doesnât like me with other guys is because he thinks I should be with him.â
âRight,â Steve says, nodding sagely. âAnd what would you say in response?â
âThat he should probably tell me how he feels,â you return, smile cotton-candy soft.
âGot it,â Steve answers, clearing his throat pointedly. âSo. Okay. Hereâs the thing. The real reason I rag on all the guys you like is probably definitely super selfish, but thatâs only because Iâm seriously pathetic over you â no, you donât get it, lame enough that Iâll rag on myself if we do end up together. Because, okay, you definitely deserve better, and youâre crazy out of my league and thatâs why my jealousy ends up taking over, and â can you tell Iâm talking too much now? I kind of want you to shut me up like you did before ââ
âSteve,â you say, giggling something sweet. âStop.â
âWhat Iâm trying to say,â he continues with a grin, âis that Iâm in love. With you. Always have been, always will be. You know?â
from the thing i reblogged from @contentconsumer that i sadly lost, here's a blurb about our dear boy eddie ft. books, theft, rock hard socks and domesticity
"hey watcha reading?"
you drop your book to your chest and look up to see eddie, coming back after another dnd campaign. he looks exhausted, and you wonder what he might have done to look so worn out after a campaign.
eddie stands in front of you by the end of the bed, throwing his leather jacket and vest aside, followed by the removal of his hellfire shirt thrown to the floor with the rest of his clothes. his tattoos greet you â brazen and hot.
"hey hey no!" you scold him, pointing at him. "pick those up. i just cleaned your room."
"butâ"
"you don't know how many pretzel crumbs i saw all over this floor, eddie. and i swear i saw a pair of socks harder than a rock that started to smell and i had to throw it away," he laughs at you. "pick that up or i'm leaving."
"alright, ma'am," he bends over to pick his shirt up, horribly folding it and tossing it over to the table in front of his mirror. "now what are you reading?"
"i found this book beneath your bed," you tell him. eddie crawls over to you until he's hovering right above you. a finger pushes the book down until his face evades your eyesight; tired, but overwhelmingly pretty. without permission does he plant a soft kiss on your lips, but you don't mind.
"really? didn't know i had a book under there."
"figured. it's in really horrible condition," you laugh at him. he pecks your cheek, then your nose twice before kissing the creases on your forehead away. "jus' wanna know when you got this because this is lord of the rings, babe."
eddie leans inward and takes a glance of the worn out book with fold creases on every page, hardback almost torn apart by wandering rats. "oh, i got that back in middle school. i stole it."
"you stole it?"
"mhm, from the library," he moves back and slots himself between your legs, chin resting on your navel as his arms hug your legs on either side of his body. "i had a buzzcut back then though. and they've been looking for Mr. Belchin for years. they never found out who it truly was."
"ever the rebel," you run a hand through his hair, twirling a strand on your finger â one bearing the ring eddie gave to you a year ago as a token of promise. only removed during showers.
you start reading again, a hand on the book and a hand on his hair, only ever leaving it to flip the page. eddie's chin remains on your navel, except your shirt is tucked beneath your breasts and with your stomach exposed to him, he's drawing lethargic circles over your skin.
with his hands still massaging your thigh, he scoots upward to rest his head on your stomach so he's closer to you. his rings press coldly against your supple skin, but enjoy the feeling of silver on your thighs that eddie loves so much.
but when you stop touching his hair is when eddie's head pokes beneath the book, looking up at you with needy eyes that are wide like a begging puppy. you tilt your book to the side, raise a brow at him with a small grin. "yes?"
"why'd you stop?" he murmurs. eddie's on the verge of sleep, eyes drooping from tiredness. "keep going."
"alright, baby, i'm sorry," you bend forward to kiss his forehead, hand coming back to run your fingers down his hair. with all your dexterity do you untangle the knots in his unkempt curls, tugging ever so slightly but doesn't phase him a bit as it lulls him into a deep slumber.
the bare skin of his upper body is warm against yours, tattooed against the clear. eddie's deep breathing, the soft swish of the pages turning, and the faint sounds of noise from the outside calms you ever than before.
and with the presence of your lover beneath you, you find yourself falling asleep too, in a compromising position.
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
[1.6k] prompt: "I've never seen anyone look so cute and ridiculous at the same time." Sick Steve, soft summer mornings and the promise of soup.
âIâve never seen anyone look so cute and so ridiculous at the same time.â
Your words made Steve jump, the bed squeaking as he turned to face you with a delighted smile on his face. The tip of his nose was a little red, his cheeks flushed and his eyes looked tired, a little duller than normal but something in them sparked at the sight of you.Â
âHey sweetheart,â he greeted, voice rough and scratchy, âmissed you.â
You pouted at his sore throat, flushed at his words and you moved into the room, setting down your things on his desk before opening one of the windows a little for some much needed fresh air. Steve had been stuck in his bed for the best part of three days now, struck down with the flu despite protesting that he was fine.Â
It had taken him pushing himself into your side for a whole afternoon behind the counter of Family Video, shivers wracking his body as he tried to find warmth despite the Indiana summer outside, before he finally admitted defeat and went home early.Â
âI brought you some soup,â you told him in a gentle voice so you didnât hurt his already sore head, âand some fresh orange juice, some snacks and more medicine.â
Steve hummed contentedly, and you were sure you heard him murmur âangelâ before rolling out of his sheets so he could stretch an arm out to you, making animated grabbing motions with his hands. You huffed out a laugh, toeing your shoes off as you crossed the room, eyes on his bare chest and the ridiculous knitted beanie heâd jammed on top of his head. It was navy blue with snowflakes, a green pom pom on top that looked like it had been attacked by Dustinâs cat.Â
âThis is a new look, Harrington.â You perched yourself on the edge of his bed, one leg tucked underneath you as you smoothed your hand up and down the boyâs arm, shaking your head as he groaned happily.Â
âI was really cold, but like,â Steve paused, eyes closing slightly at the comfort he found in your touch, âalso absolutely fucking boiling.â He gestured to his bare chest and cotton shorts, lips downturned at his predicament.Â
âBaby, itâs eighty five outside,â you told him, voice laced with humour but your eyes were crinkling with concern. You took your hand to his forehead, pushing his hair and the hat out of your way to press your palm to it.Â
âTell that to my feet,â he grumbled, sock clad toes appearing from underneath the comforter to poke at your thigh.Â
You pouted for him, knowing that he was fed up of feeling unwell, sick of being alone and stuck inside. The summer outside still blazed on, Hawkins pool busier than ever and each new day brought brighter blue skies and missed opportunities for you to take a drive with your boyfriend, heading out of town and into trouble.Â
âHowâre you feeling today?â You murmured, sliding off his ridiculous winter hat so you could take your hands through his hair. It was soft, mussed from sleep and his choice in fashion, freshly washed and in a rare display, free from product.Â
He groaned before answering, your nails scraping lightly over his scalp and you couldnât help but smile at how his eyes softened, his lips parted for you.Â
âBit better than yesterday,â he mumbled, âstill tired. Missed you,â he told you again, moving his head from his pillow to your lap, pushing at you a little until your fingers delved a little deeper, tugging lightly at the ends of his hair.Â
He was practically purring.Â
âI missed you too, pretty boy,â you whispered and it was true.Â
It had only been two days, yesterday being taken up by overtime at work, babysitting duties and an argument with your parents that you couldnât walk away from, but it was barely ten in the morning when youâd pushed yourself out of bed and walked over to the Harrington residence, bag of goods in hand.Â
No need to ring the doorbell, or deal with the stilted, awkward conversation when Steveâs parents opened the door. The house lay empty, apart from the boy, and youâd used the spare key Steve had given you a few months into dating, a gesture that had had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.Â
âYou heard from your folks?â The question was gentle, not pushy and you watched as Steve shrugged half heartedly from where he lay on you.Â
âNah, not since last week,â Steve mumbled, trying hard to sound like he didnât care. âMom said something âbout a conference in Utah, Dad said nothinâ. Think theyâll be back by Thursday.â
You knew not to push it, to ask anymore questions when it came to Steveâs parents so you hummed non-committedly, pushing him gently off your lap and earning a grumble from him.Â
But he soon understood as you pushed him back into his tangle of sheets, climbing in beside him and letting him settle over you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands pushing your shirt up to rub him thumbs over your skin. He pressed his face to your chest, cheek smushed against you and he hummed when your hand found his hair again.Â
âMâgonna get you sick,â he mumbled forlornly but Steve made no move to get off of you.Â
You tutted, making soothing noises as you stroked your fingers over his hair, his brow, the bridge of his nose. You watched his eyes flutter with it, his chest catch and release the breath that was stuttering in his chest.Â
âSomeoneâs gotta look after you,â you murmured to him, voice soft with affection, âwe can have a movie day, huh?â
You felt the boy's arms tighten around you, the press of his nose into your sternum as he dropped a kiss over your heart and he nodded.Â
âDonât deserve you,â Steve said, voice fuzzy from tiredness and the way he was still pressing himself into you, as if he couldnât get enough, as if two days without you was far too long. âYouâre too good to me, sweetheart.â
You shook your head, your chin brushing aggressively against the top of his hair and if heâd looked up at you, Steve wouldâve seen the way his words made your lips pull down, sad and frustrated that he still thought that sometimes.Â
âDonât make me beat you up whilst youâre sick, Harrington,â you grumbled, your threat empty and without any heat.Â
But it pulled a smile from him and he let out an amused sound, twisting in the bed so he rolled onto his back, taking you with him and pulling you to his side.Â
He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressing the bridge of his nose into the space underneath it, his lips dropping a kiss to the corner of your jaw.Â
âI could still take you, gorgeous,â he told you grinning when you snorted. âYou wanna have a roll around, and Iâll prove it to you?â Steve nipped at your earlobe, earning a squeal before you shoved him away, back into his nest of pillows.Â
âNice try, hot shot,â you laughed, lips twisted as you tried to hide your smile, âyouâre sick, you need to rest.â
âWeâll agree to disagree,â Steve mused and you pushed yourself up, sitting on your knees as you looked down at him.Â
You smiled, happy to see how his brown eyes were a little brighter than before, warmer and more awake as he gazed up at you from where he was sprawled out. His skin had more colour, a flush across his cheeks that looked healthier than the feverish pink heâd had before.Â
âHow about some soup?â You asked, looking at his digital clock on his nightstand, âIt's almost lunch. We could eat out by the pool, dip our feet in and get you some fresh air?â
Steveâs hand found yours in the sheets, fingers twisting between yours so he could lift it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.Â
âThat sounds real nice,â he agreed, eyes shifting to the bag youâd placed on the desk when you arrived and he suddenly felt starving. âWhat kinda soup?â
You smiled, shifting off the bed so you could gather your treats, heading for the bedroom door. You watched over your shoulder as the boy tumbled out of bed, hair sleep mussed and on end from your eager hands, a little more bounce in him than before.Â
âYour favourite,â you told him and his eyes settled on the faint outline of the container label that he could see through the bag. The Little Bakery, it read, and beside it, he saw a box of cookies and cannolis. âPlus some other things to make you feel better.â
He moaned a happy sound, his hand on the small of your back as you headed to the kitchen. You couldnât see him as you walked down the stairs but the press of his palm on your skin was warm and comforting, and as you reached the bottom step, he took the bag from your arms, saving you from carrying it anymore.Â
Steve bent as he did, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, grazing the corner of your lips.Â
âLove you,â he mumbled into your skin, before padding barefoot into the kitchen, naked bare, shorts slung low and you watched as he started pulling out pots and glasses for juice, the summer light slanting in from the window and painting him in gold and tiny rainbows.Â
If you didnât care about getting sick before, you certainly didnât now.Â
a/n: part 2! sorry itâs not very long but iâm still tryna get the dynamic flowing but overwhelmed steve and comedic dialogue have my heart.
word count: 2.6k(ish)
requested?: no but requests are open and my prompt list can be found here
pairing: steve harrington x f!reader
warnings?: nosebleed? jason?Â
read part one here
The day had finally arrived. Jason, alongside his jock friends, entered during the middle of your shift meaning you didnât waste any time in calling Steve at Family Video to come visit, to âkeep an eye on them.â you said.
As Steve walked across the retail park to the diner you worked at, his mind moved 1000mph. He had spent the past week trying out different apologies to Robin, each ending with an elaborate way to ask you out but they all got the same response from his best friend, âEw no. You canât say that sheâll probably hate you more creep.â Therefore, even as he speedwalked over, he still had nothing, no flirty pick up line, no useful complement, nothing. It was like his mind went blank when it came to you. He snapped out of his thoughts as the sound of the bell on the door rang and you were alerted of his presence. He found himself with his jaw slack, previously when he visited you were sporting your own clothes on top of your uniform but now seeing you in a slightly baggy black polo, a apron hung lazily off your hips and jeans that were just tight enough that his mind yet again pulled a blank. âHey Harringtonâ You nod a small smirk shooting towards the flustered boy, before he had time to respond you nodded towards a seat that was close to the bar.Â
He pulled it out and sat down still watching you, âYou gonna uh say anything?â You question, âYeah,â He sighs, âAll good?â Worry begins to lace his features as he glances around the shop floor, eyes settling on the Hawkins Tigers who were staring straight back at the pair of you. You nod, âJust stay here alright?â You move from where you were previously standing and begin to wander around, taking orders and chatting to regulars, Steve canât help but admire you, as he twists the straw around his now empty milkshake. Steve is pulled out of his trance when a girl, Sandra, he remembers going to school with - she was in his history class, pulls out the chair next to him. âHey Steve, long time no see! How are you?â Steve realises he hasnât answered once Sandra furrows her eyebrows, âOh! Yeah good, and yourself?â
5 minutes, he swears he took his eyes off of you for 5 minutes and now youâve disappeared. He abruptly and probably rudely ended his conversion with Sandra, cursing at himself for getting caught up in his previous conversation. He pushes the doors to the back of the shop leaning all his weight against it, his eyes search wildly for you but his breath dies in his throat at the scene before him - Jason had you cornered, a clear sneer on his face as he attempted to say things he presumed would get under your skin. Steve begins to walk towards the pair of you but before he can open his mouth, you answer âNow I always thought you were stupid, but this?â You gestures between the pair of you, âIs just fucking ridicoulus, I donât know what the hell you think youâre gonna get out of me but I am not 1. telling you where Eddie is or 2. telling you why Chrissy was with him?â Jason takes a step closer, you donât back away, Steve feels overwhelmed but also steps closer, âLook,â Jason seeths, âI donât know what is going on between you and Munson but for your own safety I really suggest you put it beside you. And tell me where he is.â A loud scoff escapes your lips, âYou donât know why she was there do you?â Jasonâs expression tells you all you need to know, âOh my god, Iâm so glad I donât get to miss this. Youâre little girlfriend, who by the way was struggling with something way bigger than your tiny pea brain to begin to understand. Was.â You poke the basketballer so hard in the chest he winces and falls back a step, âThere.â poke, âTo.â poke, âBuyâ poke, âDrugs.â You smile eerily, scaring Steve as well as Jason, the latter runs his hands through his hair, âNo she would neve-â âOh give it a rest! You donât know the next thing about her! Hell, Eddie and I only knew her for a few weeks and we still understood her better than you! Now leave me the hell alone, I donât have time for this,â You firmly place your hands on his shoulder before driving your knee in between his legs, he lets out a shriek of pain before falling to the floor. You smirk and turn, finally facing an awestruck Steve. âSee?â You walk past, âI told you I had it.â Steve smiles, âThen why did you want me here?â He follows after you back into the diner. âBecause why would I miss out on spending quality time with you.â You tease, dramatically holding the door open for him. âBut,â He blushes deeply, âYou hate me.â âI never- actually I did say that yeah, did I make it that obvious?â âHonestly,â Steve swings his legs over the stool again, âI had no clue,â He laughs slightly, âNot until Robin reminded me.â âAh shucks,â You shrug, âIâm that forgettable huh?â âNo! No! I didnât mean it like that!â âWell thatâs how it sounded, Harrington.â Something about the way you said his last name made butterflies spread through his stomach.
You two spent the next hour making idle chit chat between you serving customers, a lot of them knew you from visiting everyday but now they speak to you with a bit more of an edge, understanding you were friends with the suspected town killer. They were used to seeing him half sat half laid across a booth chatting away to you, you frown slightly at the memories but understand the situation from an outsider perspective. Instead you decided to throw yourself into a small conversation with Steve, trying not to laugh at his jokes as you had to keep reminding yourself - you hated him. You didnât realise how much time had passed until the store phone began to ring, you picked it up - customer service greeting at the ready only to be met with Robinâs rambles, âHey Y/N is that you? Are you okay? Did Jason get you? Did he get Steve? Oh my god I canât work here without Steve Iâll die of boredom, please tell me Steve is okay? He said he would be back in an hour but now itâs been 2 and he still hasnât shown up and I-â You smile at the girl's protectiveness, âRobin,â but she doesnât stop mumbling, âROBIN!â This makes Steve turn in his place, âHeâs fine, heâs here with me. We are both fine.â âThen what have you been doing for the last two hours?â âTalking.â âTalking? I thought you hated him, what do you have to talk about?â âI did hate him, Iâm still not particularly fond but heâs not too bad. At least, anymore.â You mumble slightly, embarrassed Steve might overhear your confession, Robin lets out a low whistle, âNot too bad huh? Iâll have to keep an eye on you two.â âCan it. Iâm sending your beloved colleague back to you now, so you can stop worrying and STOP calling.â You laugh before placing the phone back on the wall. âRobin then?â Steve calls, pulling your attention back to him, âYeah,â You smile, âShe wants you back, to the store I mean not like-â you panic, âI mean I wasnât implying but-â âY/Nâ Steve raises his eyebrows, âShe wants me back to work. I get it.â He turns for the door. As he reaches the handle, he calls back âPlease donât imply anything - you would be wrong.â You shake your head, heart thudding against your chest, wondering why Steve Harrington had made you crumble into a stuttering mess. This wasnât you. You take a deep breath with a promise to pull yourself together before turning back to the rest of your shift.Â
The last time Steve saw you was that Saturday, it was now Monday and he canât help but think about you, but as usual he is distracted by the group of kids who stand in front of him. He sighs, staring at the group of young teens in front of him, âNo-â He starts, âThere is no way I am driving all you lardasses to some random comic book shop 40 miles away just because you heard it was cooler than the one here.â Steve goes to continue before he is cut off by Dustin, âPlease man, it would help us take our minds of the truamatising murders here in Hawkins, and-â âDustin shut up. Youâre not traumatised.â Your voice cuts through the video store, causing the gang to jump in surprise, all apart from Max who had spotted your motorcycle as you were pulling up, âEw what happened to your face?â The redhead cringes, nose scrunching in disgust at the sight before you. You couldnât argue - you had looked better. The sight of you with blood pouring from your nose and between your lips made all the teens in front of you panic, they began bombarding you with questions, asking if youâre okay, if Vecna got to you, if Jason got to you. You hush them all with a wave of your hand, before wiping the back of it across your bloodied face, âThank you Max, Iâm good just uh hit my head on the front of my visor going over a speedbump.â You mumble, quite embarrassed, because youâre not even fully sure how your injury came about. âThatâs a lot of blood for just hitting your head.â Lucas states, âI have a loose blood vessel in my nose from getting hit in the face by a locker.â You try to explain, gritting your teeth, âIn junior year.â It doesnât take long for Steveâs eyes to widen. His body shudders at the memory of him swinging his locker door open in the midst of a conversation with Nancy, and smacking someone straight in the nose with it. If he was honest, at the time he didnât even notice who was standing there but you had just made it clear. âFuck-â The group turns to him. âIt was you. Shit Iâm sorry about that.â âYOU HIT HER IN THE FACE WITH YOUR LOCKER?â Dustin screeches. âI didnât mean to- '' Steve tries to interject, âit just happened. It was an accident.â He turns his gaze to you, âIâm sorry Y/N.â A small smile plays on your lips, âDonât worry about it Harrington, Iâve had worse but could I please get a tissue?â âOf-of courseâ He stutters slightly, rushing into the break room to grab you some rough tissue. Launching himself back over the counter Steve takes large strides to meet you on the shop floor, you go to take the tissue from him but before your hands meet his heâs already holding the paper towel to your nose, mumbling about tilting your head back.Â
A small blush spread over your cheeks, missed by most - but not all before you take the tissue out of Steveâs hand and stumble out a âI got it thanks.â âSo, other than the nosebleed what brings you to Family Video?â Steve questions, still stood uncomfortably close to you, âWhat? I canât come see my favourite employee?â You say, making Steve raise his eyebrows until you step pass him and up to Robin at the counter, âYou got it?â You start a conversation with your friend, who looks up, meeting your gaze before flicking her eyes to the now red tissue stuffed up your nostril, âYeah, I got it-but Iâm not giving it to you unless you promise not to bleed all over it. Honestly, Keith will murder me if I return a tape with blood all over it.â Robin laughs, âI promise I wonât bleed all over it. Now gimme!â You reach over the counter, causing your feet to lift from the ground. The group of young teens just watch you, as you obviously snatch the tape Robin is trying to hold above your grasp. That is until Dustin decides to speak up, âHey Y/N?â âYeah?â You call back, still trying to reach the movie. âDo you like comics?â âHenderson, gimme a-â You grab the tape and let out a small âyayâ which makes Steve smile to himself, you turn. âUh yeah I guess why?â âBecause Steve here,â Dustin gestures to the larger boy next to him as if introducing him, âWonât take us to the new comic book store! How unfair is that? Why donât you come with us?â âAw, Steve, why wonât you take your children to the comic book store?â You smile looking between the pair in front of you, âItâs 40 miles away.â Steve deadpans but canât help but grin when he hears your laugh, âDamn Henderson, you got some nerve-40 miles? Man, shit hell no will I come. But have fun!â âWe arenât going.â Steve furrows his brows, âYou see you say that,â You start backing away to the door, âBut 20 bucks says youâll go.â âAlright Y/L/N youâre on.â Steve challenges, you push the door open and stand in the doorway, pulling your motorcycle helmet on and nodding your head to push the sun visor over your eyes, âLater Harrington. Iâll be back on Wednesday to collect my money.â âNot on my watch.â Steve quips but youâre already gone.
âSo we gonna talk about that?â Dustin interjects, minutes after youâd left, âTalking about what?â Steve questions breaking his gaze from the door to the boy who stood near him smiling, âYou practically throwing yourself at Y/N.â âI did not!â âYou kinda did.â Lucas butts in, âSinclair, shut it.â âI mean heâs not wrong.â Robinâs head pops up from behind the counter, âYou too Buckely.â Steve warns, but itâs in vain as Dustin pipes up again, âIt was kind of embarrassing.â âI didnât do anything!â Steve waves, âIf youâre gonna try to make a move, youâve gotta stop being so scared around her.â âHenderson, I do not need your advice on girls, especially ones who hate my guts.â âI would hate your guts too if you gave me nosebleeds.â âSinclair, I thought I told you to shut it.â âI donât think she hates you.â Max decides to pipe up, âOh no, she does, sheâs told me. Many times âfuck I hate that Steve Harrington kidââ Robin uses air quotes to do her best impression of you, but Max continues, âI mean she probably did but I donât know if she still does I mean she was blushing when you gave her a paper towel.â âShe wasnât blushing,â Steve tries to redirect but canât help the way his heart soars with the young girl's words, âWas she blushing?â He asks the group who all murmur âNot sureâ or something similar apart from the redhead who shouts an esperacted âYES.â She continues, âI donât know why though, you shouldnât have a chance with her- sheâs way cooler than you.â âThank you Maxine.â Steve grits his teeth, âHey!â Max tuts at the nickname. âI guess we will find out on Wednesday?â Lucas looks between his ex and Steve, âI guess we will.â Steve sighs lost in his blossoming feelings of fondness towards you.
