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contentconsumer · 2 years

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so cute 🫶

I wanna be yours

gif by emziess!

Synopsis: You can’t figure out why Steve’s always ragging on the guys you like. (Steve wants to be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust. He wants to be your Ford Cortina, he will never rust.)

Word count: 5.1K

Warnings: jealous Steve, cursing, entirely too much detail and one long, sweet kiss

a/n: (we’re going to pretend that Chrissy isn’t with Jason for the purposes of this fic, okay?)

The bell above the door to Family Video is rusted, burnt sienna with streaks of tired ochre and tarnish.

Having suffered through several, sweltering Indiana summers, it’s a wonder that it’s still able to chime at all. The clapper within it should have long since oxidised, coated with sticky humidity and wet heat.

It does, however, and you’re bathed in cool air as you enter the establishment. The sweat beading the back of your neck stills, and you huff a sigh of relief, sneakers hitting hardwood as you head for the counter.

Steve’s fiddling with the Fast Times display when you pass him.

“Do you ever do any work, Harrington?” You tease, slowing to a halt to greet him. The light catches his dreamy head of hair first, the brown in his irises as he looks up. It’s airbrushed gold, and transforms the deep hues into something softer, almost pastel.

“This is work,” Steve returns without missing a beat; he thoroughly enjoys your cat-and-mouse game, almost as much as he does you. “I’m analysing her bod — you know, in case someone asks me why they should rent the movie out. Need to be able to provide said patron with every, small detail — well, these two,” he gestures toward Phoebe Cates’ bikini top, “aren’t exactly small details, but —”

“Disgusting Steve Harrington, seriously?” You interrupt, sending him a look of disdain. But there’s no fire to yours words, eyes twinkling a little as you say them. Soft enough to make this hurt; melt him into a puddle of hopeless goo.

“What?” He shrugs, “It’s boobs.”

“Yeah, babe, boobs,” a voice behind you reiterates, an endearing sort of hoarse, as though sticky honey has glued her vocal chords together. Robin’s voice has always been a little croaky. You think it’s because she laughs very loudly, or perhaps because she sings pop songs off-tune. She also yells at Steve entirely too often. You like this about her; the way she never apologises for her quirks.

“Yeah, yeah,” you concede, turning toward her with a roll of your eyes. “Moving on from boobs —”

“There’s no moving on from boobs,” Steve says then, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

“I hate to agree with Harrington,” Robin adds, fixing you a solemn look, “but…”

And then she trails off, the corners of her mouth twitching, requiring little less than a second before she’s smiling wide, unabashed. You glare. Pointedly. It’s sweet, Steve decides, as though you’re trying to be endearing. He fights the urge to lean in close, swipe his thumb under the pocket of your bottom eyelid.

“Okay, shit, we’re done,” she assures, raising her arms in playful surrender. Steve watches her search your features, the soft gleam in your eye, the bruising hue to your lips. There’s heat in your cheeks, as though someone else has touched them. Rough, calloused, with a pleasure driven carelessness. “Anyway. How was the date?”

“Date?” Steve clears his throat. Something white-hot licks the guilty crevices of his gut. “You went on a date?”

“Not exactly a date,” you correct, waving your hand in the air. But there’s a shyness to the way you say it, your voice lowered several decibels, as though the revelation is a secret kept. Steve’s eyes travel to the pillow of your palm. Someone else’s hands (not his, though he fantasises about it far more often than he’s willing to admit) have creased the skin there.

Steve tries to play it cool. He fails. “Not exactly?” He echoes, and then, he clears his throat again. “What does that even mean?”

“He was just there at the end of my shift,” you say with a shrug. “So we shared a milkshake. No big deal.”

“Yeah, after he spent the last two weeks using his little sister as an excuse to see you,” Robin adds impatiently, raising her eyebrows at you.

She hasn’t known you and Steve long enough to understand why you’re playing this down; she’s doing the opposite of diffusing the tension, and you find yourself wondering whether strangling her would shut her up. Perhaps using the superglue Keith keeps behind the desk, the industrial kind he swears he only uses on the tapes — not to fix the broken awning, the other parts of the store that are in disrepair.

“Who?” Steve asks with a frown.

“That dude that goes to Indiana State,” Robin says, brow furrowing some as she takes in his features. Her eyes fall to the iron-clad grip he has on the Fast Times’ cut out; his knuckles are blanching, and she can see the makings of a ruck within the cardboard. “Uh, Jason, I think? He was on the basketball team when he was at Hawkins’,” she adds helpfully, taking a step forward to snatch it from his grasp. “Dude, you’re fucking with the display. Relax.”

“Jason?” Steve echoes with a scoff, abandoning all attempts at cool disinterest. The fingers that had puckered cardboard Phoebe Cates’ fly to the back of his neck, freshly hand-mussed tips of hair kissing the skin there. “Seriously?”

You try not to grimace.

This is how it always goes when you’re caught up in someone new; Steve rags on them like it’s his full-time job, like you don’t deserve to play the field like he does. His behaviour used to be a source of significant bemusement, once upon a time, and you even remember questioning him about it back then.

You’d interrupted his rant about Willie Olsen the “selfish douchebag”, who “once brought a babe — and I’m talking, seriously out of his league, here, I mean — have you seen the dudes nose? It’s all messed up, and way too big for his face, and — alright, anyway, he brought this chic to Scoops!Ahoy, right? Didn’t even pay for her ice cream. Stood there while she fished around for quarters in her little purse… I mean, seriously? No way you’re going out with this guy. He’s a total dickwad —” with a drawn out sigh. The introspective kind, solemn eyes meeting his gaze with something akin to tiredness.

“Why,” you’d started, knitting your brow slightly, “do you always do this?”

And Steve had brushed his knuckles over your cheek, smooth charm that left hot static in it’s wake, saying, with entirely too much ease, “Doing what?” Saying, “I’m just being a good friend and warning you about him.” Saying, “Trust me. I’m a guy. You’re wasting your time with him.”

But what if you wanted to waste your time? What if you wanted someone with slippery intentions, wanted to tuck screaming and crying and textbook heartbreak into your repertoire?

“You didn’t hear me ragging on Nance when the two of you first started dating,” you’d grumbled then, fixing him with a look for fierce resolution.

And when he’d winced, the wound still fresh, you’d almost felt sorry for him. Almost, until you’d remembered the way he was acting; the fact that he’d been on a million dates, stolen several more kisses, and done stupid things with many, many, stupid girls.

Barring you.

“Yeah, well,” he’d answered, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, “kind of wish you had, to be honest.”

And though you’d ended it at that, the conversation had set spark to something small — a tiny, barely there inkling that grew, and grew, and grew. Hope. Because perhaps Steve’s overprotectiveness stemmed from a deeper emotion, one that was far more unforgiving. Perhaps it was gnawing jealousy calling the shots; perhaps he didn’t like the idea of you and Willie because he was intent on the idea of you and him.

Except that, no, that couldn’t be it. Not when Steve was taking someone new to Skull Rock every other night; bragging about his many conquests, meeting you with lipstick stains on his collar, smelling of pink bubblegum, lavender and fainter musk.

So you’d given up. On trying to figure out his intentions; on attempting to decode the male psyche as a whole. He was acting this way because he was selfish, that’s all, and maybe even a little bit stubborn. He didn’t like you, nor was he in any way jealous — you couldn’t afford to think like that, entertain the idea of letting him in.

Pining for your best friend is a funny thing.

And Robin, sweet, unassuming (—infuriating, frustrating—), Robin, doesn’t quite understand it, just yet.

“Why do you care, Harrington?” She asks archly, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you take Stacy to that party at Bob’s last week?”

“Besides the point,” Steve dismisses. He takes a step toward you, placing his hands on either shoulder. It’s a firm, heart-squeezing pressure, juxtaposing the soft abandon in his eyes, the barely-there crease in his brow. “He sucks. We’ve been through this.”

“Steve,” you groan, though you make no move to shake him off. You fold you arms across your chest, elbow knocking the sliver of skin beneath his polo. It’s a tendril of electric touch, but it’s enough for the temperature in the room to rise several degrees. “You need to stop meddling.”

“I’m not meddling,” he argues, to which Robin says, “Uh, yeah you are.”

Steve fixes her with a pointed glare, his hold on your shoulders loosening some. He doesn’t quite slide his hands down the length of arms, but he’s close enough for the static to raise goosebumps. His touch feels like feather-light fire, and he halts at your wrists, giving them a fleeting squeeze each. You let out a tired breath. It comes out quick and terse, as though you didn’t know that you were holding it in.

“It’s nothing,” you insist, prompting Steve to look back toward you. “Just a shake. Don’t think he’s my type, anyway.”

The reassurance acts to subdue him, if only marginally, the wringing ache in his chest growing weaker, settling. “Good,” he decides, nodding his approval. “You deserve better.”

Better than Jason, better than Willie, better than a mundane, small-town existence in middle-of-nowhere, Hawkins Indiana. Better than perfectly preened hedges and the purlieus of dead end suburbia; better than a family of four, an absent husband, an American dream that doesn’t exist anymore.

Better than him.

—

Steve’s sorting through a box of returned tapes when Robin brings up the date (not date, almost date) again.

“So,” she starts, knocking a brown edge with her hip. “What do you have against this Jason kid?”

Steve fights the urge to scowl. There’s a knowing lilt to her tone, as though it’s a rhetorical question, and he knowing placating Robin is the only way he’ll be able to avoid it. “Nothing,” he answers mildly, watching her swipe a tape from the pile.

“Pretty in Pink,” she reads intently, smiling with teeth. “Ironic.”

Steve knows he shouldn’t ask. And yet, “Why?”

“Oh, you know,” Robin answers easily, turning it around to read the synopsis. “Boy has unrequited crush on girl. Boy gets angry when girl likes someone else —”

“I’m not Duckie,” Steve interrupts, scowling. “Come on. I’m Blane. I’m the blueprint of Blane.”

“King Steve is Blane,” Robin corrects. “Or, was Blane, and is now working at Family Video and babysitting a bunch of dipshits and is probably, definitely, Duckie.”

“The fact that you even know the plot of Pretty in Pink,” Robin adds thoughtfully. “Further proves that you’re Duckie.”

Steve grinds his teeth together. “Nance made me watch it,” he mutters resolutely, snatching the tape from her grasp. “I get the number of like, every second chic that walks into the store. I’m Blane.”

“Blane gets the girl,” Robin says then, unperturbed by his pained expression. She thoroughly enjoys riling him up, especially when said riling brings forth secret revelations. You know — like hopelessly smitten Steve’s big, fat crush. He’s pathetic over you. Robin can’t believe it’s taken her so long to clock it.

“You won’t,” she adds, punching a forefinger into his chest. It’s pressure enough to bruise, as if his poor heart hasn’t already been manhandled enough. As if the strings that hold it together don’t already strum a symphony every time you’re near. Steve’s long since given up on deciphering his emotions. All he knows is this — where there’s a beginning, there’s you. Where there’s an end, there’s you. And every detail in between; every thought, every feeling, every time he closes his eyes and every time he allows them to open, there’s you. “Not the way you’re going.”

Steve feels panic drum through his veins. “Get the girl?” He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “What are you talking about?”

“Jason? Seriously?” She mimics, her voice dropping several octaves as she pinches the column of her throat. “You deserve better. Also, my hands are like really, really, sweaty and I’m acting really, really, stupid because I like you.”

She turns then, twirling her hair and sighing dramatically, voice higher like she’s pretending to be you. “Oh Steve,” she says then, practically swooning, “I had absolutely no idea, because you’re a complete and total douchebag and have never even hinted at the fact that you’re crushing on me —”

“I’m not crushing on her,” Steve lies, through his fucking teeth. “I’m just being a good friend, alright? Making sure guys don’t fuck with her.”

“What?” Robin accuses, cocking her head to one side. She looks infuriatingly smug. Steve wants to strangle her. “The same way you fucked with girls when you were in high-school?”

Steve winces, having the common sense to appear a little sheepish. “Not what I meant.”

“No,” Robin agrees. “Not what you meant, but exactly what you were thinking, huh?”

“I’m not crushing on her,” Steve repeats.

“My bad. You’re right. This is way too far gone to be just a little crush —”

“Okay, enough,” He interrupts with a scowl, muttering a fair few expletives under his breath before continuing. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Robin asks pointedly, and the light catches her eyes then, speckling deep blue with fire and mischief. “Because shitting on all the dudes she likes isn’t doing anything but pushing her away.”

Steve scoffs, shaking his head dismissively. “I’m not about to take girl advice from a girl who likes boobs. That’s dumb. It has to like, cancel out or some shit. PEMDAS.”

Robin rolls her eyes, deciding against rising to the bait. “Dude,” she sighs, plucking another tape from the heaping pile. Risky Business, this time, with a protagonist that Steve worships, a title that reads exactly as his love life does. “Use your brain.”

She pauses then, rapping her knuckles against the side of his head for good measure. “There’s one in there, right?”

“Robin,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, sending her a warning glance. “Your point?”

“Relax, Harrington, think about it,” she answers easily, retrieving her hand. “You didn’t even know about her date.”

Steve expression falters, brow furrowing a little. “So?”

“So,” Robin presses, waving the tape in the air, “I did. Got all the deets the other day. The same ones she’s been hiding from you.”

“Hiding from me,” Steve repeats, painstakingly slow, and it’s as though you can see the cogs turning in his brain. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Robin agrees sagely.

Steve turns to her then, folding his arms across his chest. “How many have there been?”

“Dates?” Robin questions, to which he nods curtly, “Oh, shit, I don’t know. There was that Tommy dude that took her to the arcade last week, and Dave, too, think he asked her out when she was working? Oh, and Walter that works down at the dock gave her his number, but I don’t think that one went anywhere…”

Steve feels the first name like a knife to his chest, plunging deeper with the second, twisting back with the third. There’s a sticky sense of jealousy that coats the base of his stomach; it’s cruel and cloying, ugly enough to ache. Long, drawn out pangs of envy, as though someone is wringing out his heart until it shrivels.

“…anyway, none of them have turned into anything serious,” Robin finishes, seemingly unaware of the carnage she’s left behind. Steve is spiralling. He’s thinking about Tommy’s thumb brushing a crescent moon on your cheek, his palm caressing your jaw, his lips pressing conviction into yours. He’s thinking about arcade lights, how romantic you look in technicolor, the way your eyes shine bright and your full lips pucker. He’s thinking about Dave winning the fucking lottery, receiving the luxury of a few, uninterrupted moments in your presence. He’s thinking about stupid Walter who works at the docks, good-for-nothing, and yet, possessing a tendril more bravery than he does.

And he’s thinking about Jason fucking Carver, his stupid letterman wrapping you up tight. Your bergamot perfume, faint lavender and notes of petrichor, imprinting the cotton it’s made of. He’s thinking about the two of your sharing a straw, of the strawberry shake on your lips, the way it dampens the sheen of your lipgloss. He’s thinking about Jason pulling you close, his hands on your soft skin, chaste kisses on softer lips. The base of Steve’s throat is inflamed, angry, and he’s thinking about Jason getting to call you his, Jason asking you to settle down, Jason giving you his last name and you giving him six little nuggets.

Not Steve.

He didn’t get there in time; didn’t quite manage to get his shit together.

The revelation is panic and adrenaline, and Steve findings himself straightening on instinct. “Robin,” he says suddenly, taking the tape from her hand and throwing it back into the box. “I need to go.”

Robin raises her eyebrows, surveying Steve’s features with someone akin to mild amusement. “Where?”

“You know where.”

“I want to hear you say it, dipshit.”

Steve sends her one, last glare, pointing a stern finger in her direction before turning on his heel. “Lock up when you’re done,” he throws over his shoulder, “I’ll be the one Keith kills if you forget.”

—

No one’s home when Steve arrives at your door.

His ignition is still rumbling, car wedged right against the curb with the driver’s side door still open. It’s a haphazard park job, definitely not his best, and the noisy whir of his engine is commotion enough to cause a din.

The kind that’s sure to alert your next-door neighbour to his arrival; the grinning, fresh-faced leech that loves to annoy him.

“Steve!” Dustin calls loudly, rolling his bike toward him. His helmet sits precariously on a full head of curls, carefully decorated with DnD stickers, Hellfire Club stuff that Steve doesn’t concern himself with. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for your neighbour, actually,” Steve returns, sending him a nod before heading back down your porch steps. He makes for his car, raising his eyebrows as Dustin’s route changes to follow him. “What are you doing?”

Dustin waits until he’s at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning his bike against the passengers side door. “I know where she is.”

Steve stares at him expectantly, gesturing for him to continue. “Where?”

“Somewhere,” Dustin supplies unhelpfully, “Out.”

“I can tell you,” he adds then, flashing Steve that infuriatingly toothy smile. “After you’ve dropped me off at the skate park.”

Steve sighs. Dustin’s grin widens.

“Fucking fine,” he mutters, opening the backseat and throwing Dustin’s bike in. It lands on top of an old cardigan of yours, one you’d left behind the last time you’d been in his car.

“Dude, don’t manhandle the Hendo machine,” Dustin admonishes, peering over Steve’s shoulder with a frown. He catches a glimpse of soft coral, peony hues, that one, ketchup stain that’s fading near the neckline.

“That’s not yours,” he notes.

“Very perceptive Sherlock Holmes, thank you,” Steve returns.

“Perceptive?” Dustin echoes, cocking his head to one side. “Big word for your vocabulary. You been studying up for something?”

“Someone?” He adds pointedly, gaze darting back to the pink cardigan.

“You’re on thin ice, Henderson,” Steve warns, decidedly ignoring his question. He rounds the back of the car tersely, wasting no time opening the driver’s side door and buckling in.

“Been on thin ice for months,” Dustin shrugs, quick to follow suit. “Happy staying here a few more.”

The drive to the skate park isn’t very long, but that doesn’t stop Dustin fiddling with the car radio incessantly. “To find the perfect tune for the occasion,” he insists when questioned, tongue pressed between his teeth as he skips through static, the news, catchy, bubblegum pop that makes Steve’s head hurt.

When he finally settles on a station, it’s to the chords of a song Steve knows entirely too well. The last time he heard it, he was parked up at Skull Rock; you had discarded of your cardigan, turned the volume dial right up.

“Oooooh, love,” you’d sang, loudly, unabashedly, voice sweetened with bubbles of soft laughter, “oooooh lover boy, what’cha doin tonight, hey boy?”

Your shoulders had knocked then, skin-on-skin like dizzying static, and you’d leaned right over the centre console, fading sunbeams softening your irises. And Steve remembers thinking, fuck if any of this makes sense, but you look so out-of-reach, almost iridescent. A live wire.

“Set my alarm,” you’d breathed out with a soft laugh, allowing your lashes to flutter shut, features twisted in mock concentration. And your hand had fallen to his shoulder, barely-there pressure that took the oxygen from his lungs, and he’d inched closer on instinct, eyes darting to your full lips, the way they moved as you sang. It was mesmerising. He wanted to feel them against his, touch you everywhere, and then, do it again. And again. Over and over, enough times to commit all of you to memory.

He’d sang, “turn on my charm,” eyes gleaming danger as he placed his hand on the dashboard. The movement corralled you in, but you felt safer here, somehow, the air a concoction of bergamot and cologne, of anticipation, unrequited love.

And then, the moment had passed. He wasn’t going to let it do so, this time around.

“Okay,” Steve says impatiently, slowing to a stop near the side of the skate park. He can see a few of the other kids in the distance, a flash of fiery auburn, a hard-to-miss bowl cut that he wishes Will would grow out. “We’re here. Spit it out.”

“Grocery store,” Dustin supplies, reaching back to grab his bike. A wheel knocks Steve’s headrest as he pulls it into the front seat, a resounding sort of thump that is oddly reminiscent of Robin’s knuckles. “Went to grab some milk.”

“Seriously?” Steve scowls, rubbing the back of his head. “Milk? So I could’ve just waited for her?”

“I guess,” Dustin nods thoughtfully, pushing open the door.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose frustratedly, shaking his head in defeat. “You owe me,” he says, though there’s no way he means it.

Dustin knows this. He smiles with teeth. “Sure.”

And then, “I’ll be done in an hour!”

“Why the fuck are you telling me?”

“Who do you think’s gonna pick me up, genius?”

—

Steve’s hold on your cardigan is soft, gentle. It’s the first thing you notice when you open the door to him, the way his feather-light touch juxtaposes the Demogorgon-related scars on his hands, the rough callouses that surround them.

“Steve,” you greet, a hint of surprise in your voice. “What’s up?”

Steve flounders. “Uh,” he says, pressing the pink fabric into your chest, “this is yours.”

“You came to my house to give me my cardigan back?” You question bemusedly, covering your hand with his. The skin of your palm is smooth, unblemished, and Steve feels an overwhelming urge to keep it that way. No fighting creatures from the Upside Down. He’ll wield a million, spiky baseball bats if it meant keeping you out of harms way.

“Yes,” Steve falters, rocking back on his heels. Your nimble fingers slip under his, retrieving the cardigan from his grasp.

“Uh, okay?” You say then, gazing at him intently. “I’ll see you later?”

And you’re about to turn around when Steve stops you, one hand clasping your wrist, the other one the door hinge. “No,” he insists, “what are you doing tonight?”

“Oh, um,” he’s taking up all of your personal space, the inches between you amounting to a single breath of oxygen. “Nothing. Is Robin free?”

“No, I mean,” Steve winces then, his brow furrowing slightly. This close, you can count every freckle smattering his nose, and there’s a pert dimple near the corner of his mouth — has that always been there? “Just us.”

You furrow your brow. “Why?”

“Because,” Steve answers, gesticulating awkwardly. This close, his Family Video vest brushes your skin; he’s wearing a polo underneath it, and his biceps ripple as he moves his arm about. You find yourself fixating on how strong he looks, how easily he could pick you up. If he wanted to. You want him to. “I don’t know. We were friends first, weren’t we?”

“Oh,” you say with a nod, chewing your bottom lip absently. “Hanging out as friends.”

“No — shit, I —” Steve stutters, resisting the urge to grimace. This close, he can trace the outline of your full lips. Your shoulders are bare, save the spaghetti strap of your tank top, and when you swallow, the column of your throat bobs up and down a little. Goosebumps grace the space beneath your earlobe. Steve wonders how many more he could raise with sloven kisses, with teeth grazing, with hot lips and roaming hands and unwavering conviction.

“— not what I meant,” he finishes with a sigh, combing his fingers through his hair. And then, feeling brave, he adds, “Why didn’t you tell me about Jason?”

You frown. “Because I didn’t want you to rag on him.”

“I only do that because I don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve insists. “I’m just trying to look out for you —”

“Well,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest. “Jason was perfectly nice this afternoon.”

“Maybe,” Steve agrees reluctantly, “But — but he’s a jock. Total waste of time, not the kind of guy you wanna settle down with —”

You let out an exasperated scoff, throwing your arms in the air. “Who says I’m looking to settle down?”

“No, shit, not what I meant,” Steve flounders, pressing his hands into your forearms placatingly. “What I’m trying to say is, you could do better. Way better.”

You try to ignore the firm pressure he places, how safe it makes you feel, taken care of. And just when you’re sure you have it down, he lets his hands drop to yours, fingers brushing skin like hot waves of electricity. You feel them in your cheeks, fleeting tendrils that bloom bright, and then, uncomfortably warm.

“Better?” You hedge, brow furrowing. “Who?”

“A movie star,” Steve offers, “Tom Cruise.”

You roll your eyes then, allowing your arms to unfold. The base of your knuckles hit his chest as you do so, right where his heart sits, squeezing it’s way into his throat. “You need to stop.”

Steve frowns. “Stop what?”

“This,” you sigh, “This thing you do with the guys I like. Obviously I’m not looking to settle down right now, but I will — eventually, you know? I need to figure out what my type is if that’s gonna happen. And your lack of support is putting a serious downer on me doing so.”

That’s exactly what Steve’s afraid of.

He’s fucking terrified that you’ll figure out that your type isn’t him; that you’ll find someone better, and he’ll spend the rest of his days drowning in unrequited love.

“I want to be supportive,” Steve says softly, “I just — it’s hard, alright? It’s hard seeing you with guys that don’t deserve you.”

“Guys like Jason fucking Carver,” he adds bitterly, his mind a mess of jealousy, hopelessness, longing. “Who don’t know shit about making you laugh, couldn’t name your favourite movie, that one Queen song you always sing off-tune. Like, does Jason know that you can only stomach chicken soup when you’re on your period? Or the fact that you’re allergic to one of the ingredients in Airheads — imagine if he got you some for movie night. Imagine if he didn’t buy you sour patch kids, the extra sour kind that no one but you likes, which seriously, something has to be wrong with your tastebuds, because —”

When you cut him off with a kiss, Steve feels as though he’s been struck by lightning. He stumbles backward at first, not due to the force of the movement, but of the nerve-endings you light aflame, a heat that sears through his insides. His hands find purchase on your hips, and he pulls you close, closer still, you’re not close enough, he wants to feel you fucking melt into his skin. And the pressure of your lips on his — soft at first, firmer with encouragement, it’s dizzying, all-consuming, like he’s a drug addict getting a hit.

His large hands trail fire up your arms, your shoulders, your neck, finding home in the space where it hinges, your soft jaw. He cradles your face as though you’re delicate China, his barely-there touch making up for scraping kisses. Hard on your lips, wet as he finds your cheeks, careless and open-mouthed down your neck, the osculate of your collarbones.

When he halts, it’s to catch his breath. He realises he’s getting carried away. He isn’t sure he cares.

“You kissed me,” he murmurs, into your skin, like a prayer.

“I needed to shut you up,” you say then, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him up to eye level.

Steve grins, bad decisions dilating his pupils. “Should shut me up like that more often.”

“Should profess your undying love for me more often,” you tease.

“Is that what I was doing?” Steve questions with a frown, brow furrowing in mock concentration, “Because I swear I was just telling you all the reasons Jason’s bad for you —”

“Insufferable, Steve Harrington, honestly,” you interrupt, shaking your head bemusedly. “You’re lucky I know how to read between the lines.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, swiping his thumb over the contour of your cheek. “What did you find?”

“That,” you say pointedly, feeling his touch like blooming warmth, heart-squeezing love. “The real reason my stupid best friend Steve Harrington doesn’t like me with other guys is because he thinks I should be with him.”

“Right,” Steve says, nodding sagely. “And what would you say in response?”

“That he should probably tell me how he feels,” you return, smile cotton-candy soft.

“Got it,” Steve answers, clearing his throat pointedly. “So. Okay. Here’s the thing. The real reason I rag on all the guys you like is probably definitely super selfish, but that’s only because I’m seriously pathetic over you — no, you don’t get it, lame enough that I’ll rag on myself if we do end up together. Because, okay, you definitely deserve better, and you’re crazy out of my league and that’s why my jealousy ends up taking over, and — can you tell I’m talking too much now? I kind of want you to shut me up like you did before —”

“Steve,” you say, giggling something sweet. “Stop.”

“What I’m trying to say,” he continues with a grin, “is that I’m in love. With you. Always have been, always will be. You know?”

—

tags: @drewbooooo @goddamnbabysitter @milkiane

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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this is amazing omg i’m in awe 🫶🫶🫶

from the thing i reblogged from @contentconsumer that i sadly lost, here's a blurb about our dear boy eddie ft. books, theft, rock hard socks and domesticity

"hey watcha reading?"

you drop your book to your chest and look up to see eddie, coming back after another dnd campaign. he looks exhausted, and you wonder what he might have done to look so worn out after a campaign.

eddie stands in front of you by the end of the bed, throwing his leather jacket and vest aside, followed by the removal of his hellfire shirt thrown to the floor with the rest of his clothes. his tattoos greet you — brazen and hot.

"hey hey no!" you scold him, pointing at him. "pick those up. i just cleaned your room."

"but—"

"you don't know how many pretzel crumbs i saw all over this floor, eddie. and i swear i saw a pair of socks harder than a rock that started to smell and i had to throw it away," he laughs at you. "pick that up or i'm leaving."

"alright, ma'am," he bends over to pick his shirt up, horribly folding it and tossing it over to the table in front of his mirror. "now what are you reading?"

"i found this book beneath your bed," you tell him. eddie crawls over to you until he's hovering right above you. a finger pushes the book down until his face evades your eyesight; tired, but overwhelmingly pretty. without permission does he plant a soft kiss on your lips, but you don't mind.

"really? didn't know i had a book under there."

"figured. it's in really horrible condition," you laugh at him. he pecks your cheek, then your nose twice before kissing the creases on your forehead away. "jus' wanna know when you got this because this is lord of the rings, babe."

eddie leans inward and takes a glance of the worn out book with fold creases on every page, hardback almost torn apart by wandering rats. "oh, i got that back in middle school. i stole it."

"you stole it?"

"mhm, from the library," he moves back and slots himself between your legs, chin resting on your navel as his arms hug your legs on either side of his body. "i had a buzzcut back then though. and they've been looking for Mr. Belchin for years. they never found out who it truly was."

"ever the rebel," you run a hand through his hair, twirling a strand on your finger — one bearing the ring eddie gave to you a year ago as a token of promise. only removed during showers.

you start reading again, a hand on the book and a hand on his hair, only ever leaving it to flip the page. eddie's chin remains on your navel, except your shirt is tucked beneath your breasts and with your stomach exposed to him, he's drawing lethargic circles over your skin.

i- l-o-v-e- y-o-u

then he turns to rest his head on your right thigh, kissing the left absentmindedly almost as an act of reverence than risqué. eddie's quietly humming a song that's not metal — probably the one he's always heard in the radio when you both use your car than his van.

with his hands still massaging your thigh, he scoots upward to rest his head on your stomach so he's closer to you. his rings press coldly against your supple skin, but enjoy the feeling of silver on your thighs that eddie loves so much.

but when you stop touching his hair is when eddie's head pokes beneath the book, looking up at you with needy eyes that are wide like a begging puppy. you tilt your book to the side, raise a brow at him with a small grin. "yes?"

"why'd you stop?" he murmurs. eddie's on the verge of sleep, eyes drooping from tiredness. "keep going."

"alright, baby, i'm sorry," you bend forward to kiss his forehead, hand coming back to run your fingers down his hair. with all your dexterity do you untangle the knots in his unkempt curls, tugging ever so slightly but doesn't phase him a bit as it lulls him into a deep slumber.

the bare skin of his upper body is warm against yours, tattooed against the clear. eddie's deep breathing, the soft swish of the pages turning, and the faint sounds of noise from the outside calms you ever than before.

and with the presence of your lover beneath you, you find yourself falling asleep too, in a compromising position.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated! <3

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #minx’s fic recs

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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meant to be working on my wip but instead drinking mimosas

#minx talks #minx answers #that’s life baby

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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me 🤝 sitting in front of a google doc with no thoughts

#brain empty #minx talks #minx writes

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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i may of bought the steve and robin family video funkos

#no regrets #minx talks #minx answers #i couldn’t get eddie

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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haven’t finished at we are on 3k words, we’ve got a sleepover but reader is scared of thunder so i guess they’re gonna have to share a bed 😩😩😩

working on the third part to a second chance 🫶🫶

#minx answers #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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working on the third part to a second chance 🫶🫶

#minx talks #minx writes

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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Lovesick

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.6k] prompt: "I've never seen anyone look so cute and ridiculous at the same time." Sick Steve, soft summer mornings and the promise of soup.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so cute and so ridiculous at the same time.”

Your words made Steve jump, the bed squeaking as he turned to face you with a delighted smile on his face. The tip of his nose was a little red, his cheeks flushed and his eyes looked tired, a little duller than normal but something in them sparked at the sight of you.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, voice rough and scratchy, “missed you.”

You pouted at his sore throat, flushed at his words and you moved into the room, setting down your things on his desk before opening one of the windows a little for some much needed fresh air. Steve had been stuck in his bed for the best part of three days now, struck down with the flu despite protesting that he was fine.

It had taken him pushing himself into your side for a whole afternoon behind the counter of Family Video, shivers wracking his body as he tried to find warmth despite the Indiana summer outside, before he finally admitted defeat and went home early.

“I brought you some soup,” you told him in a gentle voice so you didn’t hurt his already sore head, “and some fresh orange juice, some snacks and more medicine.”

Steve hummed contentedly, and you were sure you heard him murmur ‘angel’ before rolling out of his sheets so he could stretch an arm out to you, making animated grabbing motions with his hands. You huffed out a laugh, toeing your shoes off as you crossed the room, eyes on his bare chest and the ridiculous knitted beanie he’d jammed on top of his head. It was navy blue with snowflakes, a green pom pom on top that looked like it had been attacked by Dustin’s cat.

“This is a new look, Harrington.” You perched yourself on the edge of his bed, one leg tucked underneath you as you smoothed your hand up and down the boy’s arm, shaking your head as he groaned happily.

“I was really cold, but like,” Steve paused, eyes closing slightly at the comfort he found in your touch, “also absolutely fucking boiling.” He gestured to his bare chest and cotton shorts, lips downturned at his predicament.

“Baby, it’s eighty five outside,” you told him, voice laced with humour but your eyes were crinkling with concern. You took your hand to his forehead, pushing his hair and the hat out of your way to press your palm to it.

“Tell that to my feet,” he grumbled, sock clad toes appearing from underneath the comforter to poke at your thigh.

You pouted for him, knowing that he was fed up of feeling unwell, sick of being alone and stuck inside. The summer outside still blazed on, Hawkins pool busier than ever and each new day brought brighter blue skies and missed opportunities for you to take a drive with your boyfriend, heading out of town and into trouble.

“How’re you feeling today?” You murmured, sliding off his ridiculous winter hat so you could take your hands through his hair. It was soft, mussed from sleep and his choice in fashion, freshly washed and in a rare display, free from product.

He groaned before answering, your nails scraping lightly over his scalp and you couldn’t help but smile at how his eyes softened, his lips parted for you.

“Bit better than yesterday,” he mumbled, “still tired. Missed you,” he told you again, moving his head from his pillow to your lap, pushing at you a little until your fingers delved a little deeper, tugging lightly at the ends of his hair.

He was practically purring.

“I missed you too, pretty boy,” you whispered and it was true.

It had only been two days, yesterday being taken up by overtime at work, babysitting duties and an argument with your parents that you couldn’t walk away from, but it was barely ten in the morning when you’d pushed yourself out of bed and walked over to the Harrington residence, bag of goods in hand.

No need to ring the doorbell, or deal with the stilted, awkward conversation when Steve’s parents opened the door. The house lay empty, apart from the boy, and you’d used the spare key Steve had given you a few months into dating, a gesture that had had tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“You heard from your folks?” The question was gentle, not pushy and you watched as Steve shrugged half heartedly from where he lay on you.

“Nah, not since last week,” Steve mumbled, trying hard to sound like he didn’t care. “Mom said something ‘bout a conference in Utah, Dad said nothin’. Think they’ll be back by Thursday.”

You knew not to push it, to ask anymore questions when it came to Steve’s parents so you hummed non-committedly, pushing him gently off your lap and earning a grumble from him.

But he soon understood as you pushed him back into his tangle of sheets, climbing in beside him and letting him settle over you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands pushing your shirt up to rub him thumbs over your skin. He pressed his face to your chest, cheek smushed against you and he hummed when your hand found his hair again.

“M’gonna get you sick,” he mumbled forlornly but Steve made no move to get off of you.

You tutted, making soothing noises as you stroked your fingers over his hair, his brow, the bridge of his nose. You watched his eyes flutter with it, his chest catch and release the breath that was stuttering in his chest.

“Someone’s gotta look after you,” you murmured to him, voice soft with affection, “we can have a movie day, huh?”

You felt the boy's arms tighten around you, the press of his nose into your sternum as he dropped a kiss over your heart and he nodded.

“Don’t deserve you,” Steve said, voice fuzzy from tiredness and the way he was still pressing himself into you, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if two days without you was far too long. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, your chin brushing aggressively against the top of his hair and if he’d looked up at you, Steve would’ve seen the way his words made your lips pull down, sad and frustrated that he still thought that sometimes.

“Don’t make me beat you up whilst you’re sick, Harrington,” you grumbled, your threat empty and without any heat.

But it pulled a smile from him and he let out an amused sound, twisting in the bed so he rolled onto his back, taking you with him and pulling you to his side.

He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressing the bridge of his nose into the space underneath it, his lips dropping a kiss to the corner of your jaw.

“I could still take you, gorgeous,” he told you grinning when you snorted. “You wanna have a roll around, and I’ll prove it to you?” Steve nipped at your earlobe, earning a squeal before you shoved him away, back into his nest of pillows.

“Nice try, hot shot,” you laughed, lips twisted as you tried to hide your smile, “you’re sick, you need to rest.”

“We’ll agree to disagree,” Steve mused and you pushed yourself up, sitting on your knees as you looked down at him.

You smiled, happy to see how his brown eyes were a little brighter than before, warmer and more awake as he gazed up at you from where he was sprawled out. His skin had more colour, a flush across his cheeks that looked healthier than the feverish pink he’d had before.

“How about some soup?” You asked, looking at his digital clock on his nightstand, “It's almost lunch. We could eat out by the pool, dip our feet in and get you some fresh air?”

Steve’s hand found yours in the sheets, fingers twisting between yours so he could lift it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm.

“That sounds real nice,” he agreed, eyes shifting to the bag you’d placed on the desk when you arrived and he suddenly felt starving. “What kinda soup?”

You smiled, shifting off the bed so you could gather your treats, heading for the bedroom door. You watched over your shoulder as the boy tumbled out of bed, hair sleep mussed and on end from your eager hands, a little more bounce in him than before.

“Your favourite,” you told him and his eyes settled on the faint outline of the container label that he could see through the bag. The Little Bakery, it read, and beside it, he saw a box of cookies and cannolis. “Plus some other things to make you feel better.”

He moaned a happy sound, his hand on the small of your back as you headed to the kitchen. You couldn’t see him as you walked down the stairs but the press of his palm on your skin was warm and comforting, and as you reached the bottom step, he took the bag from your arms, saving you from carrying it anymore.

Steve bent as he did, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, grazing the corner of your lips.

“Love you,” he mumbled into your skin, before padding barefoot into the kitchen, naked bare, shorts slung low and you watched as he started pulling out pots and glasses for juice, the summer light slanting in from the window and painting him in gold and tiny rainbows.

If you didn’t care about getting sick before, you certainly didn’t now.

#minx’s fic recs

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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a second chance (ii)

a/n: part 2! sorry it’s not very long but i’m still tryna get the dynamic flowing but overwhelmed steve and comedic dialogue have my heart.

word count: 2.6k(ish)

requested?: no but requests are open and my prompt list can be found here

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

warnings?: nosebleed? jason?

read part one here

The day had finally arrived. Jason, alongside his jock friends, entered during the middle of your shift meaning you didn’t waste any time in calling Steve at Family Video to come visit, to ‘keep an eye on them.’ you said.

As Steve walked across the retail park to the diner you worked at, his mind moved 1000mph. He had spent the past week trying out different apologies to Robin, each ending with an elaborate way to ask you out but they all got the same response from his best friend, “Ew no. You can’t say that she’ll probably hate you more creep.” Therefore, even as he speedwalked over, he still had nothing, no flirty pick up line, no useful complement, nothing. It was like his mind went blank when it came to you. He snapped out of his thoughts as the sound of the bell on the door rang and you were alerted of his presence. He found himself with his jaw slack, previously when he visited you were sporting your own clothes on top of your uniform but now seeing you in a slightly baggy black polo, a apron hung lazily off your hips and jeans that were just tight enough that his mind yet again pulled a blank. “Hey Harrington” You nod a small smirk shooting towards the flustered boy, before he had time to respond you nodded towards a seat that was close to the bar.

He pulled it out and sat down still watching you, “You gonna uh say anything?” You question, “Yeah,” He sighs, “All good?” Worry begins to lace his features as he glances around the shop floor, eyes settling on the Hawkins Tigers who were staring straight back at the pair of you. You nod, “Just stay here alright?” You move from where you were previously standing and begin to wander around, taking orders and chatting to regulars, Steve can’t help but admire you, as he twists the straw around his now empty milkshake. Steve is pulled out of his trance when a girl, Sandra, he remembers going to school with - she was in his history class, pulls out the chair next to him. “Hey Steve, long time no see! How are you?” Steve realises he hasn’t answered once Sandra furrows her eyebrows, “Oh! Yeah good, and yourself?”

5 minutes, he swears he took his eyes off of you for 5 minutes and now you’ve disappeared. He abruptly and probably rudely ended his conversion with Sandra, cursing at himself for getting caught up in his previous conversation. He pushes the doors to the back of the shop leaning all his weight against it, his eyes search wildly for you but his breath dies in his throat at the scene before him - Jason had you cornered, a clear sneer on his face as he attempted to say things he presumed would get under your skin. Steve begins to walk towards the pair of you but before he can open his mouth, you answer “Now I always thought you were stupid, but this?” You gestures between the pair of you, “Is just fucking ridicoulus, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re gonna get out of me but I am not 1. telling you where Eddie is or 2. telling you why Chrissy was with him?” Jason takes a step closer, you don’t back away, Steve feels overwhelmed but also steps closer, “Look,” Jason seeths, “I don’t know what is going on between you and Munson but for your own safety I really suggest you put it beside you. And tell me where he is.” A loud scoff escapes your lips, “You don’t know why she was there do you?” Jason’s expression tells you all you need to know, “Oh my god, I’m so glad I don’t get to miss this. You’re little girlfriend, who by the way was struggling with something way bigger than your tiny pea brain to begin to understand. Was.” You poke the basketballer so hard in the chest he winces and falls back a step, “There.” poke, “To.” poke, “Buy” poke, “Drugs.” You smile eerily, scaring Steve as well as Jason, the latter runs his hands through his hair, “No she would neve-” “Oh give it a rest! You don’t know the next thing about her! Hell, Eddie and I only knew her for a few weeks and we still understood her better than you! Now leave me the hell alone, I don’t have time for this,” You firmly place your hands on his shoulder before driving your knee in between his legs, he lets out a shriek of pain before falling to the floor. You smirk and turn, finally facing an awestruck Steve. “See?” You walk past, “I told you I had it.” Steve smiles, “Then why did you want me here?” He follows after you back into the diner. “Because why would I miss out on spending quality time with you.” You tease, dramatically holding the door open for him. “But,” He blushes deeply, “You hate me.” “I never- actually I did say that yeah, did I make it that obvious?” “Honestly,” Steve swings his legs over the stool again, “I had no clue,” He laughs slightly, “Not until Robin reminded me.” “Ah shucks,” You shrug, “I’m that forgettable huh?” “No! No! I didn’t mean it like that!” “Well that’s how it sounded, Harrington.” Something about the way you said his last name made butterflies spread through his stomach.

You two spent the next hour making idle chit chat between you serving customers, a lot of them knew you from visiting everyday but now they speak to you with a bit more of an edge, understanding you were friends with the suspected town killer. They were used to seeing him half sat half laid across a booth chatting away to you, you frown slightly at the memories but understand the situation from an outsider perspective. Instead you decided to throw yourself into a small conversation with Steve, trying not to laugh at his jokes as you had to keep reminding yourself - you hated him. You didn’t realise how much time had passed until the store phone began to ring, you picked it up - customer service greeting at the ready only to be met with Robin’s rambles, “Hey Y/N is that you? Are you okay? Did Jason get you? Did he get Steve? Oh my god I can’t work here without Steve I’ll die of boredom, please tell me Steve is okay? He said he would be back in an hour but now it’s been 2 and he still hasn’t shown up and I-” You smile at the girl's protectiveness, “Robin,” but she doesn’t stop mumbling, “ROBIN!” This makes Steve turn in his place, “He’s fine, he’s here with me. We are both fine.” “Then what have you been doing for the last two hours?” “Talking.” “Talking? I thought you hated him, what do you have to talk about?” “I did hate him, I’m still not particularly fond but he’s not too bad. At least, anymore.” You mumble slightly, embarrassed Steve might overhear your confession, Robin lets out a low whistle, “Not too bad huh? I’ll have to keep an eye on you two.” “Can it. I’m sending your beloved colleague back to you now, so you can stop worrying and STOP calling.” You laugh before placing the phone back on the wall. “Robin then?” Steve calls, pulling your attention back to him, “Yeah,” You smile, “She wants you back, to the store I mean not like-” you panic, “I mean I wasn’t implying but-” “Y/N” Steve raises his eyebrows, “She wants me back to work. I get it.” He turns for the door. As he reaches the handle, he calls back “Please don’t imply anything - you would be wrong.” You shake your head, heart thudding against your chest, wondering why Steve Harrington had made you crumble into a stuttering mess. This wasn’t you. You take a deep breath with a promise to pull yourself together before turning back to the rest of your shift.

The last time Steve saw you was that Saturday, it was now Monday and he can’t help but think about you, but as usual he is distracted by the group of kids who stand in front of him. He sighs, staring at the group of young teens in front of him, “No-” He starts, “There is no way I am driving all you lardasses to some random comic book shop 40 miles away just because you heard it was cooler than the one here.” Steve goes to continue before he is cut off by Dustin, “Please man, it would help us take our minds of the truamatising murders here in Hawkins, and-” “Dustin shut up. You’re not traumatised.” Your voice cuts through the video store, causing the gang to jump in surprise, all apart from Max who had spotted your motorcycle as you were pulling up, “Ew what happened to your face?” The redhead cringes, nose scrunching in disgust at the sight before you. You couldn’t argue - you had looked better. The sight of you with blood pouring from your nose and between your lips made all the teens in front of you panic, they began bombarding you with questions, asking if you’re okay, if Vecna got to you, if Jason got to you. You hush them all with a wave of your hand, before wiping the back of it across your bloodied face, “Thank you Max, I’m good just uh hit my head on the front of my visor going over a speedbump.” You mumble, quite embarrassed, because you’re not even fully sure how your injury came about. “That’s a lot of blood for just hitting your head.” Lucas states, “I have a loose blood vessel in my nose from getting hit in the face by a locker.” You try to explain, gritting your teeth, “In junior year.” It doesn’t take long for Steve’s eyes to widen. His body shudders at the memory of him swinging his locker door open in the midst of a conversation with Nancy, and smacking someone straight in the nose with it. If he was honest, at the time he didn’t even notice who was standing there but you had just made it clear. “Fuck-” The group turns to him. “It was you. Shit I’m sorry about that.” “YOU HIT HER IN THE FACE WITH YOUR LOCKER?” Dustin screeches. “I didn’t mean to- '' Steve tries to interject, “it just happened. It was an accident.” He turns his gaze to you, “I’m sorry Y/N.” A small smile plays on your lips, “Don’t worry about it Harrington, I’ve had worse but could I please get a tissue?” “Of-of course” He stutters slightly, rushing into the break room to grab you some rough tissue. Launching himself back over the counter Steve takes large strides to meet you on the shop floor, you go to take the tissue from him but before your hands meet his he’s already holding the paper towel to your nose, mumbling about tilting your head back.

A small blush spread over your cheeks, missed by most - but not all before you take the tissue out of Steve’s hand and stumble out a ‘I got it thanks.” “So, other than the nosebleed what brings you to Family Video?” Steve questions, still stood uncomfortably close to you, “What? I can’t come see my favourite employee?” You say, making Steve raise his eyebrows until you step pass him and up to Robin at the counter, “You got it?” You start a conversation with your friend, who looks up, meeting your gaze before flicking her eyes to the now red tissue stuffed up your nostril, “Yeah, I got it-but I’m not giving it to you unless you promise not to bleed all over it. Honestly, Keith will murder me if I return a tape with blood all over it.” Robin laughs, “I promise I won’t bleed all over it. Now gimme!” You reach over the counter, causing your feet to lift from the ground. The group of young teens just watch you, as you obviously snatch the tape Robin is trying to hold above your grasp. That is until Dustin decides to speak up, “Hey Y/N?” “Yeah?” You call back, still trying to reach the movie. “Do you like comics?” “Henderson, gimme a-” You grab the tape and let out a small ‘yay’ which makes Steve smile to himself, you turn. “Uh yeah I guess why?” “Because Steve here,” Dustin gestures to the larger boy next to him as if introducing him, “Won’t take us to the new comic book store! How unfair is that? Why don’t you come with us?” “Aw, Steve, why won’t you take your children to the comic book store?” You smile looking between the pair in front of you, “It’s 40 miles away.” Steve deadpans but can’t help but grin when he hears your laugh, “Damn Henderson, you got some nerve-40 miles? Man, shit hell no will I come. But have fun!” “We aren’t going.” Steve furrows his brows, “You see you say that,” You start backing away to the door, “But 20 bucks says you’ll go.” “Alright Y/L/N you’re on.” Steve challenges, you push the door open and stand in the doorway, pulling your motorcycle helmet on and nodding your head to push the sun visor over your eyes, “Later Harrington. I’ll be back on Wednesday to collect my money.” “Not on my watch.” Steve quips but you’re already gone.

“So we gonna talk about that?” Dustin interjects, minutes after you’d left, “Talking about what?” Steve questions breaking his gaze from the door to the boy who stood near him smiling, “You practically throwing yourself at Y/N.” “I did not!” “You kinda did.” Lucas butts in, “Sinclair, shut it.” “I mean he’s not wrong.” Robin’s head pops up from behind the counter, “You too Buckely.” Steve warns, but it’s in vain as Dustin pipes up again, “It was kind of embarrassing.” “I didn’t do anything!” Steve waves, “If you’re gonna try to make a move, you’ve gotta stop being so scared around her.” “Henderson, I do not need your advice on girls, especially ones who hate my guts.” “I would hate your guts too if you gave me nosebleeds.” “Sinclair, I thought I told you to shut it.” “I don’t think she hates you.” Max decides to pipe up, “Oh no, she does, she’s told me. Many times ‘fuck I hate that Steve Harrington kid’” Robin uses air quotes to do her best impression of you, but Max continues, “I mean she probably did but I don’t know if she still does I mean she was blushing when you gave her a paper towel.” “She wasn’t blushing,” Steve tries to redirect but can’t help the way his heart soars with the young girl's words, “Was she blushing?” He asks the group who all murmur “Not sure” or something similar apart from the redhead who shouts an esperacted “YES.” She continues, “I don’t know why though, you shouldn’t have a chance with her- she’s way cooler than you.” “Thank you Maxine.” Steve grits his teeth, “Hey!” Max tuts at the nickname. “I guess we will find out on Wednesday?” Lucas looks between his ex and Steve, “I guess we will.” Steve sighs lost in his blossoming feelings of fondness towards you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things masterlist #stranger things x reader #stranger things ship #steve harrington one shot #minx answers #minx writes #a second chance #contentconsumer

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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part 2 of ‘a second chance’ coming tonight 🫶

#minx talks #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader

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contentconsumer · 2 years

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i haven’t seen it yet but i see myself in this 😐

i finished volume 2 and i am still a nancy hater ❤️

#minx talks #stranger things

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contentconsumer · 2 years

Text

-- favour for a favour

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used)

warnings: none

word count: 3k+

a/n: hello my friends! this is my first fic in the st fandom and the first fic i've written in a long time! i'm not new to writing but it's been a min so go easy on me lol. just had this idea and couldn't get it outta my head so i hope you enjoy it <3

summary: steve has a big ol' crush on the girl that trades him pastries for movies every week.

The morning sun creeped over the horizon as you closed the door on your station wagon, flipping through the keys on your keychain to find the one to open the coffee shop. The parking lot was chilly and desolate, with a distinct crispness that only 6:45am could offer. You unlocked the old glass door with a yank, jingling the bell above your head. You pulled it closed behind you, flipping the lock closed and turning on the lights. You sighed, stuffing your bag in the back room and tying a stained black apron around your waist. You begun the opening duties as the sun began to rise higher in the sky, bleeding orange light through the windows. It’s never particularly busy at your coffee shop, a few regulars here and there, just like pretty much everywhere else in Hawkins.

However, every weekday at 11:55am on the dot, you’d see Steve Harrington��s burgundy BMW pull up in his usual spot in front of Family Video. Today he dressed in a striped blue polo, the vest with his name tag adorning his torso. You had already begun toasting a bagel for him a few minutes before, pouring hot coffee into a cup with cream and two packets of sugar. He pulled open the sticky front door, the bells ringing through the small shop. You passed him a wave, letting your eyes briefly travel over his body. His hair was, of course, perfectly quaffed as he ran a hand through it. His jeans, tight and loose in all the right places, made a swishing sound as he walked towards the counter. You grabbed the bagel out of the toaster, throwing a plastic knife and a packet of strawberry cream cheese into it and putting the lid on his coffee.

“Good morning,” he smiled, lifting two fingers in a small wave.

You slid him his order, offering a sweet smile in return. “It’s noon,” you laughed.

“Morning for me, I woke up an hour ago.”

Steve was warm, like sunshine, and his presence in the shop made it feel much less drab and boring. “What time do you get here in the morning? Must be crazy early,”

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, cocking your head to the right. “Do I look that tired?” He rushed to begin babbling, suddenly feeling extremely nervous that he was being rude. “No! No, you look great! I, um, I-,”

“I’m joking. I was here at 6:45. I’m off in the early afternoon,” you lamented, turning around to grab another coffee cup, and pouring some of the hot liquid into it.

His eyes followed your body, noticing the way your pants hugged your hips and waist perfectly. The apron accentuated your curves, forcing Steve to look away, lest he get turned on in the line for his morning coffee. “Does Robin take cream and sugar?”

He shrugged, his lips in a small downturned smile. “Dunno, probably,” he fished in his pocket for a couple of dollar bills. You spun back around, placing the cup beside his.

Your hand stretching out to gently stop him from putting the money down. The soft pads of your fingers briefly touched his rough knuckles.“Don’t worry about it,” you pushed the food and drinks towards him. “You’re good for it.”

He smiled widely, dropping the few dollars he would have used to pay, into the tip jar. “Best barista in Hawkins,” he laughed. “We still good for later?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

What he meant by “later”, was not as it sounded. After your shift on Fridays, you always took everything left in the pastry case at the end of the night and put it in a box. Then, before your commute home, you’d drop by the video store and leave them for Robin and Steve. The food would have been wasted anyways, and the look on Robin’s face when you would drop a box full of food in front of her was worth it every time. In return, Steve would put one of the week’s new releases aside for you to take home for the weekend. On Monday, when he came in for his bagel and coffee, you’d give him a review of the movie he’d chosen. He’d begun to learn your preferences pretty easily, week after week making the perfect recommendation. You’d been doing it for a while at this point, generally getting into a rhythm of expectations.

“Of course. Put something good aside for me. I’m in a romantic mood.”

He turned on his heels with his food in his hand, flashing another signature Steve smile. The bell jingled once more, signalling his departure.

Steve hadn’t shut up about the girl at the coffee shop since he first laid his eyes on her. He knew that they’d gone to high school together, maybe even had a class or two. Obviously you’d been in completely different social circles, barely knowing the other had existed. When he saw that you had started at the coffee shop next to the video store, his interest was immediately piqued. At that point, he’d given up on finding a suitable date in Hawkins. His reputation had dwindled over the years, no longer “King Steve”, as they used to say. But he was, as much as he hated to admit it, lonely, and a bit tired of hitting on any random girl that would give him the time of day. He was striking out left and right, and when he’d noticed you that first day he’d gotten a coffee and a bagel, he’d been smitten ever since.

He walked into the video store with a skip in his step, hopping over the counter and nodding to Robin, as if to say, “sup?”

She came from the back of the store, holding an arm full of movies. “Two coffees? Did you have to wake up before 11am today or something?”

He slid the cup along the counter to her, forcing her to drop the tapes on the ground and catch it just in time, so it didn’t slide off the edge. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“My bad,” he stifled his laughter. “Y/N gave it to me. For you.”

She opened the top of the cup, letting some of the steam escape. “She’s a gem.”

Steve sighed dramatically, not bothering to help Robin pick up the movies she’d dropped onto the carpeted floor. “She fuckin’ is, I’m drowning out here.” He swivelled dramatically to meet Robin’s gaze. “What do I do? I used to be so good at this. Help me.” His hands come together in a feigned begging motion. “I can’t just keep buying bagels and coffee until she somehow notices how much I wanna-“

“Steve!” He was taken out of his trance at the sound of Robin’s insistent voice. “Just. Ask. Her. There’s a million things to do… go to the drive-in, go to Enzo’s… hell, invite her to your house for a make-out session on your couch. Anything,” she rolled her eyes. “But if you don’t figure it out soon, I’m going after her. She knows how to brew a good cup of coffee.”

Just then, Steve gets maybe the best idea he’s ever had. “A movie night. I’ll invite her for a movie night!” He pushes Robin’s shoulder roughly. “It’s perfect. Tomorrow night. My house. We’ll bring everyone so it’s not awkward, it’s perfect.” Robin has a perplexed look on her face. “You wanna invite me, and a group of children, on your date with Y/N? Is that really your plan?” Steve nods, vehemently. “Help me pick a movie. Something romantic.”

3:00pm rolls around, and you’re all but running out of the coffee shop. You had packed two blueberry muffins, a few bagels, and a cherry danish into a pink box to bring to Steve and Robin. You knew cherry danishes were Steve’s favourite, so you always kept one hidden away secretly, pretending it was “leftover”. You couldn’t help but love the way his eyes glazed over, and the never-ending ‘thank you’s that poured out of his mouth.

You walked into the video store just as Steve managed to finish checking out a customer. His face lit up as you approached the counter, sliding the box to him. “You’re literally my favourite person,” he grabbed his cherry danish from the box and took a bite out of it, letting out a soft moan at the taste. You suppressed the way his noise made you feel, as your stomach twisted in a knot. “Do you have something for me?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in excitement, waiting to see what movie Steve thought you might like. Sixteen Candles? Girls Just Wanna Have Fun? The Breakfast Club? It made you feel special how well he knew you.

He looks nervous, just for a moment, turning back to Robin for encouragement. She waves at you silently, as Steve freezes.

Your eyebrows raise, waiting for someone to speak up. Robin’s voice rings clearly, “Steve’s parents are outta town this weekend. He’s got a big house and a huge TV, so we’re having a movie night tomorrow. I’ll be there, and some of those little shits that come clear out your donut supply will be there too. You’re more than welcome to come by, I think we’re gonna watch Pretty in Pink.”

“There’ll be food. And stuff.” Steve’s voice sounds almost choked, like he’s holding in a cough. “If you want. No pressure. You don’t have to-“

You can tell Steve is rambling. “I’ll be there. What time?” Steve’s smile spread across his face, as he scribbled his address on a post-it note. “8.”

“See you then. I’m excited.”

Saturday evening rolled around and you were driving around Steve’s neighbourhood, looking through the rain for his house number. You noticed his car in the driveway of an impressive home, with warm lighting coming through the windows. You could make his body out inside, putting bowls of snacks on the table.

What you couldn’t see was the absolute chaos that was ensuing inside the Harrington household.

“Dustin, get your feet off the table. Robin, can you grab more blankets from the guest bedroom?” Steve was stressed, making sure every last detail was perfect. He felt slightly embarrassed that he didn’t know your favourite snacks, but had basically purchased anything he think you might like at the grocery store. The kids were being rambunctious, stressing him out, but the house fell eerily silent when he heard the doorbell.

Steve looked impossibly warm and cosy when he opened the door. He wore plaid checkered pajama pants, as well as a blue sweatshirt. They both hung off of him, slightly too large. “Hey,” he said cooly. “Come on in!” He stepped to the side slightly, allowing you to slide your shoes off at the door. “I brought donuts,” you handed him a box, that a small boy in a baseball cap came by and stole right out of your hands. “Thanks!” He ran back to the couch, next to a girl with red hair that turned around to wave at you. You waved back, a small smile on your face. “That’s Dustin, and Max,” Steve pointed to the kids sitting on the couch. “And Lucas. And you know Robin, of course.” “Hey, I’m Y/N,” you offered. “Nice to meet you guys. Steve talks about you a lot.”

Dustin’s eyes light up, amusedly. “He talks about us a lot? He talks about you like, every day. He never shuts up-“ Robin offers a swift kick to Dustin’s shin, forcing him to wince in pain. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?” She shoots him a glance, as you blush red-hot. “Ignore them,” Steve says softly, “can I get you a drink?”

You nod, placing your hand on Steve’s arm briefly, mostly to calm your own nerves. “Water is fine, with ice, if you have it.” “Sounds good. Feel free to take a seat wherever you’d like.”

The kids are sprawled out on the larger couch, with Robin sitting in the recliner. She had a bowl of Funyuns in her lap.

You took a seat on the smaller couch, hoping that Steve would choose to sit beside you. A bowl of buttered popcorn was on the table, and you grabbed a small handful. Steve came back with a glass of water for you, holding it out for you to grab. “Thanks,” you shifted slightly, signalling that the spot next to you was for him.

Now Steve was nervous, but he could still take a hint. He plopped down next to you, his thigh rubbing against yours briefly as he got comfortable. You could immediately smell the essence of his cologne; warm and sweet, like cinnamon and a hint of vanilla. That mixed with laundry detergent and a bit of shampoo, and you were feeling immediately intoxicated by his presence.

“Is someone gonna put in the movie?” Lucas asked, staring at you and Steve. Steve was obviously not paying attention, enamoured by the black t-shirt that fit tightly around your chest and waist. Your hair was tucked neatly back and out of your face, exposing the small gold chain necklace on your neck. You smelled of your favourite perfume (only taken out of the drawer for special occasions), a summery floral scent that mixed with the ever-lingering smell of coffee perfectly. You jumped off the couch, grabbing the movie from the case and bending down to slide it into the player. Steve watched intently, drinking in the way your body looked. Languid, soft, perfect.

Robin threw a piece of popcorn at him, taking him out of his trance. It popped him right in the face, a knowing smile spreading across her lips. You settled next to him, finding it a good time to snuggle into him a little more, nervously testing the waters. He grabbed the piece of popcorn as the opening scene rolled, returning a content smile to Robin and then popping it in his mouth.

About halfway through the movie, you were laying in the crux of his arm, your ear on his chest. His leg was falling asleep, and he had no idea what was going on in the movie anymore, too excited that you were cuddling with him so unabashedly. He would never admit it to anyone, of course, but his self esteem had taken a bit of a hit since graduation. The last time he’d had this much physical interaction with a girl was an embarrassingly long time ago.

“I fucking love John Hughes,” you whisper to Steve, your lips dangerously close to his ear. He shivers, looking down at you. “I know right, he’s like, a literal genius.” You were expecting to hear one of the kids object to the giggles you and Steve were letting escape your lips, but there was no pushback. You looked over at them, the three kids fast asleep on the couch. Robin was snoring too, the bowl of snacks abandoned beside the recliner. You poked Steve, pointing at his friends.

Steve sat up, and you felt his abdomen tighten underneath you. He sighed out a laugh, shaking his head. He pressed a long finger to his lips, signalling for you to be quiet as he reached over to pause the movie. You both stood up from the couch, and you felt Steve’s hand on your wrist as he lead you away from the group and up the stairs.

His bedroom was so stereotypically boy, it was endearing. Blue cotton sheets, fluffy pillows, a few clothes strewn across the carpet. It smelled like him, laundry and linen. He closes the door quietly behind him, as you take a tentative seat near his pillows. His mattress was soft as you slid down, holding your head up with your hand. He sat next you, wordlessly, allowing his body to relax.

“Good movie,” you broke the silence, attempting to relax into the bed. “You know my taste well.”

“It’s pretty much my job, so, I appreciate that.” The rain pounded against his window as he mirrored your position, his sweater riding up over his hip. Your eyes took a particular interest in the soft skin there.

“I-“

“You know-“

“You first,” his voice was quiet, suggesting you speak first.

“I had fun tonight. Thanks for inviting me, we should, you know, do this more often.” You were tentative, and nervous, but excited.

“Yeah! Yeah like, totally, um… it can be just us next time. If you want.” his voice trailed off, looking for the right words. “Like a date.”

You laughed lightly, reaching your hand out to play with the hem of his sweater. “Stop being so nervous,” he looked surprised. “I like you, Steve. I would love to go on a date with you. Just us.”

Steve looked extremely relieved, flopping onto his back. “Thank god. I thought I was being weird, or crazy or something? Because I felt something between us, just-“

You cut him off, your lips haphazardly placed on his in a soft kiss. He tasted like cherry coke, spicy and sweet all at once. His hands found their way to your hair, pushing it out of your face and wrapping his fingers in it. You deepened the kiss, allowing your body to collapse onto his. Your hand slid under his sweater, warm skin on warm skin, anxious and needy.

When you pulled away, you started to laugh, feeling dizzy. “You can stay, tonight, if you want,” is all Steve can say. “No funny business. But it’s cold and shitty outside and I just,” he pushed his own hair out of his face. “I want you to stay. If you do.”

“I do,” you smiled. “Fair warning, I snore.”

You threw his duvet back and climbed into his soft sheets as he rounded the other side. He slid in next to you, facing you, as you got comfortable between his sheets. You looked up at him through thick lashes, inching closer. “Can I lay on you?”

He nodded, getting comfortable on his back once again. You resumed your spot, ear against his chest, breathing in his scent. He kissed the top of your head, rubbing the small of your back, as the rain lulled you to sleep. Happy, content, safe, in Steve’s arms.

#minx’s fic recs

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