pairing: Steve Harrington x fem! reader
summary: Just one more day with your boyfriend while he is working (or trying to)
author's note: It's been a long time, I know, but I'm in my Stranger Things era, so I needed to write something about it. I hope you guys enjoy, even this one being really short and simple, well, english isn't my first language :)
The bell on the WSQK door chimed every now and then, lazy, as if even it knew that this was just another ordinary day in Hawkins. The kind of day that felt too safe to be real. Sunlight hit the front window at an angle, reflecting off the colorful vinyl covers and giving everything that worn, nostalgic glow — like time moved differently inside that place.
Steve leaned his elbows on the counter, his body far too relaxed for someone who had already faced interdimensional monsters. His eyes, however, were alert — fixed on you. Always on you.
You spun slowly in the chair, bored in a way that felt almost rehearsed. The white sneakers of your uniform tapped against the floor now and then, making a dry, repetitive sound. The bubble gum popped too loudly for the silence of the store, marking time like a lazy clock. You smiled up at the ceiling, distracted, as if you were somewhere else.
Steve thought that was a crime.
A waste of kindness in a world that had already been cruel enough to good people. A waste of you. He didn’t deserve it — he knew that — but he also never pretended he didn’t love every second of it.
Robin was farther back, surrounded by boxes and complaints. Talking to herself, as always, cursing the store’s logistics, the paycheck, the background music. Her voice turned into distant noise when you slid over to the counter.
“Steve…” you said softly, almost like you were just making conversation to see if he’d bite.
He looked up immediately.
The world narrowed down to you.
“The vinyl aisle’s weird again.”
It wasn’t the sentence. It never was. It was the way you said it. The tone. The pause that was just a little too short before speaking.
You stood there for a second longer than normal. Long enough for Steve to notice your fingers playing with the hem of your miniskirt, the way your weight shifted from one leg to the other. Nervous. Too delicate for this kind of game — and still playing it.
Steve walked past you toward the back of the store. His arm brushed against yours. A quick touch, minimal, but far from accidental. He felt your body react. You did too.
The vinyl aisle was more enclosed. Tall shelves created narrow corridors filled with colorful covers, famous names, old dust, and promises sealed in plastic. The air was warmer back there, heavy with the smell of cardboard, new vinyl, and accumulated time.
Steve pretended to straighten a few out-of-place records. Moved discs that didn’t need moving. He waited. He knew you’d come.
The store’s sound seemed to dim when you stepped into the aisle. The background music faded, muffled by the shelves.
You were there, hands clasped in front of your body, posture almost shy — like you didn’t quite know what to do with them now that you’d arrived. Your big eyes traced his face with too much attention. Too vulnerable.
He stepped closer without rushing. He never rushed with you. Never had to.
His hand found your waist — firm, warm, careful. Like he was holding something rare. Something that could break if he squeezed too hard.
“Everything okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, but your body leaned toward him, giving everything away.
Steve smiled. That crooked smile — half tired, half way too good-looking for a place like that. He rested his forehead against yours. Breathed with you, syncing without noticing. The world outside could wait. It always could.
The kiss came slowly. Nothing urgent. Nothing desperate. It wasn’t hunger — it was attachment. Steve kissed like someone trying to save a memory, not spend it. Like someone who knew every second could be the last normal one before something bad happened again.
It tasted like gum. Like strawberry lip gloss.
You brought your hand to his chest, small fingers gripping his shirt with contained strength, like he’d disappear if you let go. Steve felt it in his stomach. Almost laughed. Almost broke.
“You’re so…” he started, then stopped.
“So what?” you asked, voice low, curious and insecure at the same time.
Steve ran his thumb along your jawline, tracing your face with absurd care for someone his size. Like he was memorizing every detail.
You smiled. You always smiled like that — like you had no idea the damage you caused.
He held the smile for a second longer, like someone holding a door before closing it. You were still smiling that dangerous way. Too innocent to really be innocent.
“…so distracted it makes me want to lock you in here,” he confessed, half joking, half way too honest.
You rolled your eyes, but your body moved first. Leaned into him again. Always came back. Cheap magnet. Doesn’t let go even with prayer.
“Gonna kidnap me between the vinyls?” you teased, whispering.
“You already kidnapped yourself,” he replied without thinking. His hand slid a little higher on your waist, thumb drawing lazy circles. “You walked in here knowing the risk.”
The aisle felt like it was shrinking with the two of you inside. The shelves closed off the world. The distant store noise became an irrelevant echo. All of Hawkins fit in that narrow space — and there was still silence left over.
You rested your forehead against his chest. Steve’s heart beat steady. Strong. Safe. A cruel contrast to everything he’d lived through too early.
“Today feels too… normal,” you murmured.
“In Hawkins, that’s suspicious as hell.”
You laughed softly. A short laugh that died quickly, like you were afraid of drawing too much attention. Steve lowered his face, pressed his mouth into your hair, breathing in. Cheap shampoo, sugar… and something that was only yours, impossible to name.
“If something shows up…” he began.
“You’ll handle it,” you cut in, lifting your face to look at him. “You always do.”
That landed heavy. Deep. Steve held your chin with two fingers now, firmer, making you keep eye contact. His eyes were serious. Dark. Tired.
“Don’t put that on me,” he said. “I do what I can. That’s it.”
You swallowed hard. Nodded slowly. Your grip on his shirt loosened. Vulnerable again. Steve hated and loved that with the same intensity.
He kissed you again. Longer this time. No rush at all. His mouth moved like he was learning you all over again, recording every reaction. His thumb still on your jaw, the rest of his hand warm on your waist. A kiss that said stay without needing words.
Then a metallic noise echoed from the other side of the store.
“STEEEVE!” Robin’s voice cut through the air. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, I SWEAR—”
Steve pulled back quickly, but didn’t let you go right away. Just rested his forehead against yours, breathing deep, like he was saying goodbye for a few seconds.
“We’re gonna die,” you whispered.
“Not today,” he replied with that familiar crooked smile. “Today we’re just getting humiliated.”
Robin appeared at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, sharp eyes, a smile ready to attack.
“Oh.” Dramatic pause. “Zero surprise.”
Your face heated up. Steve cleared his throat, suddenly all professional, like he’d actually been working.
“The vinyls,” he said quickly. “I was… organizing.”
Robin looked from you to him. Then back to you.
“Sure. Emotional organization. Standard procedure.”
You tried to hold in your laugh. Steve didn’t even try.
“I will not,” she replied, already walking away. “But you’ve got five seconds before a group comes through here.”
She left humming, completely off-key.
Steve looked at you one more time. Serious. Just one second. Enough to say everything without saying anything.
Robin disappeared between the shelves, her awful humming echoing until it faded into the back of the store. The normal sounds of WSQK slowly returned: the hum of the lights, the tired air conditioner, the distant creak of something settling on its own. Hawkins went on.
But there — between vinyls, silence, and things that couldn’t be said out loud — the world was still just the two of you.
Steve still hadn’t moved away.
His hand remained on your waist, looser now, like the immediate danger had passed, but the risk was still there, alive. He looked at you for a second too long — not rushed desire, but attention. Too much care to pretend it didn’t exist.
“We should…” he started, but didn’t finish.
“I know,” you replied, even though you weren’t sure what.
Steve sighed, that heavy sigh of someone carrying too much in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up like he always did when he was nervous or thinking too hard.
“Stay here with me,” he said simply. Not an order. Not a desperate plea. Just honest want.
You nodded before thinking.
The back lights were turned off one by one, leaving only the dimmer lighting of the main floor and the vinyl aisle. The store felt different like that. Smaller. More intimate. Like it was closing its eyes to the world.
Steve pulled one of the chairs over and sat down, leaving space for you between his legs. He didn’t pull you in. He waited. You settled there on your own, feeling his body heat, his big hands resting on your arms with almost exaggerated care.
“You get quiet when you’re thinking,” he murmured.
“And you talk too much when you’re trying not to,” you replied.
He laughed softly, the sound muffled against your hair.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was comfortable. Full of small things: distant street noise, the soft click of a vinyl sleeve settling, your breathing finding the same rhythm.
Steve rested his chin on top of your head.
“I like this,” he admitted. “Not having to save anyone for five minutes.”
“I like you like this. Still.”
He tightened his arms around you a little.
“Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my reputation.”
You stayed there longer than you should have. Long enough for the world to feel distant, almost irrelevant. Long enough for Steve to forget, just for a moment, that Hawkins never left anyone alone for very long.
When you finally got up to close everything for good, Steve turned off the last light with reluctance. The store sank into a soft dimness.
Before leaving, he stopped near the door, gently pulled you in, and rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you, princess,” he said.
He kissed you there. Quick. Controlled. A kiss that promised more than it gave — and because of that, said everything.
The door closed behind you with a soft click.
And for now, that was enough.
dededos
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
baratheonpilled
annaxmalina
