pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: intentional cruelty hurts, but accidental heartbreaks are agony
chapter warnings: fluff, minor angst, this one's short (sorry), make outs (you can tell i've never made out with anyone lmaoo), a lil suggestive, i didn't wanna write out the movie lol, steve's broke but his parents are rich, lmk if i missed anything!
wc: 885... yikes (next chapter will be better!!)
a/n: i completely forgot to post last week, so you get two this week (the next will be out later this week)! this one, just like last, is more of a filler but, hey, we're getting some progress at least. (if i'm being completely honest this was meant to be part of chapter two bit it didn't feel right so i waited).
chapter two | chapter four
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
#7 - Build a pillow fort
After stopping by Family Video to pick up the tape, Steve now pulls into his parents’ driveway, putting the car in park as you gape at the size of the building.
“Here we are,” He mumbles as he unbuckles his seat belt, pausing to look at your frozen frame. “Is there a problem?” He asks, confused.
“You never told me you were rich.” You stare at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.
He sighs, “That’s because I’m not. My parents are. They’re just out of town for the month, so I figured we could watch it here.” He scratches the back of his neck, waiting for the judgment to come. But it never does.
Instead, you send him a giddy grin as you exit the car, running around the front to meet him at his side just as he opens the door. “I’ve never been inside a mansion before,” You practically squeal.
He smiles at your joy as he reaches under the doormat for the key. He opens the door, pressing it in to hold it open for you. You curtsy for him, prancing into the foyer, with your remaining popcorn and drink in hand.
“I need to use the restroom real quick. Go ahead and put the tape in.” You nod absentmindedly, your eyes wandering around the vast space.
He snickers as he heads for the bathroom, shaking his head in silent amusement.
When he enters the T.V. room, he finds you fidgeting on the couch, paper crinkling in your grasp.
“What do you have there?” He asks, wiping his dampened hands on his sweater. Your head perks up.
“I have a request,” You start, unfolding the paper.
“Shoot.”
“Well, since this room is so huge, and there are so many cushions in here, I was hoping we could cross off another item from my list. I completely get it if you don’t want to mess the place up–I mean, I don’t want to upset your parents, but--”
Steve stands in the doorway, confused, “Where are you going with this?”
“Can we build a pillow fort?”
There’s something in the way you stand there in the middle of the large room, hands fidgeting in front of you with a hopeful glimmer in your eye, that makes you look like a small child. He can’t help but give in to your every request.
“Okay,” He nods, his lips pulling up into an adoring smile.
You practically giggle as you begin pulling the cushions off the couch.
With Steve’s help, you finish creating a space just in front of the television for the two of you to watch the movie. You lie in the middle of the large fort, staring at the blanket ceiling with glee.
“Scoot over,” Steve says as he squeezes in next to you once he presses play, and you roll over dramatically.
You scramble back up beside Steve as the movie begins. You rest your head against his shoulder, hand slipping into his.
“Thank you for this,” You whisper, watching the screen.
Steve turns his gaze to you, smiling at your tired features. “Of course,” He mumbles back, “Believe it or not, I enjoy spending time with you.”
You look into his eyes, and for a moment, time stops. His breath slows as your gaze flicks down to his lips. His head feels fuzzy as you lean in slowly, as though giving him time to back out. Your lips press to his gently, and his heart stops beating for a mere moment before it thuds against his chest rapidly. He closes his eyes, reaching up to cup your face, his hands shaky from the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.
You hum softly into the kiss, scooting closer to him. He can feel the warmth of you as you climb into his lap, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He opens them slightly, letting you in with a low moan. You move the attention of your lips to his jaw and neck, and his eyebrows pinch as you begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to his pulse point. He lets out a sigh, his head falling back as his hands roam your body.
You trail back up to his lips and pull away with a timid grin. You lick your lips, clearing your throat as you slide off his lap. “Sorry, I just-” You breathe, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
Steve stares at you with utter awe as you return to your spot beside him, leaving him aching for your touch. He looks dazedly at the T.V. again, urging his body to calm down.
The movie comes to an end, and you shrug, “I suppose it wasn’t all that bad.”
Steve watches you as you begin dismantling the fort.
“What, uh…” He starts after a while, “What was that?”
You pause, your eyes locked on the pillow in your hand. “It was,” You think for a moment, “I’m sorry. It was a temporary lapse in my judgment. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” You resume putting the room back together.
Steve stares for a while longer, and for a moment, he swears he can feel his heart chipping away as he allows the rejection to settle over him. “Right,” He mumbles, disheartened.
a lapse in judgement or a moment longed for?
heyyyyy.... sooooooo.... uhhhh..... i know, i know... I was supposed to post a chapter last week, and now this chapter is basically a blurb, but i promise we're getting somewhere!!
y'all know that curse that people on ao3 have where everything goes wrong in their lives once they start posting? well that's kinda been happening for me since i started this series but i'm back at it, i swear!!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: two friends grow closer with every box checked.
chapter warnings: fluff, serious pining, steve is borderline pathetic, i've made r like dr. pepper and twizzlers (and back to the future), lmk if i missed something!
wc: 2.1K
a/n: chapter two is here!! this is mostly a "filler chapter", and the next chapter will likely be shorter, but i promise we're just getting starteddd
please dont forget to comment your thoughts and reblog to help me reach more people!
chapter one | chapter three
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
#13 - Get a tattoo
Back in high school, Steve had never spent a Valentine’s Day alone. This might sound amazing to the average guy: King Steve gets all the girls, King Steve always has a date, King Steve sure is lucky, blah blah blah. What they don’t understand is that he was the guy in the relationship; in a patriarchal society, in the 80s at that, Steve was stuck paying his monthly allowance on various sweets and flowers for girls he never even liked.
Then came the years after graduation. His girlfriend dumped him for her stalker, the world went to shit, and worst of all, he couldn’t seem to get a date to save his life–let alone his reputation. Therefore, he’s spent countless Valentine’s Days in his parents’ big, empty house, all alone. And with no more allowance, and his job barely paying him minimum wage, he can’t even afford the discounted candy the day after.
To say Steve hates Valentine’s Day would be the understatement of the century.
And yet, against his better judgment, he finds himself bundled up outside Mel’s Tattoo Parlor on this fateful Valentine’s Day, awaiting your arrival. He grumbles as he looks from his watch to the sign outside the store.
HALF-PRICED COUPLES TATTOOS
For tattoos over $100
Valentine’s Day Special!
“I’m here!” He hears a shout from across the street, and his head shoots up. “I’m here! Sorry. The stupid motel alarm clock didn't go off,” You laugh quietly as you catch your breath. “Glad to see there’s no line.”
“There never is,” Steve muses, “Why do you think they have a sale?”
You shrug and thank Steve for holding the door open, sauntering to the counter to write your names on this list.
“I’ll be with you once I finish this one,” Mel waves, then gets back to work, leaving you and Steve sitting alone at the entrance with nothing but the gentle buzz of the tattoo gun to fill the silence.
You open her portfolio and flip through the designs–varying from simple and delicate to intricate and traditional. You hum at a few, lifting the binder to show Steve the ones that stick out. Steve looks around the shop, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans.
“You nervous?” You ask, glancing at his hands.
Steve clears his throat, bringing his hands together as he shakes his head. “Nope.” His voice is an octave higher than usual.
You rest your hand on his, trying to catch his eye–and failing miserably because his gaze is locked on where your hands are touching, his cheeks bright red. “You don’t have to get one with me,” You reassure him, “I’m not gonna force you, Steve.” He looks at your face and nods, “I want to.”
You smile, removing your hand from his to show him the design you’ve had your eye on. His hand flexes involuntarily, as though seeking your touch. He decides then that he’d do just about anything, so long as you hold his hand through it.
Mel finishes up with her client and calls you over. The three of you begin discussing design and price.
“Have y’all decided what you wanna get?” Mel asks, and you hum thoughtfully. “Actually,” You start, “I was hoping to get something that isn’t in the binder, is that all right?”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what it is first, then I’ll let you know if I can do it,” Mel smirks, crossing her arms.
You chuckle, “Right, sorry. I want to get a checkbox with a checkmark through it. I know it’s weird, but-”
She interrupts you, “That ain’t even close to the weirdest request I’ve gotten. I once tattooed a man’s scalp to look like hair.” You laugh at that. “On a normal day, it’d cost $50 each, but if y’all are getting it done together, I’ll lower the price to $50 for both.”
Steve looks at you and nods, “I’ll get the same thing.”
This piques your interest, and you furrow your brows at him. “You really want to get it too?” Steve shrugs in response, “I have to remember this somehow, right?” You smile at him, and Steve just about swoons.
All right, then, lovebirds,” Mel starts, “Who’s up first?” You volunteer, and the tattooing commences.
You let out a pained breath through your nose, face twitching slightly from the discomfort as the needle pokes rapidly into your forearm. The tattoo is done in a flash, and you admire Mel’s work, thanking her profusely as you switch spots with Steve.
Where you powered through the pain like a champ, Steve is barely holding back tears from the moment the needle first enters his skin.
“You’re such a baby,” You laugh, allowing him to squeeze your hand nonetheless.
“The guys always are, hon. You get used to it,” Mel muses, causing you to snicker. Steve can’t decide if he’d rather silently curse you or worship you at your feet for the way your nose scrunches up in amusement. He lands on the latter.
“I hate you,” He hisses, squeezing his eyes tight as Mel starts on the checkmark. “‘Course you do, Stevie,” You place a quick peck on his nose–lighter than a feather’s touch, and yet it sets his whole body ablaze. “It’s almost done,” You soothe him quietly.
The way your eyes peer into his makes him feel jittery and giddy like a little kid. It forces all the pain away until all that’s left is the undeniable feeling of--
Steve lets out a yelp at the harsh pinching feeling in his arm. “All done,” Mel says with a knowing glance at Steve. He huffs, glaring slightly at the older woman as he reaches for his wallet from his back pocket.
You stop him, fingers grazing his arm gently, “I’ve got it,” You say matter-of-factly.
Steve tries to protest to no avail as you roll your eyes and hand Mel the money you already had ready, along with a substantial tip.
For the first time in his entire life of torturous Valentine’s Days, someone is buying something for him. And as you exit the parlor together, he can’t help but feel that all-looming feeling wash over him once again.
-
#9 - Go to a drive-in movie
The car is quiet. The radio crackles lowly, and the bumpy road shakes the car slightly as you look out the window. Steve looks away from the road to watch your face, smiling slightly at your fascination with the miles and miles of woods.
“You don’t have trees where you come from?” He asks lightheartedly. He expects a joking glare, a laugh, a shove to his shoulder. What he gets is a sorrowful sigh as you straighten. “Not really, no. I grew up in the city; the closest we get to a forest is a patch of trees for the dogs to piss on.” You scoff.
“Oh,” He mumbles, prompting you to smile, attempting to lighten the mood you’d sullied. “That’s why I moved here,” You say, bumping his shoulder with yours, “I told you, I needed to get away.”
“And that was because of the city?”
You take a deep breath, “It was because I felt trapped, lost. I needed an escape.”
“So you came to a small town in the middle of nowhere,” He smirks at you, and you laugh, “So I came to the middle of nowhere. I wanted to be no one.”
He stares intently at the side of your face, “Then let’s be no one together.” You turn to face him, your expression turning remorseful. He clears his throat, “Until we finish your list, at least.”
“Yeah,” You whisper, the car fading back into the previous quiet. He can still feel your eyes on him for a moment longer.
Steve silently kicks himself, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut as he pulls into the drive-in lot. He puts the car in park once he finds a suitable spot: in perfect view of the screen, while also being close enough to the concessions. He unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle.
“What do you want from the snack shack?” He asks, not yet daring to face you in fear of embarrassment. “Dr. Pepper and a popcorn to share?” You ask, your tone soft.
Steve nods, pausing when you reach toward him, “And Twizzlers?” He looks into your eyes, his heartbeat skips for a moment, and he nods again, barely able to form words, “I’ll be right back.”
He can see you changing the radio to the proper station from where he stands in line, watching as you kick your feet up on the dashboard, cracking your neck side-to-side.
“Sir?” The cashier startles him. “Hi, yes. Sorry,” He quickly apologizes.
“What can I get you?” The teen behind the counter asks. Steve takes a moment to remember how to speak, “Uh, a large Coke, a large Dr. Pepper.” Steve slows, waiting for the cashier to input his order, “A medium popcorn, and a pack of Twizzlers. Please.”
“That’ll be $20,” He says, and Steve hands him the money. The boy nods after ensuring he paid the correct amount, asking him to wait a moment, then turns to retrieve his order.
Steve stands with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around the lot; there are more cars than he expected–although that’s likely because of the movie playing tonight. He turns his focus to his car, smiling at the sight of you picking at your nails in boredom.
The cashier taps on his shoulder. “Right. Sorry. Thanks,” He smiles awkwardly, shoving some cash into the tip jar. He grabs his order all at once, the popcorn squished slightly between his arm and his chest, the Twizzlers poking out of his pocket.
You open the door as he nears, taking the drinks from him and placing them in the cupholders. He takes a bite of the popcorn as he takes a seat, handing you the Twizzlers, receiving a kiss on his now-reddened cheek. He slides open the center console and places the popcorn inside.
The movie begins to play, and you lean over to whisper to him, “I watched this movie when it first came out. I’ve been obsessed with it since. I think I own it on VHS.”
Steve laughs, “You like Back to the Future that much?” You look fully serious as you reply, “You have no idea. I used to have multiple posters of Marty and Doc in my room. They’re the only things I wish I could’ve taken with me,” You say solemnly.
“It’s a tragedy. Truly heartbreaking.” He deadpans, and you scoff, shoving him with a grumble, “Shut up.”
He laughs, turning his attention to the movie, acutely aware of the childlike glint in your eye as you watch. He can barely focus on the movie, as great as it is.
You sit comfortably beside each other with the muffled sound of the movie playing through the car speakers. Steve manages to slide his arm around you, his heart pit-patting in his chest as you settle against him.
The credits begin to roll, and Steve already misses the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He looks at you with a soft smile.
“Just as good as you remembered?” Your face lights up again with a wide grin, “God, it was so much better. They simply will never achieve this level of perfection in cinema again. It was ahead of its time.”
“You know,” Steve smirks, “Some people say the sequel is even better than the first.”
You let out a loud, dramatic gasp, nearly dropping your cup as you reach up to clutch your nonexistent pearls. “How dare you insinuate such a thing. The first Back to the Future is a masterpiece. To suggest otherwise is blasphemous.” You cross your arms over your chest defiantly.
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree, then,” He trails off, baiting you to continue your tangent.
“We absolutely will not. Under no circumstances can I be friends with someone who has such horrendous opinions about cinema.”
Steve laughs, his amusement only growing as you smack his shoulder. “How about we continue this little movie marathon? We can rent the second Back to the Future, watch it at my place?” He suggests, mentally crossing his fingers.
Your scowl morphs into a small smile before his very eyes, and you pretend to think it over, tapping your chin for effect. “I suppose that’s only fair,” You hum. You settle back into your seat, munching on your last Twizzler as Steve pulls out of the lot.
tensions rise and sparks fly. will this ember catch fire? or will time finally catch up to them? find out in next week's chapter!
heyyyyy sorry i posted this so late 😭 (ill be honest and say i completely forgot i had a schedule) dont forget to reblog and comment!!
steve is your cute upstairs neighbor who you discover is spider-man. friendships are made, villains are fought, wounds are patched up after said fights (because even with super powers steve isn't the best fighter), and sooner or later a romance may begin to appear between it all.
chronological order:
your upstairs neighbor has a secret identity, but he's not very good at keeping it secret
your super-hero neighbor climbs through your window again, but this time he's bleeding
your super-hero neighbor lets you question him about his powers
you meet your super-hero neighbor's little brother
your super-hero neighbor saves your life (for the first time)
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: after a chance meeting at the hideout, steve agrees to help you complete your bucket list before he's set to move. a friendship forms, a passion sparks, and--despite your best efforts--a love blossoms as you race to check off every box.
chapter warnings: fluff, serious pining, steve is borderline pathetic, dangerous activities with a pole (don't try at home) intoxication, secretssss, lmk if i missed something!
wc: 3.9K
a/n: hello all, thank you for taking the time to read my new series!! i'm very proud of this idea (it came to me in a dream) and im very excited for you all to read it!!!
please dont forget to comment your thoughts and reblog to help me reach more people!
another special thanks to @fandomdemigirl for all her help to make this dream a reality
chapter songs:
girls just want to have fun - cindi lauper
i want to know what love is - foreigner
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
“Hey, can I close out?”
The bartender–Sal–nods and turns to the register as Steve taps his fingers against his empty glass. A faint jingle rings throughout The Hideout, and he glances at the door to watch it swing open with a small gust of wind as someone enters the bar. He can barely see a hint of a face through the fur of the large winter coat.
The hood comes down, and Steve can’t help but stare in awe and wonder as your face comes into his view. Your eyes lock for a mere moment, but it’s enough to have his heart racing. His eyes rake over your figure as you step closer to him.
Sal clears his throat behind the bar, forcing Steve to turn his gaze from you. Sal holds out his card with a knowing smirk, hiding a short laugh as he turns to tend to other patrons. Steve looks back at the door and begins to wonder if perhaps he was dreaming; if the breathtaking sight was simply just a figment of his imagination. He slumps in defeat, letting out a saddened sigh.
Then he hears it: an alluring voice, enchanting as a siren’s song to lure sailors to their deaths. What he wouldn’t give to hear that melody again. He turns to the sound and finds you standing at the bar, ordering your desired drink from Sal. You’re leaning against the bartop, eyes moving around the room as you wait for your drink. Then suddenly your eyes lock on his.
His brain shuts off entirely. The longer he stares into those captivating eyes, the less he can think, let alone breathe. His feet move instinctively, involuntarily drawing him closer to the tempress at the other end of the bar.
He stops within a few feet, sucking in a quick breath as you look him up and down brazenly. Your gaze drags up his body slowly, as if savoring the sight, before you meet his eyes. A question burns behind your own–an invitation.
“You’re new here.” It’s not a question. The Hideout, as it’s located in the most secluded part of the smallest town known to man, only has so many patrons. They’re always the same, which means it’s always a shock when a new face enters the scene.
“I am,” You hum in response and introduce yourself, “And you are?” You prompt.
He replies, “Steve.”
Sal sets your drink on the bartop, and you pick it up with a quiet thank you. You take a slow sip, closing your eyes as the liquid slides down your throat.
Steve swallows as he averts his eyes, willing his mind and body to calm down. “What brings you to Hawklins?” He asks as you place the glass back on the counter.
“Do you want the real answer?”
“Honesty is the best policy,” He shrugs, praying he looks unbothered by the way your eyes keep flitting to his lips.
You chuckle softly, and the sound eases his anxiety slightly, “That it is.” You bite your lip in thought.
He can see the wheels turning behind those mesmerizing eyes, considering whether or not to let a stranger into your business. He certainly hopes you do because, for some unknown reason, he finds himself needing desperately to learn everything there is to know about you.
“I wanted to get away,” You finally say, “I wanted to go somewhere no one knows me or cares to know me. Somewhere so small, and middle-of-nowhere-y, that I could just… disappear.”
Steve hums thoughtfully, “And what if someone does care to know you?”
You chuckle again, your gaze falling mindlessly to the remaining liquid in your glass, “You don’t. Trust me,” You let out an amused scoff as you look back up at him, “I’m a hot mess.”
“Well, you’re definitely hot, I can only attest to that much.”
You smile–and God, he’d kill to see that smile every day for the rest of his life. “You’re funny,” You dawl.
You step closer until your chest is nearly touching his. He prays silently that you can’t feel the thump thump of his heart beating out of his chest.
“Is…” He trails off as you tilt your head up slightly, “Is that a good thing?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you give him a sly grin, as though you can sense the effect you already have on him. “Buy me another drink, and I’ll tell you.”
You step back abruptly and down your drink in one swig. Steve lets out an almost pained breath at the loss of proximity as he stares in awe.
Three drinks later, the feeling of your hand lazily stroking his arm is driving him mad as he tries to focus on your words.
“So, Steve,” You waggle your eyebrows at him, “How long have you been in Hawkins?”
“U-hm,” His voice cracks slightly, his gaze rapidly flicking between your smirk and the hand on his arm as his chest heaves, “I’ve lived here my whole life. Actually, I’m finally getting out next year. I got a job offer in New York–although, frankly, I’d take any excuse to leave,” He rambles, forcing out a sound of amusement.
“Ah,” You pull your hand back as you turn your body to face him fully, and he yearns to feel your touch again, “Not looking for anything serious, then?”
Steve stammers, “I- I wouldn’t be opposed. It just might be kinda… hard- difficult with the move.”
The laugh you let out is music to his ears. You lean in close, your lips grazing his ear as you whisper, “I’m not looking for something serious.” He can smell the intoxication on your breath, and as much as his body is screaming at him, he pulls back slightly.
You watch as his face fills with confusion as your words register. “I’m not planning on staying long either. I just want something…fun. Casual.”
Steve frowns, “Casual…” He thinks for a moment, “Like sex?”
“A friend,” You clarify as you reach into your back pocket to fish out a paper. “I have a list,” You unfold it and lay it out on the counter, “It’s all things I want to do. And while I could do most of them alone, it would certainly be more fun if someone, say, a handsome stranger, were to help me on my quest.”
Steve’s intrigue outweighs his confusion as he tries to decipher your words. “What kind of list?” He finally asks, looking the paper over.
“Think of it as a bucket list. It’s full of things I’ve always wanted to do, and I’ve finally decided I’m done waiting for things to happen to me. I’m gonna make them happen.
Steve hums as he begins reading out the ones he finds especially interesting, “#3. Lick a metal pole in the snow.” You let out a laugh, “I saw A Christmas Story as a teen, and I’ve been curious ever since.”
Steve smiles at your response as he continues scanning down the list, “#5. Get married in Las Vegas.” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you shrug, “I never said they’d all get done.”
He reaches the bottom, and the last item catches his eye, “#15. Have GOOD sex…” He trails off, staring down at the page with bated breath. He looks up at your face, warmth spreading across his cheeks as your eyes remain locked on his.
“I wrote that one after my first time,” You suppress the smile pulling at your lips, “It was…” Your eyes widen slightly, “Let’s just say it was subpar.”
Steve reads through the list again, avoiding your gaze as his flushed cheeks return to their original color. He clears his throat, holding his hand out for you to shake.
“We have a deal, then,” He says, looking expectantly at your hand.
You hesitate, “So you’ll help me with my list?” He nods once, and you place your hand in his. He gives it a firm shake, and the two of you laugh in tandem.
-
#1 - Have a snowball fight, #3 - Lick a metal pole in the snow
Steve holds the door for you as you exit the bar, pausing to discreetly check his breath. He shivers slightly at the cold.
“Looks like the snow finally let up,” He muses, eyes flicking around the white landscape. You hum in agreement and pull your jacket tight to your body.
“Do you have a ride?” He asks, looking up at the twinkling stars, the floodlights from the bar’s parking lot dimming them slightly.
In his periphery, he can see you shaking your head, gaze pointed up as well. “I was planning on walking,” You say, “My motel is just around the corner.”
Steve looks down at you, watching with admiration as your smile brightens. “The stars are beautiful here,” He can barely hear the whisper of words, like they weren’t meant for his ears.
He nudges your shoulder with his. “I’ll walk with you, then,” he offers.
You turn your head to meet his eyes. The longer you stare into his eyes, the more he wishes he could drown in the depths of yours. The look you send him is somewhere between playful and appreciative–a palpable warm feeling fills his body despite the cold.
“Okay,” You smile.
Then you grab his arm and begin pulling him quickly in the direction of the motel, laughing giddily at his shocked gasp. You let him go and run forward to hide behind a nearby tree. Steve watches you with amused confusion as he walks toward the large pine. He cautiously peers around the trunk, frowning when he finds the space unoccupied.
Something cold and wet hits him square in the back.
He lets out a loud, surprised laugh as he turns, his mouth agape and eyes narrowed with faux anger, negated only by the small grin pulling at his lips.
“You little minx,” He hisses, head shaking in disbelief.
You snicker, pointing at his snow-covered coat with a wide smile. “Oh man,” You wheeze, ‘You should see your face.” You pretend to wipe a tear. “#1. Have a snowball fight,” You quote from your list.
Steve smirks, "Okay. Have it your way…” He ducks down quickly, picking up a large scoop of snow and throwing it at your still frame all in one movement.
You let out a joyous scream and scramble back to the safety of your hiding spot. Steve makes his ammunition, watching the tree for any movement, and the street goes silent as you both listen for each other.
“Come on out,” Steve drags out the last syllable, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he raises his arm with a snowball in hand, preparing to throw it.
You jump out quickly, facing him head-on, your arm in a mirrored position. You smile, your chest heaving slightly as you stare at each other.
“Surrender,” You warn, “And I’ll go easy on you.” You draw your hand back to prove your point. Steve chuckles, “Like hell I will.”
At once, you fire the small icy spheres at the other. Yours hits his shoulder, while he strikes you square in the chest. Steve pumps his fist in the air in celebration. “All those years of baseball finally paid off,” he brags.
You grumble defeatedly, “Not fair. I didn’t know you had a history of throwing things.” You cross your arms over your chest in contention, shielding yourself from the cold as you do so.
“You’re just mad that I won,” He remarks as he steps closer, wrapping an arm around your trembling shoulders to bring your body temperature back up. He can faintly hear something that sounds like disagreement as you tuck your face into his shoulder to warm your cheeks.
“Come on,” He mumbles into your hair. He breathes in, and your shampoo fills his senses, nearly knocking him off his feet as he feels his knees go weak, his heart suddenly racing. “We should get you someplace warm.”
You nod, pulling back with a tired smile, and the two of you begin your trek through the light snowfall toward the only motel in town. You stop beside a stop sign as you wait for a car to pass, and Steve huffs out a quiet laugh as he gestures to the stop sign.
“You could cross off a second item right now,” He jests, wishing quietly that he could take it back as he sees determination fill your features, and you reach for the pole. “I was kidding, please don’t actually lick the pole.”
You send him a deadpanned stare as you inch your face closer to the pole. “God, that’s disgusting,” He cringes just as you finally open your mouth and press your tongue to the metal. He watches with horror as you smirk up at him.
You frown and pull away, your tongue evidently not stuck to the pole like you had hoped. “Huh,” You hum.
Steve matches your expression as he stares at the pole, “No way that didn’t stick.”
Your eyes meet, and you shrug, eyebrows still pinched in confusion. “Maybe it’s not cold enough,” You suggest, and he rolls his eyes, “It’s literally snowing. Maybe you did it wrong.”
You huff, “Then you try.” He squints at the metal as though trying to intimidate it, ignoring your quiet snickering as he presses his tongue flat on the pole.
He tries to pull away, eyes widening as he finds his tongue stuck. He looks at you with panic flashing in his eyes, “I’hm sthuck.”
You laugh and roll your eyes, crossing your arms, “Ha. Ha. You can stop faking now, you win.”
When he doesn’t budge, you frown. “What, you’re serious?” He nods dejectedly. You uncross your arms slowly and begin trying to separate his tongue from the pole.
It takes an hour to get help and free him from the metallic torture.
-
#14 - Drunk karaoke
As the new year rolls around, your friendship has only grown stronger. Steve finds himself longing to be near you, wishing to learn more. And you, thankfully, seem to find him humorous–which he still doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not…
Your pairing is unlikely as ever, but to Steve, it’s become his new normal.
“Hey,” You greet, dragging out the syllables with a sly grin. Your hands are behind your back, and Steve is certain you’re scheming something.
“Oh, no,” He mumbles, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair, his other resting on his hip. You roll your eyes. “What? I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Knowing you, it can’t be good.” He raises his eyebrow to prove a point, and you frown, “You’ve known me for all of one month, you hardly know enough to make a call like that.”
Steve shrugs, unbothered, although part of him feels saddened at the jab. “I know when you’re up to something,” he crosses his arms.
You glare at him and pull out the flyer from behind your back, holding it up in front of his face for him to read. Your smile is big and mischievous.
KARAOKE NIGHT
New Year’s Eve @ The Hideout Bar
Start time: 10:00 pm
Discounted drinks, food provided.
Steve begins shaking his head at the header alone, “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I don’t sing.”
“I figured you’d say that, and so…” You pull out the folded list, opening it dramatically. You clear your throat, “#14. Drunk karaoke. You are contractually obligated to help me with this.” Your smug look is both adorable and completely infuriating. He can’t help but play stupid.
“Oh? And what contract would that be? I don’t remember signing anything,” He smirks, relishing in the frustrated look you send him.
“We shook on it. Come on,” You whine, “Don’t go back on your word now, not when we’re just getting started.”
He takes the flyer to read it over again. “Fine,” he finally says. “But you’re buying the drinks.” He fails to stifle the smile pulling at his lips at your pleased and excited expression.
The Hideout is barely busier than usual. The same five old farts still sit at the bar, looking drained as always. There’s a small table with a small bowl of chips and a casserole–no doubt from Sal’s wife, Kathy–along with paper plates and plasticware. At the back of the bar sits a dingy stage, set up with a karaoke machine and a flickering spotlight. Steve swears he can hear crickets over the quiet music sputtering through the ancient speaker.
But as Steve cringes at the state of this so-called New Year’s celebration, he looks to you and finds nothing but utter joy. “It’s perfect,” You grin, pulling him toward the bar. Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s sad,” He whispers to you, earning himself a slap to his shoulder.
“It is not ‘sad’,” You use air quotes around the word, “I happen to think it has potential. Someone just has to get the party started.” You smirk, ordering two shots. The bartender slides them over, and you hand one to Steve.
“Bottoms up,” You waggle your eyebrows, downing the unspecified liquid. Steve follows suit and winces at the burn.
Four shots later, you snort as you climb up to the stage, picking out your song on the machine. Steve watches from the bar, laughing as you hiccup accidentally into the microphone. He watches the focused face you make as you flick through the selection, beaming down at him when you find the song.
The all-too-familiar opening synth echoes throughout the mostly empty bar; a few heads turn toward the stage, and you sway to the tune, clapping your hands around the microphone in time with the drums. You close your eyes, and Steve can see you visibly feel the music as you begin singing, only slightly off-pace.
“I come home in the morning light,” You sing drunkenly, “My mother says, ‘when you gonna live your life ri-ight?’ Oh, mother dear, we’re not the fortunate ones. And girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have fun.”
Steve sends you a thumbs-up when you catch his eye, mouthing a silent ‘amazing’ just to see your bright smile.
You clap again to the beat during the slight break, and Steve glances around the bar to find a few of the grumpy old guys bobbing their heads to the music–almost certainly intoxicated beyond comprehension.
“The phone rings,” You hiccup again, quieter this time, “In the middle of the night. My father yells, ‘what you gonna do with your li-ife?’ Oh, daddy dear, you know you’re still number one. But girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have,” You point to him, and he looks around jokingly, pointing to himself as though he’s not sure.
Your hand goes up into the air as you belt out the next part, “That’s all they really w-a-a-a-ant. Some fu-u-u-u-un,” You bring your hand down to lay flat against your chest, “When the working day is done. Oh, girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have fun.”
Steve laughs at your theatrics, watching you with an astonished gleam in his eye. The song goes on for minutes longer, and he laughs as he hears an old man next to him begin singing along.
You pause your singing for a moment to look at the man, “That’s right, sing it with me!” You shout out, swaying with your hand raised, “They just wanna, they just wanna. They just wanna, they just wanna. Oh, girls just wanna have fun.”
You let out a tipsy giggle as the song fades out, and the few patrons that are still awake clap enthusiastically. Steve watches with an amused expression as you stumble back off the stage and wobble toward him.
He claps quietly. “That was-”
“Amazing? I know,” You drag out the last syllable. You let out a breath, taking a sip of the water Steve made sure to have ready for you, then you turn to him and grab at his arm, “C’mon. I’ve got at least one more song in me.”
Steve stays planted, shaking his head in dismissal, “No, no, no, I’m not getting up there. That’s all you.” You send him a pleading pout, and Steve is nothing if not a sucker. He sighs and follows reluctantly.
He helps you up onto the stage, ensuring you don’t fall the dreaded two-foot drop to your drunken death. Steve rubs his temple tiredly as you flick through the song, already gaining applause from the audience. You bow dramatically as you make your selection and hand him a mic.
The beat starts slow, and you turn to whisper to Steve, “It’s not a duet, but it sounded fun. Just try to sing along.” You send him a wink, making his heart flutter to his displeasure.
“I’ve gotta take a little time,” You start, looking at Steve out of the corner of your eye, “A little time to think things over.”
Steve rolls his eyes as he joins in, “I'd better read between the lines. In case I need it when I’m older.”
He watches you sway to the music, letting out a quiet giggle now and again. He smiles.
You sing the next verse, “Now this mountain I must climb.” You look him in the eyes, smouldering jokingly, “Feels like the world upon my shoulders.”
It goes on like that for a bit; back and forth, inebriated and loving it.
“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain. I don’t know if I can face it again,” You both sing dramatically, raising your fists to show your feigning agony, “Can’t stop now, I’ve traveled so far to change this lonely life.”
The beat drops, and you turn away to face the crowd that has gathered around the stage, “I wanna know what love is.” You point at Steve, touching your index finger to his sweater with a smirk, “I want you to show me.” You fist the material, pulling him closer.
His mind goes blank as your face gets closer. He can’t seem to find his words, can barely hear your voice as you continue singing, eyes locked on his. His heart stops when you wet your lips, your head turning back to the bar. His eyes don’t leave your face, however, watching mesmerized as you belt the Foreigner song with little mistakes. He nearly drops the microphone when you grab his face in your hand and smack a quick peck on his lips as the song comes to an end.
Your smile is nearly blinding as you thank the crowd of five and wave like a queen. Your head falls back in a laugh as you both jump off the stage, making your way back to the bar.
You moan, making Steve’s breath hitch, “That. Was. Awesome.” You pull out the list to cross off number 14. “I can’t believe I hadn’t done that sooner.”
“Why haven’t you?” He asks suddenly as the adrenaline fades, “Done any of this sooner, I mean. You’ve had, what, 20 years?”
You sigh as you put away the list, “That, my dear friend, is a conversation I will never be drunk enough to have.” You pick up the shot the bartender placed in front of you. “Salute,” you say, hissing as you swallow the shot. Steve follows with a small frown.
so many unanswered questions, so little time... tune in next week to read more about this budding romance!
i really hope you enjoyed this first chapter! let me know if you're interested in a taglist!!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: after a chance meeting at the hideout, steve agrees to help you complete your bucket list before he's set to move. a friendship forms, a passion sparks, and--despite your best efforts--a love blossoms as you race to check off every box.
chapter warnings: fluff, serious pining, steve is borderline pathetic, dangerous activities with a pole (don't try at home) intoxication, secretssss, lmk if i missed something!
wc: 3.9K
a/n: hello all, thank you for taking the time to read my new series!! i'm very proud of this idea (it came to me in a dream) and im very excited for you all to read it!!!
please dont forget to comment your thoughts and reblog to help me reach more people!
another special thanks to @fandomdemigirl for all her help to make this dream a reality
chapter songs:
girls just want to have fun - cindi lauper
i want to know what love is - foreigner
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
“Hey, can I close out?”
The bartender–Sal–nods and turns to the register as Steve taps his fingers against his empty glass. A faint jingle rings throughout The Hideout, and he glances at the door to watch it swing open with a small gust of wind as someone enters the bar. He can barely see a hint of a face through the fur of the large winter coat.
The hood comes down, and Steve can’t help but stare in awe and wonder as your face comes into his view. Your eyes lock for a mere moment, but it’s enough to have his heart racing. His eyes rake over your figure as you step closer to him.
Sal clears his throat behind the bar, forcing Steve to turn his gaze from you. Sal holds out his card with a knowing smirk, hiding a short laugh as he turns to tend to other patrons. Steve looks back at the door and begins to wonder if perhaps he was dreaming; if the breathtaking sight was simply just a figment of his imagination. He slumps in defeat, letting out a saddened sigh.
Then he hears it: an alluring voice, enchanting as a siren’s song to lure sailors to their deaths. What he wouldn’t give to hear that melody again. He turns to the sound and finds you standing at the bar, ordering your desired drink from Sal. You’re leaning against the bartop, eyes moving around the room as you wait for your drink. Then suddenly your eyes lock on his.
His brain shuts off entirely. The longer he stares into those captivating eyes, the less he can think, let alone breathe. His feet move instinctively, involuntarily drawing him closer to the tempress at the other end of the bar.
He stops within a few feet, sucking in a quick breath as you look him up and down brazenly. Your gaze drags up his body slowly, as if savoring the sight, before you meet his eyes. A question burns behind your own–an invitation.
“You’re new here.” It’s not a question. The Hideout, as it’s located in the most secluded part of the smallest town known to man, only has so many patrons. They’re always the same, which means it’s always a shock when a new face enters the scene.
“I am,” You hum in response and introduce yourself, “And you are?” You prompt.
He replies, “Steve.”
Sal sets your drink on the bartop, and you pick it up with a quiet thank you. You take a slow sip, closing your eyes as the liquid slides down your throat.
Steve swallows as he averts his eyes, willing his mind and body to calm down. “What brings you to Hawklins?” He asks as you place the glass back on the counter.
“Do you want the real answer?”
“Honesty is the best policy,” He shrugs, praying he looks unbothered by the way your eyes keep flitting to his lips.
You chuckle softly, and the sound eases his anxiety slightly, “That it is.” You bite your lip in thought.
He can see the wheels turning behind those mesmerizing eyes, considering whether or not to let a stranger into your business. He certainly hopes you do because, for some unknown reason, he finds himself needing desperately to learn everything there is to know about you.
“I wanted to get away,” You finally say, “I wanted to go somewhere no one knows me or cares to know me. Somewhere so small, and middle-of-nowhere-y, that I could just… disappear.”
Steve hums thoughtfully, “And what if someone does care to know you?”
You chuckle again, your gaze falling mindlessly to the remaining liquid in your glass, “You don’t. Trust me,” You let out an amused scoff as you look back up at him, “I’m a hot mess.”
“Well, you’re definitely hot, I can only attest to that much.”
You smile–and God, he’d kill to see that smile every day for the rest of his life. “You’re funny,” You dawl.
You step closer until your chest is nearly touching his. He prays silently that you can’t feel the thump thump of his heart beating out of his chest.
“Is…” He trails off as you tilt your head up slightly, “Is that a good thing?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you give him a sly grin, as though you can sense the effect you already have on him. “Buy me another drink, and I’ll tell you.”
You step back abruptly and down your drink in one swig. Steve lets out an almost pained breath at the loss of proximity as he stares in awe.
Three drinks later, the feeling of your hand lazily stroking his arm is driving him mad as he tries to focus on your words.
“So, Steve,” You waggle your eyebrows at him, “How long have you been in Hawkins?”
“U-hm,” His voice cracks slightly, his gaze rapidly flicking between your smirk and the hand on his arm as his chest heaves, “I’ve lived here my whole life. Actually, I’m finally getting out next year. I got a job offer in New York–although, frankly, I’d take any excuse to leave,” He rambles, forcing out a sound of amusement.
“Ah,” You pull your hand back as you turn your body to face him fully, and he yearns to feel your touch again, “Not looking for anything serious, then?”
Steve stammers, “I- I wouldn’t be opposed. It just might be kinda… hard- difficult with the move.”
The laugh you let out is music to his ears. You lean in close, your lips grazing his ear as you whisper, “I’m not looking for something serious.” He can smell the intoxication on your breath, and as much as his body is screaming at him, he pulls back slightly.
You watch as his face fills with confusion as your words register. “I’m not planning on staying long either. I just want something…fun. Casual.”
Steve frowns, “Casual…” He thinks for a moment, “Like sex?”
“A friend,” You clarify as you reach into your back pocket to fish out a paper. “I have a list,” You unfold it and lay it out on the counter, “It’s all things I want to do. And while I could do most of them alone, it would certainly be more fun if someone, say, a handsome stranger, were to help me on my quest.”
Steve’s intrigue outweighs his confusion as he tries to decipher your words. “What kind of list?” He finally asks, looking the paper over.
“Think of it as a bucket list. It’s full of things I’ve always wanted to do, and I’ve finally decided I’m done waiting for things to happen to me. I’m gonna make them happen.
Steve hums as he begins reading out the ones he finds especially interesting, “#3. Lick a metal pole in the snow.” You let out a laugh, “I saw A Christmas Story as a teen, and I’ve been curious ever since.”
Steve smiles at your response as he continues scanning down the list, “#5. Get married in Las Vegas.” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you shrug, “I never said they’d all get done.”
He reaches the bottom, and the last item catches his eye, “#15. Have GOOD sex…” He trails off, staring down at the page with bated breath. He looks up at your face, warmth spreading across his cheeks as your eyes remain locked on his.
“I wrote that one after my first time,” You suppress the smile pulling at your lips, “It was…” Your eyes widen slightly, “Let’s just say it was subpar.”
Steve reads through the list again, avoiding your gaze as his flushed cheeks return to their original color. He clears his throat, holding his hand out for you to shake.
“We have a deal, then,” He says, looking expectantly at your hand.
You hesitate, “So you’ll help me with my list?” He nods once, and you place your hand in his. He gives it a firm shake, and the two of you laugh in tandem.
-
#1 - Have a snowball fight, #3 - Lick a metal pole in the snow
Steve holds the door for you as you exit the bar, pausing to discreetly check his breath. He shivers slightly at the cold.
“Looks like the snow finally let up,” He muses, eyes flicking around the white landscape. You hum in agreement and pull your jacket tight to your body.
“Do you have a ride?” He asks, looking up at the twinkling stars, the floodlights from the bar’s parking lot dimming them slightly.
In his periphery, he can see you shaking your head, gaze pointed up as well. “I was planning on walking,” You say, “My motel is just around the corner.”
Steve looks down at you, watching with admiration as your smile brightens. “The stars are beautiful here,” He can barely hear the whisper of words, like they weren’t meant for his ears.
He nudges your shoulder with his. “I’ll walk with you, then,” he offers.
You turn your head to meet his eyes. The longer you stare into his eyes, the more he wishes he could drown in the depths of yours. The look you send him is somewhere between playful and appreciative–a palpable warm feeling fills his body despite the cold.
“Okay,” You smile.
Then you grab his arm and begin pulling him quickly in the direction of the motel, laughing giddily at his shocked gasp. You let him go and run forward to hide behind a nearby tree. Steve watches you with amused confusion as he walks toward the large pine. He cautiously peers around the trunk, frowning when he finds the space unoccupied.
Something cold and wet hits him square in the back.
He lets out a loud, surprised laugh as he turns, his mouth agape and eyes narrowed with faux anger, negated only by the small grin pulling at his lips.
“You little minx,” He hisses, head shaking in disbelief.
You snicker, pointing at his snow-covered coat with a wide smile. “Oh man,” You wheeze, ‘You should see your face.” You pretend to wipe a tear. “#1. Have a snowball fight,” You quote from your list.
Steve smirks, Okay. Have it your way…” He ducks down quickly, picking up a large scoop of snow and throwing it at your still frame all in one movement.
You let out a joyous scream and scramble back to the safety of your hiding spot. Steve makes his ammunition, watching the tree for any movement, and the street goes silent as you both listen for each other.
“Come on out,” Steve drags out the last syllable, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he raises his arm with a snowball in hand, preparing to throw it.
You jump out quickly, facing him head-on, your arm in a mirrored position. You smile, your chest heaving slightly as you stare at each other.
“Surrender,” You warn, “And I’ll go easy on you.” You draw your hand back to prove your point. Steve chuckles, “Like hell I will.”
At once, you fire the small icy spheres at the other. Yours hits his shoulder, while he strikes you square in the chest. Steve pumps his fist in the air in celebration. “All those years of baseball finally paid off,” he brags.
You grumble defeatedly, “Not fair. I didn’t know you had a history of throwing things.” You cross your arms over your chest in contention, shielding yourself from the cold as you do so.
“You’re just mad that I won,” He remarks as he steps closer, wrapping an arm around your trembling shoulders to bring your body temperature back up. He can faintly hear something that sounds like disagreement as you tuck your face into his shoulder to warm your cheeks.
“Come on,” He mumbles into your hair. He breathes in, and your shampoo fills his senses, nearly knocking him off his feet as he feels his knees go weak, his heart suddenly racing. “We should get you someplace warm.”
You nod, pulling back with a tired smile, and the two of you begin your trek through the light snowfall toward the only motel in town. You stop beside a stop sign as you wait for a car to pass, and Steve huffs out a quiet laugh as he gestures to the stop sign.
“You could cross off a second item right now,” He jests, wishing quietly that he could take it back as he sees determination fill your features, and you reach for the pole. “I was kidding, please don’t actually lick the pole.”
You send him a deadpanned stare as you inch your face closer to the pole. “God, that’s disgusting,” He cringes just as you finally open your mouth and press your tongue to the metal. He watches with horror as you smirk up at him.
You frown and pull away, your tongue evidently not stuck to the pole like you had hoped. “Huh,” You hum.
Steve matches your expression as he stares at the pole, “No way that didn’t stick.”
Your eyes meet, and you shrug, eyebrows still pinched in confusion. “Maybe it’s not cold enough,” You suggest, and he rolls his eyes, “It’s literally snowing. Maybe you did it wrong.”
You huff, “Then you try.” He squints at the metal as though trying to intimidate it, ignoring your quiet snickering as he presses his tongue flat on the pole.
He tries to pull away, eyes widening as he finds his tongue stuck. He looks at you with panic flashing in his eyes, “I’hm sthuck.”
You laugh and roll your eyes, crossing your arms, “Ha. Ha. You can stop faking now, you win.”
When he doesn’t budge, you frown. “What, you’re serious?” He nods dejectedly. You uncross your arms slowly and begin trying to separate his tongue from the pole.
It takes an hour to get help and free him from the metallic torture.
-
#14 - Drunk karaoke
As the new year rolls around, your friendship has only grown stronger. Steve finds himself longing to be near you, wishing to learn more. And you, thankfully, seem to find him humorous–which he still doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not…
Your pairing is unlikely as ever, but to Steve, it’s become his new normal.
“Hey,” You greet, dragging out the syllables with a sly grin. Your hands are behind your back, and Steve is certain you’re scheming something.
“Oh, no,” He mumbles, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair, his other resting on his hip. You roll your eyes. “What? I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Knowing you, it can’t be good.” He raises his eyebrow to prove a point, and you frown, “You’ve known me for all of one month, you hardly know enough to make a call like that.”
Steve shrugs, unbothered, although part of him feels saddened at the jab. “I know when you’re up to something,” he crosses his arms.
You glare at him and pull out the flyer from behind your back, holding it up in front of his face for him to read. Your smile is big and mischievous.
KARAOKE NIGHT
New Year’s Eve @ The Hideout Bar
Start time: 10:00 pm
Discounted drinks, food provided.
Steve begins shaking his head at the header alone, “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I don’t sing.”
“I figured you’d say that, and so…” You pull out the folded list, opening it dramatically. You clear your throat, “#14. Drunk karaoke. You are contractually obligated to help me with this.” Your smug look is both adorable and completely infuriating. He can’t help but play stupid.
“Oh? And what contract would that be? I don’t remember signing anything,” He smirks, relishing in the frustrated look you send him.
“We shook on it. Come on,” You whine, “Don’t go back on your word now, not when we’re just getting started.”
He takes the flyer to read it over again. “Fine,” he finally says. “But you’re buying the drinks.” He fails to stifle the smile pulling at his lips at your pleased and excited expression.
The Hideout is barely busier than usual. The same five old farts still sit at the bar, looking drained as always. There’s a small table with a small bowl of chips and a casserole–no doubt from Sal’s wife, Kathy–along with paper plates and plasticware. At the back of the bar sits a dingy stage, set up with a karaoke machine and a flickering spotlight. Steve swears he can hear crickets over the quiet music sputtering through the ancient speaker.
But as Steve cringes at the state of this so-called New Year’s celebration, he looks to you and finds nothing but utter joy. “It’s perfect,” You grin, pulling him toward the bar. Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s sad,” He whispers to you, earning himself a slap to his shoulder.
“It is not ‘sad’,” You use air quotes around the word, “I happen to think it has potential. Someone just has to get the party started.” You smirk, ordering two shots. The bartender slides them over, and you hand one to Steve.
“Bottoms up,” You waggle your eyebrows, downing the unspecified liquid. Steve follows suit and winces at the burn.
Four shots later, you snort as you climb up to the stage, picking out your song on the machine. Steve watches from the bar, laughing as you hiccup accidentally into the microphone. He watches the focused face you make as you flick through the selection, beaming down at him when you find the song.
The all-too-familiar opening synth echoes throughout the mostly empty bar; a few heads turn toward the stage, and you sway to the tune, clapping your hands around the microphone in time with the drums. You close your eyes, and Steve can see you visibly feel the music as you begin singing, only slightly off-pace.
“I come home in the morning light,” You sing drunkenly, “My mother says, ‘when you gonna live your life ri-ight?’ Oh, mother dear, we’re not the fortunate ones. And girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have fun.”
Steve sends you a thumbs-up when you catch his eye, mouthing a silent ‘amazing’ just to see your bright smile.
You clap again to the beat during the slight break, and Steve glances around the bar to find a few of the grumpy old guys bobbing their heads to the music–almost certainly intoxicated beyond comprehension.
“The phone rings,” You hiccup again, quieter this time, “In the middle of the night. My father yells, ‘what you gonna do with your li-ife?’ Oh, daddy dear, you know you’re still number one. But girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have,” You point to him, and he looks around jokingly, pointing to himself as though he’s not sure.
Your hand goes up into the air as you belt out the next part, “That’s all they really w-a-a-a-ant. Some fu-u-u-u-un,” You bring your hand down to lay flat against your chest, “When the working day is done. Oh, girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have fun.”
Steve laughs at your theatrics, watching you with an astonished gleam in his eye. The song goes on for minutes longer, and he laughs as he hears an old man next to him begin singing along.
You pause your singing for a moment to look at the man, “That’s right, sing it with me!” You shout out, swaying with your hand raised, “They just wanna, they just wanna. They just wanna, they just wanna. Oh, girls just wanna have fun.”
You let out a tipsy giggle as the song fades out, and the few patrons that are still awake clap enthusiastically. Steve watches with an amused expression as you stumble back off the stage and wobble toward him.
He claps quietly. “That was-”
“Amazing? I know,” You drag out the last syllable. You let out a breath, taking a sip of the water Steve made sure to have ready for you, then you turn to him and grab at his arm, “C’mon. I’ve got at least one more song in me.”
Steve stays planted, shaking his head in dismissal, “No, no, no, I’m not getting up there. That’s all you.” You send him a pleading pout, and Steve is nothing if not a sucker. He sighs and follows reluctantly.
He helps you up onto the stage, ensuring you don’t fall the dreaded two-foot drop to your drunken death. Steve rubs his temple tiredly as you flick through the song, already gaining applause from the audience. You bow dramatically as you make your selection and hand him a mic.
The beat starts slow, and you turn to whisper to Steve, “It’s not a duet, but it sounded fun. Just try to sing along.” You send him a wink, making his heart flutter to his displeasure.
“I’ve gotta take a little time,” You start, looking at Steve out of the corner of your eye, “A little time to think things over.”
Steve rolls his eyes as he joins in, “I'd better read between the lines. In case I need it when I’m older.”
He watches you sway to the music, letting out a quiet giggle now and again. He smiles.
You sing the next verse, “Now this mountain I must climb.” You look him in the eyes, smouldering jokingly, “Feels like the world upon my shoulders.”
It goes on like that for a bit; back and forth, inebriated and loving it.
“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain. I don’t know if I can face it again,” You both sing dramatically, raising your fists to show your feigning agony, “Can’t stop now, I’ve traveled so far to change this lonely life.”
The beat drops, and you turn away to face the crowd that has gathered around the stage, “I wanna know what love is.” You point at Steve, touching your index finger to his sweater with a smirk, “I want you to show me.” You fist the material, pulling him closer.
His mind goes blank as your face gets closer. He can’t seem to find his words, can barely hear your voice as you continue singing, eyes locked on his. His heart stops when you wet your lips, your head turning back to the bar. His eyes don’t leave your face, however, watching mesmerized as you belt the Foreigner song with little mistakes. He nearly drops the microphone when you grab his face in your hand and smack a quick peck on his lips as the song comes to an end.
Your smile is nearly blinding as you thank the crowd of five and wave like a queen. Your head falls back in a laugh as you both jump off the stage, making your way back to the bar.
You moan, making Steve’s breath hitch, “That. Was. Awesome.” You pull out the list to cross off number 14. “I can’t believe I hadn’t done that sooner.”
“Why haven’t you?” He asks suddenly as the adrenaline fades, “Do any of this sooner, I mean. You’ve had, what, 20 years?”
You sigh as you put away the list, “That, my dear friend, is a conversation I will never be drunk enough to have.” You pick up the shot the bartender placed in front of you. “Salute,” you say, hissing as you swallow the shot. Steve follows with a small frown.
so many unanswered questions, so little time... tune in next week to read more about this budding romance!
i really hope you enjoyed this first chapter! let me know if you're interested in a taglist!!
AO3 is currently down. We do not have an estimated return time currently. We're looking into it with one of our third-party support providers and will update when we have more information. Thank you for your patience!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: after a chance meeting at the hideout, steve agrees to help you complete your bucket list before he's set to move. a friendship forms, a passion sparks, and--despite your best efforts--a love blossoms as you race to check off every box.
warnings: talks of heavy topics (such as depression, self-loathing, and suicide), pining, suggestive content, swearing, steve is borderline pathetic, really bad interpretation of the late 80s/early 90s, (each chapter has its own warnings!)
wc: TBD
a/n: i know what you're thinking: "bee! another series? are you actually going to finish this one?" and let me tell you... i hope so. i have the whole story planned out and mostly written so if everything works out, i'll get the chapters out on time (fingers crossed).
i do feel inclined to inform you that the chapter warnings may contain spoilers!!
big thanks to @fandomdemigirl for helping me with this story!!
main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3 (available 3/1)
chapter one - 3/1
after a chance meeting at the hideout, steve agrees to help you complete your bucket list before he's set to move. a friendship forms, a passion sparks, and--despite your best efforts--a love blossoms as you race to check off every box.
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: after a chance meeting at the hideout, steve agrees to help you complete your bucket list before he's set to move. a friendship forms, a passion sparks, and--despite your best efforts--a love blossoms as you race to check off every box.
chapter warnings: fluff, serious pining, steve is borderline pathetic, dangerous activities with a pole (don't try at home) intoxication, secretssss, lmk if i missed something!
wc: 3.9K
a/n: hello all, thank you for taking the time to read my new series!! i'm very proud of this idea (it came to me in a dream) and im very excited for you all to read it!!!
please dont forget to comment your thoughts and reblog to help me reach more people!
another special thanks to @fandomdemigirl for all her help to make this dream a reality
chapter songs:
girls just want to have fun - cindi lauper
i want to know what love is - foreigner
chapter two
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | read on ao3
“Hey, can I close out?”
The bartender–Sal–nods and turns to the register as Steve taps his fingers against his empty glass. A faint jingle rings throughout The Hideout, and he glances at the door to watch it swing open with a small gust of wind as someone enters the bar. He can barely see a hint of a face through the fur of the large winter coat.
The hood comes down, and Steve can’t help but stare in awe and wonder as your face comes into his view. Your eyes lock for a mere moment, but it’s enough to have his heart racing. His eyes rake over your figure as you step closer to him.
Sal clears his throat behind the bar, forcing Steve to turn his gaze from you. Sal holds out his card with a knowing smirk, hiding a short laugh as he turns to tend to other patrons. Steve looks back at the door and begins to wonder if perhaps he was dreaming; if the breathtaking sight was simply just a figment of his imagination. He slumps in defeat, letting out a saddened sigh.
Then he hears it: an alluring voice, enchanting as a siren’s song to lure sailors to their deaths. What he wouldn’t give to hear that melody again. He turns to the sound and finds you standing at the bar, ordering your desired drink from Sal. You’re leaning against the bartop, eyes moving around the room as you wait for your drink. Then suddenly your eyes lock on his.
His brain shuts off entirely. The longer he stares into those captivating eyes, the less he can think, let alone breathe. His feet move instinctively, involuntarily drawing him closer to the tempress at the other end of the bar.
He stops within a few feet, sucking in a quick breath as you look him up and down brazenly. Your gaze drags up his body slowly, as if savoring the sight, before you meet his eyes. A question burns behind your own–an invitation.
“You’re new here.” It’s not a question. The Hideout, as it’s located in the most secluded part of the smallest town known to man, only has so many patrons. They’re always the same, which means it’s always a shock when a new face enters the scene.
“I am,” You hum in response and introduce yourself, “And you are?” You prompt.
He replies, “Steve.”
Sal sets your drink on the bartop, and you pick it up with a quiet thank you. You take a slow sip, closing your eyes as the liquid slides down your throat.
Steve swallows as he averts his eyes, willing his mind and body to calm down. “What brings you to Hawklins?” He asks as you place the glass back on the counter.
“Do you want the real answer?”
“Honesty is the best policy,” He shrugs, praying he looks unbothered by the way your eyes keep flitting to his lips.
You chuckle softly, and the sound eases his anxiety slightly, “That it is.” You bite your lip in thought.
He can see the wheels turning behind those mesmerizing eyes, considering whether or not to let a stranger into your business. He certainly hopes you do because, for some unknown reason, he finds himself needing desperately to learn everything there is to know about you.
“I wanted to get away,” You finally say, “I wanted to go somewhere no one knows me or cares to know me. Somewhere so small, and middle-of-nowhere-y, that I could just… disappear.”
Steve hums thoughtfully, “And what if someone does care to know you?”
You chuckle again, your gaze falling mindlessly to the remaining liquid in your glass, “You don’t. Trust me,” You let out an amused scoff as you look back up at him, “I’m a hot mess.”
“Well, you’re definitely hot, I can only attest to that much.”
You smile–and God, he’d kill to see that smile every day for the rest of his life. “You’re funny,” You dawl.
You step closer until your chest is nearly touching his. He prays silently that you can’t feel the thump thump of his heart beating out of his chest.
“Is…” He trails off as you tilt your head up slightly, “Is that a good thing?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you give him a sly grin, as though you can sense the effect you already have on him. “Buy me another drink, and I’ll tell you.”
You step back abruptly and down your drink in one swig. Steve lets out an almost pained breath at the loss of proximity as he stares in awe.
Three drinks later, the feeling of your hand lazily stroking his arm is driving him mad as he tries to focus on your words.
“So, Steve,” You waggle your eyebrows at him, “How long have you been in Hawkins?”
“U-hm,” His voice cracks slightly, his gaze rapidly flicking between your smirk and the hand on his arm as his chest heaves, “I’ve lived here my whole life. Actually, I’m finally getting out next year. I got a job offer in New York–although, frankly, I’d take any excuse to leave,” He rambles, forcing out a sound of amusement.
“Ah,” You pull your hand back as you turn your body to face him fully, and he yearns to feel your touch again, “Not looking for anything serious, then?”
Steve stammers, “I- I wouldn’t be opposed. It just might be kinda… hard- difficult with the move.”
The laugh you let out is music to his ears. You lean in close, your lips grazing his ear as you whisper, “I’m not looking for something serious.” He can smell the intoxication on your breath, and as much as his body is screaming at him, he pulls back slightly.
You watch as his face fills with confusion as your words register. “I’m not planning on staying long either. I just want something…fun. Casual.”
Steve frowns, “Casual…” He thinks for a moment, “Like sex?”
“A friend,” You clarify as you reach into your back pocket to fish out a paper. “I have a list,” You unfold it and lay it out on the counter, “It’s all things I want to do. And while I could do most of them alone, it would certainly be more fun if someone, say, a handsome stranger, were to help me on my quest.”
Steve’s intrigue outweighs his confusion as he tries to decipher your words. “What kind of list?” He finally asks, looking the paper over.
“Think of it as a bucket list. It’s full of things I’ve always wanted to do, and I’ve finally decided I’m done waiting for things to happen to me. I’m gonna make them happen.
Steve hums as he begins reading out the ones he finds especially interesting, “#3. Lick a metal pole in the snow.” You let out a laugh, “I saw A Christmas Story as a teen, and I’ve been curious ever since.”
Steve smiles at your response as he continues scanning down the list, “#5. Get married in Las Vegas.” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you shrug, “I never said they’d all get done.”
He reaches the bottom, and the last item catches his eye, “#15. Have GOOD sex…” He trails off, staring down at the page with bated breath. He looks up at your face, warmth spreading across his cheeks as your eyes remain locked on his.
“I wrote that one after my first time,” You suppress the smile pulling at your lips, “It was…” Your eyes widen slightly, “Let’s just say it was subpar.”
Steve reads through the list again, avoiding your gaze as his flushed cheeks return to their original color. He clears his throat, holding his hand out for you to shake.
“We have a deal, then,” He says, looking expectantly at your hand.
You hesitate, “So you’ll help me with my list?” He nods once, and you place your hand in his. He gives it a firm shake, and the two of you laugh in tandem.
-
#1 - Have a snowball fight, #3 - Lick a metal pole in the snow
Steve holds the door for you as you exit the bar, pausing to discreetly check his breath. He shivers slightly at the cold.
“Looks like the snow finally let up,” He muses, eyes flicking around the white landscape. You hum in agreement and pull your jacket tight to your body.
“Do you have a ride?” He asks, looking up at the twinkling stars, the floodlights from the bar’s parking lot dimming them slightly.
In his periphery, he can see you shaking your head, gaze pointed up as well. “I was planning on walking,” You say, “My motel is just around the corner.”
Steve looks down at you, watching with admiration as your smile brightens. “The stars are beautiful here,” He can barely hear the whisper of words, like they weren’t meant for his ears.
He nudges your shoulder with his. “I’ll walk with you, then,” he offers.
You turn your head to meet his eyes. The longer you stare into his eyes, the more he wishes he could drown in the depths of yours. The look you send him is somewhere between playful and appreciative–a palpable warm feeling fills his body despite the cold.
“Okay,” You smile.
Then you grab his arm and begin pulling him quickly in the direction of the motel, laughing giddily at his shocked gasp. You let him go and run forward to hide behind a nearby tree. Steve watches you with amused confusion as he walks toward the large pine. He cautiously peers around the trunk, frowning when he finds the space unoccupied.
Something cold and wet hits him square in the back.
He lets out a loud, surprised laugh as he turns, his mouth agape and eyes narrowed with faux anger, negated only by the small grin pulling at his lips.
“You little minx,” He hisses, head shaking in disbelief.
You snicker, pointing at his snow-covered coat with a wide smile. “Oh man,” You wheeze, ‘You should see your face.” You pretend to wipe a tear. “#1. Have a snowball fight,” You quote from your list.
Steve smirks, "Okay. Have it your way…” He ducks down quickly, picking up a large scoop of snow and throwing it at your still frame all in one movement.
You let out a joyous scream and scramble back to the safety of your hiding spot. Steve makes his ammunition, watching the tree for any movement, and the street goes silent as you both listen for each other.
“Come on out,” Steve drags out the last syllable, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he raises his arm with a snowball in hand, preparing to throw it.
You jump out quickly, facing him head-on, your arm in a mirrored position. You smile, your chest heaving slightly as you stare at each other.
“Surrender,” You warn, “And I’ll go easy on you.” You draw your hand back to prove your point. Steve chuckles, “Like hell I will.”
At once, you fire the small icy spheres at the other. Yours hits his shoulder, while he strikes you square in the chest. Steve pumps his fist in the air in celebration. “All those years of baseball finally paid off,” he brags.
You grumble defeatedly, “Not fair. I didn’t know you had a history of throwing things.” You cross your arms over your chest in contention, shielding yourself from the cold as you do so.
“You’re just mad that I won,” He remarks as he steps closer, wrapping an arm around your trembling shoulders to bring your body temperature back up. He can faintly hear something that sounds like disagreement as you tuck your face into his shoulder to warm your cheeks.
“Come on,” He mumbles into your hair. He breathes in, and your shampoo fills his senses, nearly knocking him off his feet as he feels his knees go weak, his heart suddenly racing. “We should get you someplace warm.”
You nod, pulling back with a tired smile, and the two of you begin your trek through the light snowfall toward the only motel in town. You stop beside a stop sign as you wait for a car to pass, and Steve huffs out a quiet laugh as he gestures to the stop sign.
“You could cross off a second item right now,” He jests, wishing quietly that he could take it back as he sees determination fill your features, and you reach for the pole. “I was kidding, please don’t actually lick the pole.”
You send him a deadpanned stare as you inch your face closer to the pole. “God, that’s disgusting,” He cringes just as you finally open your mouth and press your tongue to the metal. He watches with horror as you smirk up at him.
You frown and pull away, your tongue evidently not stuck to the pole like you had hoped. “Huh,” You hum.
Steve matches your expression as he stares at the pole, “No way that didn’t stick.”
Your eyes meet, and you shrug, eyebrows still pinched in confusion. “Maybe it’s not cold enough,” You suggest, and he rolls his eyes, “It’s literally snowing. Maybe you did it wrong.”
You huff, “Then you try.” He squints at the metal as though trying to intimidate it, ignoring your quiet snickering as he presses his tongue flat on the pole.
He tries to pull away, eyes widening as he finds his tongue stuck. He looks at you with panic flashing in his eyes, “I’hm sthuck.”
You laugh and roll your eyes, crossing your arms, “Ha. Ha. You can stop faking now, you win.”
When he doesn’t budge, you frown. “What, you’re serious?” He nods dejectedly. You uncross your arms slowly and begin trying to separate his tongue from the pole.
It takes an hour to get help and free him from the metallic torture.
-
#14 - Drunk karaoke
As the new year rolls around, your friendship has only grown stronger. Steve finds himself longing to be near you, wishing to learn more. And you, thankfully, seem to find him humorous–which he still doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not…
Your pairing is unlikely as ever, but to Steve, it’s become his new normal.
“Hey,” You greet, dragging out the syllables with a sly grin. Your hands are behind your back, and Steve is certain you’re scheming something.
“Oh, no,” He mumbles, sighing as he runs his hand through his hair, his other resting on his hip. You roll your eyes. “What? I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Knowing you, it can’t be good.” He raises his eyebrow to prove a point, and you frown, “You’ve known me for all of one month, you hardly know enough to make a call like that.”
Steve shrugs, unbothered, although part of him feels saddened at the jab. “I know when you’re up to something,” he crosses his arms.
You glare at him and pull out the flyer from behind your back, holding it up in front of his face for him to read. Your smile is big and mischievous.
KARAOKE NIGHT
New Year’s Eve @ The Hideout Bar
Start time: 10:00 pm
Discounted drinks, food provided.
Steve begins shaking his head at the header alone, “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I don’t sing.”
“I figured you’d say that, and so…” You pull out the folded list, opening it dramatically. You clear your throat, “#14. Drunk karaoke. You are contractually obligated to help me with this.” Your smug look is both adorable and completely infuriating. He can’t help but play stupid.
“Oh? And what contract would that be? I don’t remember signing anything,” He smirks, relishing in the frustrated look you send him.
“We shook on it. Come on,” You whine, “Don’t go back on your word now, not when we’re just getting started.”
He takes the flyer to read it over again. “Fine,” he finally says. “But you’re buying the drinks.” He fails to stifle the smile pulling at his lips at your pleased and excited expression.
The Hideout is barely busier than usual. The same five old farts still sit at the bar, looking drained as always. There’s a small table with a small bowl of chips and a casserole–no doubt from Sal’s wife, Kathy–along with paper plates and plasticware. At the back of the bar sits a dingy stage, set up with a karaoke machine and a flickering spotlight. Steve swears he can hear crickets over the quiet music sputtering through the ancient speaker.
But as Steve cringes at the state of this so-called New Year’s celebration, he looks to you and finds nothing but utter joy. “It’s perfect,” You grin, pulling him toward the bar. Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s sad,” He whispers to you, earning himself a slap to his shoulder.
“It is not ‘sad’,” You use air quotes around the word, “I happen to think it has potential. Someone just has to get the party started.” You smirk, ordering two shots. The bartender slides them over, and you hand one to Steve.
“Bottoms up,” You waggle your eyebrows, downing the unspecified liquid. Steve follows suit and winces at the burn.
Four shots later, you snort as you climb up to the stage, picking out your song on the machine. Steve watches from the bar, laughing as you hiccup accidentally into the microphone. He watches the focused face you make as you flick through the selection, beaming down at him when you find the song.
The all-too-familiar opening synth echoes throughout the mostly empty bar; a few heads turn toward the stage, and you sway to the tune, clapping your hands around the microphone in time with the drums. You close your eyes, and Steve can see you visibly feel the music as you begin singing, only slightly off-pace.
“I come home in the morning light,” You sing drunkenly, “My mother says, ‘when you gonna live your life ri-ight?’ Oh, mother dear, we’re not the fortunate ones. And girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have fun.”
Steve sends you a thumbs-up when you catch his eye, mouthing a silent ‘amazing’ just to see your bright smile.
You clap again to the beat during the slight break, and Steve glances around the bar to find a few of the grumpy old guys bobbing their heads to the music–almost certainly intoxicated beyond comprehension.
“The phone rings,” You hiccup again, quieter this time, “In the middle of the night. My father yells, ‘what you gonna do with your li-ife?’ Oh, daddy dear, you know you’re still number one. But girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have,” You point to him, and he looks around jokingly, pointing to himself as though he’s not sure.
Your hand goes up into the air as you belt out the next part, “That’s all they really w-a-a-a-ant. Some fu-u-u-u-un,” You bring your hand down to lay flat against your chest, “When the working day is done. Oh, girls, they want to have fu-un. Oh, girls just want to have fun.”
Steve laughs at your theatrics, watching you with an astonished gleam in his eye. The song goes on for minutes longer, and he laughs as he hears an old man next to him begin singing along.
You pause your singing for a moment to look at the man, “That’s right, sing it with me!” You shout out, swaying with your hand raised, “They just wanna, they just wanna. They just wanna, they just wanna. Oh, girls just wanna have fun.”
You let out a tipsy giggle as the song fades out, and the few patrons that are still awake clap enthusiastically. Steve watches with an amused expression as you stumble back off the stage and wobble toward him.
He claps quietly. “That was-”
“Amazing? I know,” You drag out the last syllable. You let out a breath, taking a sip of the water Steve made sure to have ready for you, then you turn to him and grab at his arm, “C’mon. I’ve got at least one more song in me.”
Steve stays planted, shaking his head in dismissal, “No, no, no, I’m not getting up there. That’s all you.” You send him a pleading pout, and Steve is nothing if not a sucker. He sighs and follows reluctantly.
He helps you up onto the stage, ensuring you don’t fall the dreaded two-foot drop to your drunken death. Steve rubs his temple tiredly as you flick through the song, already gaining applause from the audience. You bow dramatically as you make your selection and hand him a mic.
The beat starts slow, and you turn to whisper to Steve, “It’s not a duet, but it sounded fun. Just try to sing along.” You send him a wink, making his heart flutter to his displeasure.
“I’ve gotta take a little time,” You start, looking at Steve out of the corner of your eye, “A little time to think things over.”
Steve rolls his eyes as he joins in, “I'd better read between the lines. In case I need it when I’m older.”
He watches you sway to the music, letting out a quiet giggle now and again. He smiles.
You sing the next verse, “Now this mountain I must climb.” You look him in the eyes, smouldering jokingly, “Feels like the world upon my shoulders.”
It goes on like that for a bit; back and forth, inebriated and loving it.
“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain. I don’t know if I can face it again,” You both sing dramatically, raising your fists to show your feigning agony, “Can’t stop now, I’ve traveled so far to change this lonely life.”
The beat drops, and you turn away to face the crowd that has gathered around the stage, “I wanna know what love is.” You point at Steve, touching your index finger to his sweater with a smirk, “I want you to show me.” You fist the material, pulling him closer.
His mind goes blank as your face gets closer. He can’t seem to find his words, can barely hear your voice as you continue singing, eyes locked on his. His heart stops when you wet your lips, your head turning back to the bar. His eyes don’t leave your face, however, watching mesmerized as you belt the Foreigner song with little mistakes. He nearly drops the microphone when you grab his face in your hand and smack a quick peck on his lips as the song comes to an end.
Your smile is nearly blinding as you thank the crowd of five and wave like a queen. Your head falls back in a laugh as you both jump off the stage, making your way back to the bar.
You moan, making Steve’s breath hitch, “That. Was. Awesome.” You pull out the list to cross off number 14. “I can’t believe I hadn’t done that sooner.”
“Why haven’t you?” He asks suddenly as the adrenaline fades, “Done any of this sooner, I mean. You’ve had, what, 20 years?”
You sigh as you put away the list, “That, my dear friend, is a conversation I will never be drunk enough to have.” You pick up the shot the bartender placed in front of you. “Salute,” you say, hissing as you swallow the shot. Steve follows with a small frown.
so many unanswered questions, so little time... tune in next week to read more about this budding romance!
i really hope you enjoyed this first chapter! let me know if you're interested in a taglist!!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
synopsis: after a chance meeting at the hideout, steve agrees to help you complete your bucket list before he's set to move. a friendship forms, a passion sparks, and--despite your best efforts--a love blossoms as you race to check off every box.
series masterlist | main masterlist | steve masterlist | chapter one
Steve swallows as he averts his eyes, willing his mind and body to calm down. “What brings you to Hawklins?” He asks as you place the glass back on the counter.
“Do you want the real answer?”
“Honesty is the best policy,” He shrugs, praying he looks unbothered by the way your eyes keep flitting to his lips.
You chuckle softly, and the sound eases his anxiety slightly, “That it is.” You bite your lip in thought.
He can see the wheels turning behind those mesmerizing eyes, considering whether or not to let a stranger into your business. He certainly hopes you do because, for some unknown reason, he finds himself needing desperately to learn everything there is to know about you.
“I wanted to get away,” You finally say, “I wanted to go somewhere no one knows me or cares to know me. Somewhere so small, and middle-of-nowhere-y, that I could just… disappear.”
Steve hums thoughtfully, “And what if someone does care to know you?”
You chuckle again, your gaze falling mindlessly to the remaining liquid in your glass, “You don’t. Trust me,” You let out an amused scoff as you look back up at him, “I’m a hot mess.”
“Well, you’re definitely hot, I can only attest to that much.”
You smile–and God, he’d kill to see that smile every day for the rest of his life. “You’re funny,” You dawl.
You step closer until your chest is nearly touching his. He prays silently that you can’t feel the thump thump of his heart beating out of his chest.
“Is…” He trails off as you tilt your head up slightly, “Is that a good thing?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you give him a sly grin, as though you can sense the effect you already have on him. “Buy me another drink, and I’ll tell you.”
You step back abruptly and down your drink in one swig. Steve lets out an almost pained breath at the loss of proximity as he stares in awe.
find out what happens between these strangers on sunday, march 1st
i'm not too sure if i'm doing a taglist yet, but lmk if you'd be interested!!
Summary: Just fucking Steve in that cunty ass sweater because look at him
Warnings: Smut! Reader is THIRSTY, Steve lowk a lil subby, protected piv
"Steve hears that all the time, and he goes in anyways. Don't ya, Steve?" Robin glances between the two of you with a sly smirk.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" He gives her an offended look, hitting Murray's shoulder when he lets out a small 'It's funny.'
You let out a soft sigh, resting your head on Steve's thigh and biting your lip just a bit. You've already been itching to jump Steve's bones all day, watching him in that cozy little sweater that makes him look so sexy for whatever reason.
Now, Robin says that, and you know it's true, and you want to absolutely ravage him because it feels like you've barely had any time to yourselves with everything that's going on.
.·:¨¨ ≈☆≈ ¨¨:·.
Steve's just got done explaining his big beanstalk plan, and it made him look that much hotter to you. You're pulling him towards a storage closet the very second everyone goes their own ways.
"Woah, babe. Wha--" Your lips are on his in an instant, pushing him back against a cluttered desk and pawing at his soft sweater. He's confused, but his hands slide down to grasp your ass anyways.
He lets out a soft moan into your mouth as he parts his lips just enough to let your tongue slide into his mouth. He pulls away a moment later, his breath still fanning your lips as he stares at you with his eyebrows raised and his lips pulled into a shocked smile.
"What's gotten into you?" He laughs breathily as one of his hands reaches up to hold your cheek.
"You're so sexy. Been needing my hands all over you for hours." You breathe, reaching up to grab his hair and pull his lips back to yours. He lets out a soft gasp, groaning when you tug on his hair.
Steve reaches towards the hem of his sweater, but you grab his wrist without breaking the kiss. "Leave it on." You mumble into his mouth.
"Is this what-- mph-- what this has been about? You're trying to jump my bones over a sweater?" He laughs, his hands all over you as you tug on his hair again, making him let out a soft whine.
"Plus, what Robin said, because I know damn well it's the truth. And then, it was that plan. You're so smart, baby. It's sexy." You nearly moan, pulling your own shirt over your head and dropping it to the ground.
"You're insane." Steve laughs softly, reaching around your body to skillfully unclasp your bra. "You love it." Your voice is smug as you pull his lips back to yours, all teeth and spit and pure lust.
"Mhm.." Steve hums into your mouth, hands squeezing your tits for a moment before he decides to run his thumbs over your nipples with a soft sigh.
You trail a hand down his body, squeezing at the bulge in his jeans and smiling as he whimpers into your mouth. He nearly collapses just at the touch, reaching back to grab the desk with one hand.
"God, been... so long." Steve's voice shakes leaning his head back and letting out a whine from deep in his chest. You smile at the exposed skin of his neck, diving in to suck right over his pulse point.
Your hands quickly get to work on his jeans, intentionally brushing your fingers over his crotch while you work on the button. "H-Holy shit." You pull away at the sound of his voice, smiling proudly at the already purpling mark on his neck.
You slide the zipper of his jeans down, letting out a soft hum as you stare at his throat. "One more." You shrug, leaning in to suck right next to his Adam's apple, a groan slipping from his lips. You push his jeans down to his mid thighs.
"I like this version of y-- ah! Of you." Steve moans when you squeeze him once again, this time just with the fabric of his boxers covering him. "Mm, yeah?" You pull away, biting your lip at the sight of the second mark on his neck.
"Oh, yeah." He sighs, hands moving down to work on your own jeans, a little groan leaving his lips at the way his hands shake. He's so damn wound up, and your kisses and your touch and your sultry voice are all making him feel dizzy in the best way possible.
You let out a soft laugh as Steve struggles to push your jeans down, helping shimmy out of them, along with your already dampened panties.
"Shit, look at you." Steve groans, his fingers automatically sliding towards your heat, ready to prepare you as he usually does. You shake your head, rubbing him with a flat palm through the fabric of his boxers.
"Don't want that today, Steve. I need you so bad." You sigh, sliding your hand to his halfway pushed down jeans and fishing in his back pocket until you find his wallet.
You grab a condom from the big pocket towards the back, handing it to Steve with lust blown eyes and parted lips, breath heavy and heart racing in your ears.
"Are you sure? I don't-- fuck." You cut him off by shoving his boxers down just enough to free his heavy cock, running your thumb over the slit to collect the bead of precum forming there.
Steve immediately opens the foil and rolls the condom onto himself, already softly panting as you put your knee up on the desk to open yourself up for him.
He decides to make things easier for you, sitting down on the desk and pulling you onto his lap and holding your hips with a bruising grip.
You sink down onto Steve's cock, giving yourself no time to adjust before you're moving up and down. He throws his head back, nails digging into your skin and loud moans leaving his mouth.
"Shit! Oh my god!" Steve moans, the desk hitting the wall with every movement. "You're-- I-- M'gonna wear this-- f-fuck! More if this is.. What I get out of it."
You laugh softly, grabbing his cheeks to make him look at you. His eyes are glazed over already, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars, his puffy lips parted, and his cheeks flushed the prettiest pink.
"Aw, look at you." You coo, brushing your thumb over Steve's bottom lip. He lets out a shaky whine, pawing all over your body and his legs already shaking.
"Baby. Baby, fuuuck! I can't-- M'not gonna last very long." Steve whimpers, his voice already wrecked. "That's fine. But I'm not gonna stop if you come before me. Been-- been too pent up to stop." You pant, your hand working down your body to rub at your clit.
"I don't care! Use me as much as you need! Just-- Oh, fuck!" He moans, falling back against the cold wall, leaving enough space between you so that he can see his cock disappear inside you.
That's what does it for him. He's instantly moaning your name, filling the condom with everything he's got and a wrecked look on his face.
"Shit, Steve... Just-- I need a little longer.." You moan out, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around Steve's neck. He buries his face in your neck, nodding against your skin and letting out a noise akin to a sob.
"S'alright. I can-- I'm alright." He moans, shaky hands grabbing your thighs with desperation as he lets out overstimulated whimpers against the skin of your neck.
"Fuck, Steve. So big. You're so-- ah! Rub my clit, baby. I need it to be you!" You moan, gasping as Steve trails his hand over your thigh, gently pulling your hand away and replacing it with his.
His thumb rubs tight circles over the puffy bundle of nerves, whining into your neck as he begins to shake. He's overstimulated, but he refuses to stop before you get off.
"St--Steve!" You grab at his shoulders, thighs tensing around his own legs, and your back arching. "Almost there? Please, please, please, baby. I wanna-- Wanna make you feel so good." He whimpers, his free hand splaying out over the small of your back as he pulls his face away from your neck.
Steve looks at you, a single tear running down his cheek before he dives in to press a hungry kiss to your puffy lips. It's not much longer before you're clenching around his sensitive cock, gushing and pulsing and writhing on top of him.
"Steve! Ste-eeve!" You gasp and moan, nails digging into the skin of his back. You take a few moments to catch your breath, both you and Steve slumping together in a mess of exhaustion, sweat, and love.
"I love you, Steve." You breathe, standing up to pull your clothes back on. Steve whines softly at the lack of contact, his hands following you for a moment before he drops them to his side.
He reluctantly pulls the condom off, throws it away, and pulls his pants back up. "I love you, too, my pretty, very horny girl." He laughs softly, pulling you back into his arms and rocking side to side in the little closet.
a/n - I don't really like this I feel like I'm horrible at writing smut but oh well!
protective order — bodyguard!steve harrington x reader
summary — having a famous family means a lot more attention, especially the older you get, the more independent you get. that’s why your dad gives you steve harrington to be with you everywhere you go. you’re not sure how you feel.
note — first part in my multi part bodyguard steve drabble series!!! I’m so excited.
content bodyguard steve harrington au, famous reader, fem!reader, no pronouns, 2.6k words
gif buckysbarnes
The house has always felt like a place built to impress rather than to live in. The architecture is clean and deliberate — pale stone floors that hold the day’s coolness long after sunset, towering panes of glass that erase the boundary between inside and out, and carefully curated art pieces positioned exactly where a camera might linger.
From the street below, the house must look invincible, perched high in the hills with the city stretching endlessly beneath it.
You grew up inside spaces like this, learning early how beauty and visibility tend to overlap in ways that are not always comforting.
Lately, the visibility has felt sharper.
You’ve noticed subtle changes over the past month. The security system was upgraded without announcement. The gate at the bottom of the driveway now closes faster and locks more decisively.
There is an additional vehicle that lingers at the edge of the property some evenings, engine running, windows tinted dark enough to discourage curiosity.
None of these changes were explained to you directly. Your father prefers to act first and discuss later, especially when it comes to protection.
When he asks you to come into his study that afternoon, the request carries weight even before he speaks. His study is the only room in the house that feels genuinely personal.
The shelves are lined with books that have been read more than once, their spines slightly worn. Framed records and awards cover one wall, a timeline of success preserved behind glass.
Photographs occupy the remaining space — candid shots from tours, award shows, and a handful from your childhood that feel almost out of place among the professional accolades.
You settle into the leather armchair across from his desk, crossing your legs with an ease that is half habit and half quiet resistance. The air smells faintly of cedar and the expensive candle that has not yet been touched by flame. His phone rests face down on the desk, an unusual choice that immediately signals this conversation will not tolerate interruption.
He studies you with an expression that blends resolve and reluctance. “There’s something we need to discuss,” he says, his tone measured and controlled.
You offer a small, knowing smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “That sounds like I’m about to lose an argument I didn’t know I was having.”
A faint crease forms between his brows. “I wouldn’t frame it that way.”
You lean back slightly, folding your arms, bracing yourself for whatever version of control he is about to impose. He takes a slow breath, as if choosing each word carefully.
“You’re getting a full-time security detail.”
The words enter the room without drama, yet they alter its atmosphere immediately. You hold his gaze for a moment, waiting for clarification that doesn’t come.
“At events,” you say, because that is reasonable and familiar territory. “We already have security at events.”
“All the time,” he replies evenly.
The shift in meaning settles slowly. You feel it in the tightening of your shoulders, in the way your fingers press against your forearm.
“Full-time,” you repeat, as if saying it aloud might reveal a loophole. “You mean someone follows me everywhere?”
“Someone accompanies you,” he corrects gently.
“I’m not a child.”
“I’m aware.”
The calmness in his voice only sharpens your frustration. “Then why am I suddenly being treated like one?”
“You’re not being treated like a child,” he says. “You’re being treated like someone whose profile has changed.”
You know what he’s referring to. The recent headlines that mention your name without his attached. The photos captured outside your university campus. The social media accounts dedicated entirely to analysing your movements and your relationships.
You have spent your entire life adjacent to fame, but adjacency has slowly become direct exposure.
“I’ve always been visible,” you say, and there is more emotion in your voice than you intended.
“Yes,” he agrees. “But visibility evolves.”
The implication lingers between you. You have grown up. The world has noticed.
“I don’t need a bodyguard to go to class,” you insist, the edge in your tone fueled more by pride than denial. “I know how to handle attention.”
“This isn’t about attention,” he says quietly.
Before you can press further, there is a knock at the study door. It is firm and precise, no hesitation.
“Come in,” your father calls.
The door opens smoothly, and the man who steps inside moves with the kind of contained awareness that draws attention without demanding it.
He closes the door behind him with a quiet click and pauses just inside the room, posture upright, shoulders squared in a way that suggests discipline rather than stiffness.
He is taller than you expected, broad through the shoulders, his build practical and balanced. He wears dark pants and a fitted black jacket that conceals more than it reveals. His boots make little sound against the stone floor, each step measured and controlled. His hair is neatly styled back from his face, not overly polished but intentional enough to indicate effort. There is a steadiness in the way he holds himself, a composure that seems ingrained rather than performed.
Your father stands. “This is Steve Harrington. He’ll be leading your security detail.”
Leading. The word carries authority.
Steve’s gaze settles on you. It is direct but not invasive, observant without lingering. You feel assessed in a way that is professional rather than personal, as though he is cataloguing posture, reaction time, emotional state. There is no flicker of awe in his expression, no performative friendliness.
He inclines his head slightly. “Good evening, ma'am.”
His voice is low and even, devoid of embellishment. The words hang in the air, and then he falls silent again.
You wait for more — an explanation, a summary of expectations, some indication of how this arrangement will function. He offers nothing beyond steady presence.
You cross your arms, leaning back into the chair, aware that the gesture signals resistance. “This is unnecessary,” you say, directing the words at your father but allowing them to reach Steve.
Neither man interrupts you.
“I don’t need someone hovering over me,” you continue, frustration building gradually rather than exploding. “I go to school, I see my friends, I come home. I’m not reckless.”
Your father’s expression softens slightly. “I know you aren’t.”
“Then why this?”
“Because risk doesn’t require recklessness.”
The answer feels incomplete, and that incompleteness aggravates you. “You’re making decisions about my life without asking me.”
“I’m making decisions about your safety,” he replies.
You rise from the chair, unable to remain seated under the weight of it. The room suddenly feels too controlled, too carefully arranged.
As you step toward the door, you pass close to Steve. He shifts subtly to allow you space, the movement precise and unintrusive. He does not reach out, does not attempt to block your path, does not speak again.
The restraint is noticeable. You are aware of the faint scent of clean soap and something crisp, the subtle awareness in his posture as you move by.
You leave the study without looking back.
The hallway stretches long and bright, sunlight spilling across the glass panels that line one side. Your reflection follows you as you walk, and for the first time, the openness of the house feels less like freedom and more like exposure.
Behind you, the study door closes quietly.
You don’t hear the low exchange that follows. You don’t see your father outline expectations or watch Steve nod once in acknowledgment. You only feel the shift, the invisible boundary forming around your life.
From this moment on, your movements will be accounted for. Your departures noted. Your returns observed.
You tell yourself you resent it entirely. You tell yourself this is an overreaction.
And yet, somewhere beneath the irritation, a quieter awareness lingers — a recognition that whatever prompted this decision was serious enough to bring someone like him into your world.
Steve Harrington did not look temporary.
He looked prepared.
—
The new security plan is presented to you like a business proposal. Not in your father’s office. Not in some glass conference room designed to intimidate.
Steve chooses the dining room table in your house instead, late afternoon light slanting through the windows, turning everything warm and deceptively calm.
A folder sits in front of him. His phone. A tablet with schematics pulled up. He has already reviewed everything twice — you can tell by the way the pages are aligned precisely, squared at the corners.
You sit across from him, barefoot, one foot tucked under thigh. You’re trying not to look like you’re bracing for impact.
He doesn’t ease into it.
“There’s been an adjustment,” he says evenly.
You sigh quietly. “Of course there has.”
His gaze flicks up to you, not irritated, just assessing whether that tone is going to derail things.
“It’s preventative,” he continues. “Not reactive.”
“Reassuring,” you murmur.
He ignores that.
“There will be a second vehicle added to regular transport. It won’t travel directly behind us — offset position, two car lengths back. You won’t notice it unless you’re looking.”
“I’ll be looking now.”
“I know.” The corner of his mouth almost moves.
You lean back in your chair. “Is this because of the guy outside the restaurant last week?”
“Yes.” His jaw twitches.
The answer is immediate. No cushioning. Your fingers still slightly on the table.
“He didn’t do anything,” you sigh. It’s half a lie.
“He attempted proximity.”
Proximity. You try not to roll your eyes. “He asked for a photo.”
“He ignored the first no.” His tone doesn’t sharpen, but it tightens microscopically. You’ve learned to hear that.
You exhale. “So now I get an entourage.”
“You get coverage.”
He slides the tablet toward you. A map of your weekly routines is displayed — routes highlighted, entry points marked, time stamps noted. It’s intimate in a way that feels invasive. Your pilates studio. Your favourite coffee shop. The bookstore you wander through when you’re bored.
All turned into data.
“We’re also adjusting foot positioning in public spaces,” he continues. “You’ll stay inside my right shoulder instead of left.”
“Why?” You pretend like you care.
“Most people approach from the dominant side. It cuts reaction time.”
You stare at him. “You’ve really thought about this.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No apology.
It hits you again — that strange combination of suffocation and…something else.
He isn’t doing this to control you. He’s doing it because his brain does not stop running scenarios.
“What if I don’t want to switch sides?” you ask lightly.
His eyes lift to yours slowly. “Then I adapt.”
The words are simple, but something about the way he says them shifts the air between you. It isn’t challenging.
It’s steady.
You tilt your head. “You’d adapt?”
“I always adapt.” There’s a beat of silence.
You realise he isn’t just talking about walking patterns. You clear your throat. “This feels like a lot.”
“It is.”
The honesty disarms you. You were expecting justification. Instead, he gives you acknowledgment.
He leans back slightly, forearms resting on the table, posture still straight but less rigid than when he started. The sunlight catches in his hair, softening the edges of him.
“You’re not in trouble,” he says, and the phrasing is deliberate. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
It takes you a second to understand why he said it that way. Because you’ve been reacting like you did. You glance down at the tablet again. “You make it sound like I’m under constant attack.”
“You’re not,” he says calmly. “But you are under constant observation.”
The distinction lands heavy. “And that doesn’t bother you?” you ask.
“It does.”
You look up sharply.
His jaw shifts, just slightly, as if he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “It bothers me that you have to live like that,” he clarifies. Professional again. Composed. “Which is why I’d prefer to be ahead of it.”
The smallest crack.
You study him carefully. “You don’t seem bothered.”
“That’s not my job.”
You hold his gaze longer than necessary. “And what is your job, exactly?”
He doesn’t look away. “To anticipate what other people might do before they do it.”
There’s weight behind that. Experience. You lean forward slightly. “And what am I going to do, Steve?”
It’s a test. A subtle one.
His eyes drop briefly — not to your hands, not obviously anywhere — but just enough to suggest he’s grounding himself before answering.
“You’re going to pretend this doesn’t scare you,” he says evenly. “You’re going to insist you don’t need it. And you’re going to follow the adjusted protocol anyway.”
You blink. “That’s profiling.”
“That’s pattern recognition.”
You narrow your eyes at him. He meets it calmly. Then — almost imperceptibly — his tone softens by a fraction.
“I don’t enjoy limiting you,” he adds. “If there was a version of this job that required less intrusion, I’d take it.”
The word intrusion sits differently than restriction ever did. You study him, trying to find the performance in it. There isn’t any.
“Do you ever,” you start slowly, “turn it off?”
His expression shifts just slightly, curiosity replacing calculation. “Turn what off?”
“The constant scanning. The predicting. The planning.”
A pause. “No.” The honesty is blunt, but not harsh.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s manageable.”
“You don’t have to be on all the time in here,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His gaze sharpens. “In here?” he repeats.
“In the house.”
A quiet stretch of air fills the space between you.
“I’m on less,” he says finally. Less. Not off.
You nod slowly. He gathers the folder then, sliding it closed with precise fingers. The briefing is technically over.
“One more thing,” he says.
You brace instinctively. He noticed.
“You’ll text me before changing locations,” he continues. “Even if it’s spontaneous.”
You sigh dramatically. “You’re already with me most of the time.”
“Yes.”
“So why would I need to text you?”
His eyes hold yours, steady. “Because I’d rather hear it from you than adjust mid-movement.”
There’s something about that phrasing. Not command. Preference.
You stand slowly, circling the table, stopping a little closer to him than necessary. Testing something. You don’t fully know what.
“And if I forget?” you ask quietly.
He rises too — not looming, not stepping into you, just matching your movement so the distance stays controlled.
“You won’t,” he says.
“Confident?”
“Yes.”
Your heart is beating faster now for reasons that have very little to do with security protocols.
He studies you for a long second, and in that look there’s something almost warm — restrained, disciplined, but undeniably there.
“You’re not a liability,” he says quietly. “You’re an investment.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not less clinical.”
A faint, barely-there shift in his mouth. “It’s the most honest version.”
You swallow.
The air feels heavier now. Charged in a way that has nothing to do with external threats.
He steps back first. Professional distance restored. “I’ll send you the updated schedule,” he says evenly.
And just like that, the moment folds back into structure. But the softness lingers. And you realise something unsettling.
He might anticipate every possible external risk. But he is not anticipating this. And neither are you.
