a/n: just the beginning of a fanfic i'm working on. if any of u like it i will post the rest of this. i think it's cute enough to break my silence. good to be back friends
summary: you're moving in the middle of summer to a random town in the middle of nowhere with your father. a group of misfit wanderers take you in
The door to your new house was painted a deep green, there were small chips running along the edges on the door where the hinges met the frame. Some of the old paint and even some wood peeked from the cracks. There were scratches on the copper of the mail slot from years of use. And you thought of all the mail that must’ve passed through the house over the years; simple advertisement from some markets in town or sleazy magazines the previous owners spent hours flipping through, or maybe even some love letters clumsily slipped through the small space on the door.
“Hey sweetheart, you wanna stop staring at the door and grab a box?” There were boxes covering the majority of your father’s face. They were stacked high in his arms. He walked toward the house, his oxfords looking very out of place on the dirt path onto the porch.
Without a second look at the door, you walked back to the car, where there were boxes stacked on a patch of grass. There were tiny blue flowers scattered amongst the green. The sun was beaming down at anyone brave enough to stand outside of the shade but there was a nice summer breeze. You grabbed a box with your name scribbled on it and walked inside the wooden home. It was a two-story house with a gorgeous wrap around porch.
“You should walk into town to grab some food for us.” Your father was walking back into the house with the last box. “It’s not very far.” He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped some sweat off of his forehead. His cheeks were a bright red shade which made you chuckle.
“Yeah, I wanted to go for a walk anyway.” You started you trek toward the small town which happened to be ten minutes on foot. Even with the short walk you could feel droplets of sweat running down your arms as they swung at your sides. The path you were walking was another dirt road, lined with big chinkapin oak trees. The thought of the bright green leaves many shades of orange made you excited for the fall. Whilst thinking of falling leaves you heard the engine of a vehicle approaching. Very loud music became louder and louder. When you turned to search for the source of the noise, you caught a glimpse of the prettiest boy you had ever seen. The sandy color of his hair almost matched the color of his freckles. His lips were a soft pink, and they were upturned in a knowing smile. His eyes were fixed on you when the van that had disturbed your peaceful walk blocked your view. The boy with the perfect hair got into the passenger seat.
“Who’s the babe?” Eddie, the driver, yelled out over the music to the pretty boy. The thought of lowering the music hadn’t occurred to him.
“Don’t know yet.” He looked out of the window as they drove by next to you. Steve stared at you until they turned the corner on their way to Bill’s.
Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ☺️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛
i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!
summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)
fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)
Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world.
Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read.
You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.
The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.
“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.
A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”
“…That’s so fucked up.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”
Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.
“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape.
Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write.
She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”
“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you.
A pretty boy follows.
His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair.
His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.
He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.
“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”
The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”
You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose.
You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.
The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.
“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.
You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.
“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”
“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”
The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”
“The one with the gross men.”
He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”
You smile wordlessly in response.
“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”
“I’m not hovering!”
“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”
“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.
“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”
“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”
“I’m asking a question!”
You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book.
They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?
“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”
Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist.
Ten minutes until eight o’clock.
You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.
“Shit…”
“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.
You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.
“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”
You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”
“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him.
You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything.
“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”
“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”
“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of.
Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel?
You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.
The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.
“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer.
“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.
You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you.
Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”
“Sorry, you just— you left this.”
When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.
Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”
“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”
You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.
“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.
“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”
“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”
“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”
You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”
“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”
“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.
She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.
“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”
“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”
“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes.
If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are.
Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it.
“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”
Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.
“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”
“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”
His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”
Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number.
Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly.
You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.
Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.
He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face.
You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are.
When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.
OOOOH Can i hop on the dr!rem train?!?! I would love to see how he is with someone who just doesn’t really take care of themselves. Like if something’s hurting they just power through. But of course he’s a dr so he’d know 🤔🤔💕💕💕💕
Ofc you can! This is precisely what I need him for haha. Also, when I wrote this my foot was still really hurting and now it feels tons better, so I think writing for him is healing me! Thanks for requesting my love <3
Doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
Remus looks up from his laptop when you hold a bowl of pasta up in front of him enticingly. “Aw, thanks, sweetheart,” he says, taking it from you. He’s been so caught up in his paperwork he hadn’t even heard you bustling around in the kitchen, but you’d been thoughtful enough to bring him his dinner on the couch rather than call him to the table. “You’re too good to me. I’ll be finished here in a minute.”
“It’s no problem,” you say with a smile. “Oh, I forgot, I made you tea too. Just a second.”
You go back towards the kitchen, and Remus thinks to go back to his laptop for the interval of your absence, but something about the way you’re moving catches his attention. You’re walking oddly, shifting an almost imperceptible amount of your weight to one side. It’s not quite a limp, but there’s a stiffness there.
You disappear into the kitchen for half a second, and Remus watches you carefully when you return. Your strides are as quick as if nothing were amiss, but there’s definitely something bothering you. It doesn’t look like the problem is in your foot, or your knee, but maybe your hip…
You pass him the tea, and Remus takes it quickly, chiding you for holding the hot part to pass him the handle. You roll your eyes as you sit, constantly discounting what you consider to be your boyfriend’s overcaution. You never worry about yourself, Remus thinks. Everything that happens to you is secondary, of little concern compared to whatever’s going on with everyone else. You don’t watch out for yourself, and you don’t always welcome others doing it for you either. It makes being someone who loves you an occasionally worrying task.
“How was your day, dovey?” Remus asks, shutting his laptop to enjoy the meal you’ve prepared for him. “I’ve been so focussed on work I’ve barely talked to you since I got home. How are you doing?”
Your smile is tinged with bemusement, but they’re not such odd questions as to draw much suspicion. “Don’t worry about it, Rem, I know it’s important stuff. I’m good, honey, how are you?”
“I’m good too,” he says, twirling pasta around his fork and inhaling the steamy aroma of the herbs you’ve mixed in. “Fantastic, now.” You blush, looking down at your own bowl. “Do much walking around today?”
Now your brows furrow, and you bring your fork to your mouth, chewing pensively. “Some,” you answer after a while. “Why do you ask?”
“I just noticed you’re walking a bit funny,” he says as casually as he can, knowing too much attention will only lead to you belittling more than you’re already inclined. “Is there something bothering you, love?”
“Oh, yeah,” you say, looking back to your bowl as though forking your pasta suddenly requires your undivided attention. “Think I twinged something in my leg earlier. It’s not bad, it’s just one of those things, you know? I’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll be fine.”
It takes a heap of willpower to keep Remus from rolling his eyes. That’s your go-to reaction anytime something’s bothering you: power through and hope it goes away on its own. As someone who knows better, it nettles him incessantly. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? I might be able to help.”
“Because it’s not a big deal,” you say through a mouthful. “Anyway, you were busy.”
“Never too busy for you,” he hums, setting down his plate to lean closer to you, and fine, he’s pandering. If making light of this is what’s going to get you to let him help, that’s what he’ll do. “Let me have a look?” he asks you sweetly.
You look at him, sucking a stray noodle into your mouth. “What, now?”
“Sure,” he says, already moving to perch on the coffee table across from you. “Just to make sure that it’s fine and I don’t need to run to the drug store before it closes or anything.”
You sigh like you’re doing him a big favor. “Okay, but it’s really not bad. You don’t need to worry.”
He hums noncommittally. “Straighten your leg out for me?” You do, and he takes your foot in his hand. “What part hurts, dove?”
“Kinda, like—” You strain to lift one hip off the couch, touching the back of your thigh, “—like, all down here, ish.”
Remus cocks his head. “Does it hurt when you flex your foot?”
“A little,” you say, nonchalant.
He nods, standing. “Okay, I think I get the picture,” he says. “Lay down for me, please?”
You give him a deadpan look. “Rem, I’m just trying to eat.”
“It’ll only take a second.”
With an eye-roll that you make sure he sees, you set your plate down next to his on the coffee table, laying on your back. Remus sits by your feet, lifting one of your calves so he can see the back of your thigh. He runs a knuckle over the skin there, noticing it’s a bit more swollen than your other leg. “Here?” he asks you.
“Yeah.”
Remus laughs silently at the sudden tight quality to your voice, thinking he knows the cause. He takes a detour to test his theory, migrating his touch further down until his knuckle skims the crease of your buttcheek.
“Careful,” you murmur, tone slightly teasing.
Remus tries and fails to suppress his grin as he forces himself back on task. “It looks like it’s your hamstring,” he says. “It’s a bit more swollen, but in a lot of cases there’ll be bruising too, and I don’t see any of that. Do you remember when you hurt it?”
“Mhm.”
Remus decides not to question you further on that for now; he’ll lecture you on telling him these things more quickly later. “Did you hear any sort of popping noise?”
“No,” you say, sounding unsure. “I think I would’ve noticed, right?”
“You would have,” Remus reassures you, relieved. “It’s probably just a pulled muscle, then. I’m going to test it really quickly to be sure, okay?”
“Okay,” you say warily, and Remus has you flex your foot, taking your leg in both hands as he straightens it and lifts it upward. You hiss, and he stops.
“That hurts?”
“Yeah.” Your voice is tight again, now for the wrong reasons, and Remus lowers your leg carefully.
“Alright, sorry.” He kisses your knee. “Well, at least it shouldn’t take too long to heal. I’ll get you an ice pack when we’re done eating, and I want you to elevate it and take ibuprofen.”
You sit up, clearly ready for your boyfriend’s mollycoddling to be over as you grab for your bowl. “Already am,” you say with a smile that Remus supposes is meant to be reassuring. Instead, he frowns.
“Sweetheart.” He gives you an admonishing look. “You were taking painkillers for this and you weren’t going to tell me about it?”
“Don’t be mad at me,” you say lightly. “I made you pasta.”
Now it’s Remus who’s sighing laboriously, pressing a reluctant kiss to the side of your head. “I suppose that does make up for everything, doesn’t it?”
what abt fuckboy!james/fuckboy!steve who’s so used to the idea of girls wanting to stay after they sleep w him, but with you, he wants to stay. you get up to leave and get your clothes on before he’s making up dumb excuses and whining with his little puppy dog gaze all like “well you don’t have to leave :(“
and ur just there smirking and trying not to laugh before u climb back in bed w his little clingy self
Thanks for requesting <3
Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 699 words
Steve looks nice when he’s relaxed like this. There’s no carefully curated uptilt to his lips, and the muscles around his eyes are at ease, finally free of that dumb, smolder-y squint he does. You would've never denied that Steve is handsome, but he actually looks quite pretty when he’s not trying so hard. His face has gone soft against his pillow, limps plump and skin golden in the buttery morning light streaming through his curtains.
You don’t intend to stick around to see that softness melt away. You’re quiet and efficient in changing into the clothes you’d worn the night before, leaving your shoes off for now so your steps remain soundless on Steve’s bedroom floor. You find some mouthwash under his sink and decide that’ll have to do in lieu of brushing your teeth for now, fixing your hair and double-checking that there’s no makeup leftover under your eyes before exiting the bathroom.
Steve’s sitting up in bed.
“Morning,” you greet him.
“Morning.” He stretches, arching his back until it cracks. He tilts his head as his eyes focus on you. “You’re already dressed?”
“Yup.” You sit down on the edge of the bed to put your shoes on. “Thanks for letting me stay here last night.”
“No problem.” He’s doing that stupid eye-squint thing again, albeit a more dulled, tired version, as he rakes his gaze showily up your body. It’s work to not roll your eyes. “I hope you had a good time.”
“I did,” you confirm, finishing the knot on your second shoe. You stand. “Cool if I leave the front door unlocked on my way out, or did you want to follow me and lock it?”
Steve’s eyebrows cinch, and the squint takes on an unfamiliar nature. “You know, I’m not the type of guy to kick girls out first thing in the morning. You can stay for breakfast, if you want.”
You give him an appeasing smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got food at home.”
He sits up straighter, covers slipping down to reveal the waistband of his boxers. “Don’t you need a ride or something?”
“I can take the bus.”
“Well, I could drive you if you’d just give me a second to get up.”
“Steve.” You don’t bother hiding the bemusement from your expression. “I really don’t mind taking the bus.”
Steve pauses with one leg out of the bed and one still in, and you let your gaze linger on his naked thigh for just a moment before forcing your eyes back up to his face. It’s as confused as you imagine yours has to be, but you could almost swear the look in his eyes is tinged with hurt. “What’s the rush?” he asks you. “Do you have somewhere to be or something?”
“No,” you answer with a shrug. “There’s just no point in me sticking around here, and I figured I’d get out of your hair.”
“You’re not in my hair.”
“I’m not?”
“No.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, one side pressed flat from being smushed against his pillow. You sort of want to stick your fingers in there and ruffle it. “It’s not…you’re not bothering me, or anything.”
You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s good.”
“Just—” Steve blows out a breath. He seems puzzled, and he also seems like being puzzled is frustrating for him. This doesn’t feel like the insouciant, self-possessed boy who’d led you into his bed the night before. “You don’t have to rush out. You could stay for a little while.”
You cock your hip, giving him an appraising look. “And do what?”
“I dunno,” Steve says, and it occurs to you that he really is at a loss. He doesn’t seem used to having to ask for people to stay. “We could have breakfast, if you want. I could make you an omelet.” That squint is back, like this should be enticing to you.
You huff a laugh but set your bag down, heading for the kitchen. “Steve Harrington, I do not believe for one second that you know how to make an omelet. How about you show me where the supplies are, and I’ll cook us something good.”
Steve stumbling over asking you out, so Robin gives him a push to try and get you to closer, to give Steve that extra shove... Except she pushes her bestie a bit too hard, and Steve ends up face first in your titties. Needless to say asking you out is not going as ‘king Steve’ planned. Although Steve and Robin are equally mortified over what just happened
The last thing you're expecting when you hear a half-hearted call of 'Watch out!' is a man's face in your chest. But that's exactly what you get, and it looks like neither he nor the girl who had warned you had expected it either.
"Holy shit!" The girl - you recognize her from band, Robin, you think? - gasps, and you mentally echo her sentiment while the man stumbles backwards trying to regain his balance. The top you're wearing at tonight's party is especially low-cut, and you'd felt every inch of his skin against your flushed chest. He doesn't end up catching his footing, falling backwards onto his ass on the floor instead.
Once you've got a clear look at his face, you process that it's none other than Steve Harrington. You're surprised he's at this party, you've heard they aren't really his thing anymore. He looks entirely defeated, face beet-red and shoulders tense as he peers warily up at you.
"I'm so sorry," Robin gushes, "I pushed him, and- I mean, I didn't mean for him to hit you, 'specially not nose-to-tits!"
Steve groans at her crude wording, "Shut up, Robin."
"I'm sorry," She repeats in earnest, ignoring her friend's pleas, "Um you're not- are you, like, hurt or anything?"
"Yeah, I speared 'em with my nose," Steve snaps, shoving at her thigh where he's slumped beside her legs on the floor, "Just shut up, Robin!"
"It's fine," You put an end to their squabbling, extending a hand towards Steve to help him off of the ground. You're not quite prepared for how bulky he is; perhaps he's still got his basketball physique, and when he takes it like a lifeline to pull himself up, you tip forward on your shaky legs right into his own chest.
You're trying to pull back before you've even made contact with his- shit, his surprisingly firm chest, but you still manage to face-plant slightly. There's a soft noise from Robin, then his hands come up to grab your shoulders and straighten you out.
"Sorry," You flush, mortified, "Uh- I'm a little drunk. Lost my balance, I guess."
"S'fine," Steve murmurs, looking a little bit like he might be sick, which isn't very reassuring. But his hands are still firmly planted on your shoulders, and you swear he's holding you closer than he needs to be.
"Well, now you're even," Robin concludes, slapping each of you on the back so that you jerk towards each other, if only a few measly inches, "I'm going to the bathroom, so if either of you wanna motorboat each other on purpose this time, you're free to do so."
spending hours on call with modern!steve because he's just so pretty you get distracted and forget you're on a work call <3 not that he minds <3 (0.7k)
Steve always wore headphones, the expensive kind that blocked any other sound out, she could tell. Hers were a little cheap but comfortable and let the outside world dim down her co-workers voices. It was something so small that gave away each of their positions, Steve being miles higher than her with no real need to listen to a word she said but when she did speak, when she stuttered slightly even though no one looked up, Steve always watched her carefully, she could see him suddenly sit up and start paying attention and that made it so much harder to hope her crush would go away.
Because he listened to her, he nodded and smiled and asked her opinion on things when he really didn't need to. It made her feel much more important then she was, it made her feel like if she was off sick, someone might notice and the fact that that someone was dreamy sweet Steve Harrington made it so much more dizzying for her.
And meanwhile Steve was under the understanding that he was starting to like the job his father had given him all because for once he didn't have a stupid assistant, he had a pretty one, one who took notes, he knew she did because every now and then a pen would hover at the bottom of her screen and he never missed that because it was rare he would look anywhere else. He found himself smiling like a fool when he watched her, when he caught her wanting to say something, only to prompt her to speak just to see how flustered she would get.
If he would text her about something, something he needed checked or done, he did it when he could see her, when he could catch the little intake of breath she did when she saw his name. Sometimes he was cruel and said something mean about someone, someone who deserved it for saying something out of line about her, not that he would ever tell her that but it was the only time she ever disagreed with him. She wouldn't answer those messages, she'd bite the inside of her cheek and not look at him for a while.
Steve would’ve fired anyone who looked at her wrong. He would’ve asked her to write a list of people who spoke down to her or made her feel uncomfortable but he knew she would never allow him to because she was too nice. She was sweet in a way that made his jaw ache and his tongue feel bright red like his favourite candy.
When everyone's gone and it's late, that's when they get to talk. That's when she gets to stare at him and count out the blurry freckles across his cheek and nose without anyone else seeing her. His head would be down and he’d be typing or writing or just reading and she’d get to just watch because he always told her to stay on until he was finished and anyone else would complain but she never minded because when he was done, he’d asked her about her day. He’d ask if she picked green or ginger tea that morning because she was indecisive about which one she liked more. And once she answered she asked about his day, she would ask if he heard from his dad or if his mother called.
It was their little secret. Late night calls spent pretending to work just so they could talk to each other. “I should have you come look at this.” He had been quiet for a while and his voice made her flinch. He grinned like he was thinking something he shouldn’t and it made her ribs ache. “You’re smarter than me.”
She tilted her head to the side, her own smile much softer and sweeter than his. “I’m sure I’m not.” The back of her neck started to heat up as the blood rushed to her head, she willed herself to not trip over her words. “I could come over if you want? You’re apartments not far from here and it's not too late and if you would really like a second opinion-”
“Come over. God please come over” He cut her off. Jaw tightening when she bit her lip and softly answered, “Okay.”
King!Steve thinking the new girl is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen and trying to woo her a la John Tucker Must Die; getting the JV basketball team to follow her around with roses and giving her his phone number over the PA system.
hi!! i love your writing! could you possibly do a blurb with bf!steve with a sensitive reader? like maybe her friends made her feel left out or she gets embarrassed easily and steve is just there for her?
hiii tysm baby!!! hope u like it <333 | 0.7k of little angst to fluff! r feels left out after being with friends
It’s not often you feel this way.
You’d been at the diner for lunch with some friends, and it turned out to be kind of awful. You’d been the one to sit in the spare chair pulled up to the end of the booth, which was fine until it wasn’t.
First it was the split off conversations that you hadn’t been a part of, then the inside jokes, the laughs that surrounded you while you had to force one out to fit in. It only got worse.
Now, you’re parked in Steve’s driveway because you’d planned on spending the night, but you haven’t been able to get out of your car. Your overnight bag sits in the passenger seat, tears streaming down your cheeks.
You feel like a total idiot, crying over something like this, but it’s gotten under your skin. Your forehead falls against your steering wheel and you flinch when your horn goes off.
It’s Steve’s cue to head outside.
He’d seen your car pull up, he always does. It’s pathetic the way he loves you. The way he waits for you to come over every time you leave.
Usually, you’d climb out of the car right away, carrying your bag on your shoulder and walking through the door because it’s only ever you and Steve at his house anyways. A grin on your face, a hug to greet him.
Today’s different. Today, he waits five, ten minutes and you’re still in your car. And then he hears the horn and he knows something’s wrong. He knows you, he’s been with you long enough to know when something’s off.
He jogs up to the driver’s side of your car, peers into the window and finds you, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, shoulders shaking a little. He taps on the window with a single knuckle.
Your head jerks up at the sound, and when you see Steve you wipe at your damp cheeks with your palms before rolling the window down.
“Hi, Steve. I was just heading in.”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
You should’ve known he’d ask. Always the worrier, never getting anything past him.
“It’s silly. I’m okay.”
“You’ve been crying. That’s not silly.” He pulls your door open, rolls your window up for you, and holds a hand out towards you. “Come on, talk to me.”
You sniffle, wipe your cheek on your shoulder, place your hand in his. Your fingers entwine with his easily, the way they always do, falling into place.
“Okay.” You let Steve tug you up, let him carry your bag for you.
Before you know it, he’s got you on his couch, sitting sideways so you’re facing each other, legs overlapping, Steve’s hand on your knee.
“What happened?” He asks.
“I don’t know.” You shrug, and Steve’s not convinced, so you continue. “Lunch sucked. I’m dumb, but it was like I wasn’t even there, you know?”
His hand squeezes your leg, Steve-shaped indents in your skin. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“It’s stupid. I just felt like it didn’t even matter that I was there.” Your eyes well up all over again. “I could’ve gotten up and left and nobody would say anything.”
“They’re the stupid ones for making you feel like this, okay?” The hand that isn’t on your leg wipes away the tear that slips down the slope of your cheek, thumb gentle over your skin. “You’re incredible, the best ever. Pretty, too.”
“Steeeve.”
“I’m serious. This is why you should just be with me all of the time.”
You know he’s joking, but Steve would be happy to spend every second of every day with you. That’s not a joke. But his words are enough to make you smile, a small one, but he still feels like he’s won something.
“Thank you, Steve.”
He shuffles so that he’s laying in your lap, head on your thigh, hair flopping over his forehead. You’re quick to run your fingers through it, grinning down at the way his eyes flutter at your touch.
“So, how many boyfriend points do I win?”
You giggle, “a thousand.”
“That many?” He grabs your wrist, tugging one of your hands from his hair and bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm.
He gets endless points from you. Best boyfriend ever.
Someone requested this and I can't find the ask so I am sorry. I'm also sorry for literally taking forever to get to it.
part 1
Summary: Eddie, who may or may not be in love with you, finds out you like LOTR.
Warning(s): lots of steve fluff but eddie angst, unrequited love, not proof read
pairing(s): boyfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader, platonic!in love!eddie munson x fem!reader
w/c: 1.6k
Siouxsie and the Banshees was softly playing through the dimly lit shop. The stacks of new records were beginning to lose their height as you sorted them out into their appropriate bins. There was dust in the air from the number of bins you were kicking out of the way. Usually there was someone to help you with the heavy lifting, but it was 10 AM on a Tuesday. A time void of customers.
“(Y/N)!!” Eddie’s voice boomed through the store.
There was something almost pathetic about how fast a smile appeared on your face when you heard him. You loved it when Eddie visited you at work. He always made your shift go by at Mach speeds. He helped you on inventory days, walking around holding piles of records all whilst giving you free music advice. Which was really just him complaining about anything you put on the loudspeaker. Because according to the dramatic mop of hair, ‘your music taste would be perfect if you just cut out all the moody, creepy whining.’
“I know you’re in here, short stack! Only you would be playing Siouxsie.” You could hear the eyeroll from across the store.
“Yeah, whatever, act like I haven’t seen you nod your head to Happy House.” You walked onto the main floor where Eddie was sitting on the counter, next to the Madonna cassettes. “Nice of you to come see me, Edward.”
“No need to continue the act, (Y/L/N).” His face was stone cold, eyes blank. Last time he looked that severe, he was being told that Hellfire couldn’t use the theatre room because the basketball team had booked it last second. Not a good day to be around Hellfire’s dungeon master. Mike, Dustin and Lucas avoided him for two days, just to be safe.
“You don’t have to pretend to be friends with me any longer; for I have been told the truth.” He hopped off the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, covering the Megadeth graphic plastered on his black tee. “The lady lies.”
“Me lady?” You pointed your finger to your chest, confused as you could be. “I lie?” Brows furrowed as you thought of any fib you might’ve muttered out lately.
“You lie! If we were friends, you would’ve never kept your love for Lord of the Rings from me!” he exclaimed, hand on his forehead. In that moment, the appreciation you had for Eddie’s dramatics had been replaced with a strong urge to kill. You should’ve guessed it though; it had been exactly one day and one night since you had admitted it to Dustin. And Dustin is a HUGE blabber mouth. The boy did not stop.
“Ah, heard about that huh?”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” He rudely mimicked your voice and glared at you. “This entire time, when I was holding stacks of Duran Duran for you, we could’ve been talking about Boromir’s heroic sacrifice.” It was taking everything in Eddie not to crack. He couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you look all pouty. You were all frown lines and crossed arms.
The small crush Eddie had on you seemed to grow at speeds that would leave NASA’s head spinning. When you were first introduced, he didn’t think much of you. Some chick he saw at school occasionally, walking with Nancy or laughing with faceless losers. You were one of the rare people that didn’t move to the other side of the hallway when he walked by, so he definitely remembered you when Dustin was pushing him toward the group. He already knew you were dating Steve, how could he not? ‘Steve’s girlfriend’ was your identifier. And back then, there was nothing he cared less about. Currently it’s something that didn’t let him sleep at night.
Eddie was never sure what love would feel like; and now he knew what both love and heartbreak felt like. Even so, he was never truly sad, not when he could spend time with you like this. The faux vexed look you were forcing onto your face was enough to crush any self-pity swelling in his chest. Besides, he knew that there was no way he had a chance. You loved Steve, and Eddie knew there was no one else you would rather love.
“You would be a Boromir kind of guy.”
Eddie held his hand over his chest as if he were hit with an arrow. “A woman after my own heart.” He fell onto the counter he was previously sitting on.
“Where’s my pretty girl?” The voice of the sandy haired man was heard before he was seen. Eddie watched your eyes light up before you walked around the counter toward the door.
“Hi, Stevie.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest. Steve was like a giant, human Xanax. He made every muscle in your body relax, every racing thought slow down. You squeezed him tight and took a deep breath. Steve loved your hugs. You hugged him as if he had gone away for years at a time.
Steve’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, and he kissed the top of your head. “I missed you.”
“Aw I missed you more, Harrington.” Eddie stood behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest. He was trying his best to look as big as possible. Even if he did know you loved Steve, it did not keep him from messing with him as often as he could.
There was really very little things Eddie could do about the pesky feelings that clawed at his chest when your eyes reached his. He knew that at some point they would slowly fizzle out, like the bubbles in his favorite beer. But for now, he was going to enjoy them. Enjoy looking at you smile, hearing you laugh, rolling your eyes, even putting away those annoying records and cassettes. Even if the image of you stuck to Harrington chunked away at his health. He was used to piecing his heart back together with the scraps of time he could spend with you. Eddie knew what his role was in life and getting the girl wasn’t part of it. It was devastating but his songs had never been better.
You felt Steve’s body tense up. “Man, you’re in here a lot.” He kept a possessive arm around your shoulders. “You wouldn’t want my girl or anything, would you?”
Your head snapped up to look at your boyfriend. That was a really jerky thing to say. Something King Steve would say. Which is what was the most surprising bit, with all the effort Steve put in to distance himself with his asshole high school self. All his other moments of jealousy were pretty tame, cute even. But he was being a jerk to your friend, and it was very upsetting.
Eddie scoffed. “I could never. That would be really dumb of me, right?” He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward him, his lips placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I bid your farewell, fair maiden. I have dragons to slay and whatnot.”
The sunlight from outside painted the walls of the record store once Eddie opened the door. The second he was out of ear shot you finally spoke to Steve.
“I hate it when you’re like that.” Steve looked over at you when he heard your voice, and your frown was like a shot to the heart. He was no stranger to your cute angry face, but he knew when you were really upset. That frown looks nothing like the one you shoot him when he steals some of your fries. And he knew why you were upset. He was being a douche bag. As he was saying the words, he knew they were very asshole things to say but he couldn’t stop it. Steve couldn’t help how angry Eddie’s heart eyes made him.
“C’mon baby. He was flirting with you.” He tried to reason with you, walking around the counter to where you were counting some cassettes. “He has to know he can’t have you. Even if you’re all nerdy too.”
“Steve, Eddie isn’t a threat to you.” You turned around to face him. “Just cuz we both like..”
“I know. God, I know he’s not. I’m not insecure, sweets.” He put his hand on your right hip. Looking down at you. “I know I was made for you ‘cus there’s no one out there that loves you like I do.” He let go of your hip and found your hand. A perfect fit, but he already knew that. If that thing about an invisible string was true, he knew you were both knotted up together. Like those impossible knots on your necklaces, the ones you have Steve work out for you.
The anger that you felt for Steve dissipated and turned to another familiar feeling. Adoration. Love. Loving Steve has been the easiest thing you have ever done. He made it so easy. With his honey coated words and his pretty pink lips that kiss away all your worries.
“I just wish you would be nice to Eddie. He’s done nothing but be good friend to me.” There was a part of Steve that knew you were right. He was a good friend, not just to you but to multiple of his own friends. But the part of him that knew he was in love with you made him want to pummel Eddie.
“I just hate that he thinks about you the way I do.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “It should be illegal. I should put in a word with Hop, get him arrested or something.” Another kiss on the tip of your nose. “In fact, get every loser that thinks they have a chance with you and through ‘em in jail.” Another kiss to your forehead. He saw the way you were biting back a smile when he pulled away.
“Just please stop being an asshole okay?” His finger found your sides and he started to poke, making you giggle and squirm away.
“If you insist, angel.” His lips pressed to yours for a long kiss.
Ya’ll I’m literally the biggest loser. I hadn’t looked through my inbox and I have SO MANY requests. I’m so dumb. I’ll b getting into those throughout this week and probably post them by this weekend. So sorry to the ppl that requested
