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yunirgo · 15 hours

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Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Eddie and Robin think Steve needs to get out more, but he ends up in what he believes to be the wrong place at the wrong time, until he meets you. (meet cute/ugly au!!)

WC: 2.7k

CW/Tags: language, alcohol, mentions of injuries/blood, teeth mention, super brief suggestive moment, but the rest is awkward yet sweet fluff, reader is GN except for one gendered term at the end I couldn’t work around (apologies!!)

A/N: 10 years ago I broke my tooth on some poor dude’s head while stage diving, so here’s a fic inspired by that LMAO. I didn’t realize how similar some of it is to an old fic I wrote in 2020 until I finished writing this, but the overall idea is different enough to still post imo. this is silly and I don’t expect anyone to read it but if you do, thanks and enjoy! <3

“Oh. Oh, dude… that looks rough.”

Steve’s stumbling out of the small yet packed crowd, holding his head while blood drips down his face. He looks miserable, to say the least.

“Last fucking time I let either of you drag me out to some shit like this.”

“Whoa, hey, man, it’s your fault for not knowing pit etiquette,” Eddie snarks back, still handing a napkin over to Steve.

As soon as it’s in his hand, Steve recoils and throws the napkin back at Eddie. “Why is this wet?”

“Found it on the bar—“

“Jesus Christ.”

Robin rolls her eyes, handing Steve a clean, dry napkin for the blood. “The hell happened?”

“Some fucking idiot decided to stage dive onto me, and something hard stabbed my forehead.”

Robin stifles a laugh, but Eddie doesn’t bother hiding his snicker. “Dude, I warned you about crowdsurfing, pits, and stage diving.”

“What happened to just… enjoying music with your ears?”

Eddie quips back, “There’s absolutely no fun in that, Harrington.”

Steve drops into the barstool next to Robin, holding his head with a groan. She moves his hands away from the source of blood. “Let me see— oh, shit.”

“What? What happened? Is it bad?” Steve panics, but as he looks up, he sees Robin looking over his shoulder down the bar. Eddie follows her gaze, eyes narrowing at someone asking the bartender something, ending up with a glass of water.

“Think I found your idiot.”

Steve turns around, but too quickly, hit with dizziness instantly. “God, I’m never leaving the house without a fucking helmet ever again.”

“Hey, hey—“ Eddie calls out to you while you’re walking by the trio, rubbing your finger along the new, jagged edge of your tooth, lost in your thoughts. You spit into the closest trash can, blood tinged saliva finally off your tongue before taking a sip of water. Eddie’s hand lands on your shoulder, spinning you around. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Your brows scrunch together as you shrug his hand off of you. “What’s yours?”

“Is— did you break your tooth?” Robin can’t help asking as you run your thumb along the sharpness of your now damaged front tooth.

You yell over the music, “Yeah, some fucking moron wasn’t moving with the crowd, and chipped my tooth! I think I hit their head while stage diving. Who the fuck comes to these shows to just stand there?”

Robin and Eddie both glance at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“What? What’s so fu—“ You glance between the two of them, then notice Steve, cradling his head in his hands as he holds a napkin to the wound; your face drops in a cruel mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Oh my god— fuck, dude, I- I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, it’s not like I haven’t had enough concussions in my lifetime, or anything.” Steve groans, side eyeing you. He’s about to give you more sass, only to become distracted with your face. You’re so … pretty. He was expecting some annoying, ‘tough guy’ to be the culprit, not someone cute like you. “I— it’s cool, what’s one more, right?”

Robin has to hold back her laughter at Steve’s attempt of a save, spinning around on the barstool as she tries hiding her face in her drink. She only ends up laughing, dribbling onto her shirt.

“Great job, Buckley, can’t take you anywhere either.”

Robin ignores Steve’s remark after the first few notes of another song begins, “Oh, wait! Hold on, hold—” She downs her drink before yelling, “I loooooove this song!” Looking over at you, she asks, “You two should be fine, right? Great!” She hops off the barstool before dragging Eddie into the crowd with her.

Immediately you take her seat, gently pushing Steve’s hair away from his face. “C’mon, lemme see the damage— oh no.”

Steve groans, lifting his head with his eyes screwed shut from the pain. “If I hear one more ominous “oh” I’m gonna lose it.”

His comment is shrugged off, “Probably should properly introduce myself, since, y’know, my tooth decided to meet your head first.” Your joke pops his eyes open, laughing for a moment until it worsens his pain with a cringe. “Ah— shit, sorry!” You shoot him an apologetic glance before offering your name.

Glancing up at you, getting a better view of your features, he stumbles over what should just be a simple response. “St- Ste— my name? It’s Steve.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back a giggle before continuing, “Steve, I got bad news for ya’.”

“What now?”

Taking over on blotting the wound, you move his hand away softly as your own adds pressure to stop the bleeding. He blushes under your touch, welcoming and soft in contrast to the sharp pain you accidentally left behind first.

“You’re gonna have to wear a bandage on that cute face for awhile.”

Steve laughs at your corny attempt of flirting; like he’s any better.

“Yeah, well…” His eyes meet yours, then fall to your smile. The part of your tooth cracked off isn’t terrible. Noticeable, sure, but somehow you make it work. “I got nothin’ clever to say, but you’re still cute with a broken tooth. Not easy to pull off.”

You roll your eyes playfully with a smile as kind as your touch.

“I’m so sorry me and my tooth happened to dive bomb into your pretty head,” You tease, using your free hand to rummage through your jacket pocket before finding a sealed bandage. “You mind if I see?”

“I mean… your tooth was literally in my head, so I don’t think you have to ask.”

“Okay, sassy pants, hold still.” You carefully remove the now bloody napkin away, noticing the gash is pretty rough, but not worth an ER trip, thankfully. The bleeding’s beginning to slow down.

“What’s the news, doc? Am I gonna make it?”

“Hm… not sure. Might need a drink for that,” You smirk, applying the bandaid to his head. Steve looks a little silly, but still terribly attractive. “Pick your poison, s’on me.”

“Oh, I- I—“ He glances up at you as you lean onto the bar, admiring how your outfit hugs you in all the right places. “S- surprise me?”

You give another smile before catching the bartender’s attention. Steve misses what you order with how hard his head is pounding, loud music no help whatsoever. You murmur a quick thanks before sliding a tip towards the bartender, handing Steve his drink before knocking your glass against his, “To the only idiots in this place.”

There’s cherries in both yours and his, but he has an extra; after taking a sip, his eyes go wide with nostalgia. “Why does this taste familiar?”

“Dirty Shirley!” You exclaim happily, but Steve looks confused. “Like, a Shirley Temple, but grown up! Get it? ‘Cause it’s got the vodka?” You force a laugh at your own bad humor, but the way you poke fun at yourself earns a genuine, soft laugh from Steve as he shakes his head. “Used to be my fave drink as a kid, and now it’s even better.”

“You didn’t get as many cherries as I did,” He points out with the slightest pout while you take a sip.

“Told ‘em yours needed to be as sweet as you.”

“You’re knocking it outta the park with these corny lines.”

“Yeah? Enough to apologize for being a total asshole and flinging myself on you?”

Steve hums, lips on the edge of his glass, “Might need to try a little harder.” He knows he’s not a lightweight, so it can’t be the alcohol making him feel so airy and bold, it has to be the head injury. He reaches out to your chin, gently pulling on it to lower your bottom lip; you part your lips, catching on immediately as you try playing it cool, ignoring the way your breath hitches.

It’s got to be a weird sight out of context, watching Steve feel along your broken tooth, but it’s kind of on par for how weird this entire situation has been. “S’sharp. Does it hurt?” If this was any other stranger touching your tooth you just broke on their head, you’d be creeped out, but something about Steve’s demeanor shows he means no harm.

“Sore but it ain’t so bad. Got my nose cracked in a pit last year, that was worse.” You shrug while Steve looks at you like you’re insane; his hand pulls back before you become nosy. “So… gonna tell me why your polo wearing ass is in a place like this?”

He nods over to Robin and Eddie, bopping around the crowd. “Those two thought I needed to get out of the house more.”

“Shoulda’ picked something more your speed,” The comment’s lighthearted, but you feel bad instantly; you barely know Steve, you probably should ease up on the teasing. “M’sorry again, like, for real. I got way too excited to stage dive for the first time, and it’s definitely my last.”

“Nah, you’re right, I stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”

“What? In a dive bar balls deep in the DIY scene? The whole point of subcultures in music like this is giving everyone a place to feel welcome, even if they’re cute dorks that don’t move with the crowd.” You catch yourself before rambling away about something you’re so passionate about. “If there’s ever a show you wanna go to and need someone to hang with, I’m always down for shit like this. Even if it’s something more your speed, just lemme know.”

Steve finds himself smiling over your offer, curiosity getting the best of him, “Why do you like all of this—” He gestures lazily around the club “—so much?”

You down the rest of your drink, “It’s a second home to me— and that sounds bizarre, I’m sure, ‘cause, like… how the hell do you feel at home in a room full of strangers? But I feel safer losing myself to the music with people who get it.” You pull a cherry out of the glass, popping it into your mouth with a pluck of the stem. “Whether I’m by myself or with friends, it beats being home home, I guess. Either way, I don’t feel so alone here.”

Steve watches you fidget with the cherry stem, mentally kicking himself for asking something so personal. “I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— that’s—“ He collects his thoughts for a moment, “I’m sorry if that put you on the spot to answer so… uh—“

“Keep your apology, Steve, you did nothing wrong. My bad for over sharing, I tend to do that… a lot.”

He shakes his head, “Hey, don’t— you keep your apology, too.” He’s not sure when his hand reached for your arm, softly squeezing it in a supportive gesture, but you don’t seem to mind. He laughs humorlessly, “Jesus, are you bad with that too? I feel like I’m apologizing all the time for just—“

“Just existing?”

“Yes!” He’s a little too excited to relate to someone with a personal struggle, but you don’t mind.

You lift his hand off of your arm, and for a moment he worries he was too forward, but you gently hold his hand in yours, pressing your palm against his. The two of you splay your fingers out, pressed up against one another.

“Don’t know why you’re scared of being in a pit with hands like this. Y’could totally take on jerks like me who get carried away.” Your comment isn’t meant to be anything more than harmless and playful, but once the words leave your lips, you curse yourself internally for how they’re phrased.

Steve’s brow quirks, and your mouth opens, about to apologize, but he beats you to it. “Can’t tell if that was supposed to be another corny pickup line or not.”

“… Maybe it is.” You smirk, but anxiously add, “Unless it’s— it doesn’t— not unless—“

“Unless I want it to be?” He finishes for you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “‘Cause I do.”

You beam with a nod, “So… you wanna hang out again? Like, for real, not this whole tooth in your head mess.”

Steve finally shoots a smooth response, “Can’t do that unless I have your number, y’know.”

“Oh— oh, duh, oh my god.” You lean over the bar, asking the bartender for a pen and paper, but he only has a pen; there’s probably something cliche in the way you’re writing your number on a bar napkin, when just minutes earlier, you used them to halt the bleeding from Steve’s head.

Scribbling it down, you hand it to Steve, but not before a tiny boost of confidence pushes you to add, “Might need your number too, in case one of your friends decides to use that napkin.” He side eyes you with a hint of a smile, writing and exchanging his number with you, too.

Neither of you notice Robin and Eddie across the room, yell-whispering to one another over the music as they gossip over the two of you.

“You saw that too, right? They did the hand thing, the hand thing!” Robin happily shouts, and Eddie chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, they’re definitely gonna fuck.” Eddie snickers and Robin jokingly smacks his shoulder.

“Bet they’re gonna be endgame.”

“Sure fuckin’ hope so, it’d be one hell of a story.”

—

Omitting anything inappropriate, especially the last part— told to you teasingly a month into dating Steve— you finish retelling the night you and Steve met.

“That’s how you met Daddy?” The twins’ reactions starkly contrast one another’s, as usual; your daughter is horrified, while your son is thrilled to learn this.

“S’so silly!” He falls onto his back from his spot on the floor, holding his tummy as he laughs loudly.

“Did he glue your tooth back together?” Your daughter asks, blatantly ignoring that Steve has no dentistry experience whatsoever. You hold back your laughter, not wanting to make her feel bad.

“No, honey, I actually spit it into—“

“— Into their hand, and safely took it to the dentist for him to fix the next day.” Steve rushes in as he walks by the room, overhearing the conversation; he looks to you, eyes wide, mouthing, “what are you doing?”

Your daughter runs to Steve, clinging to him like a koala. He laughs as he lifts her into his arms, watching as her tiny hands push his hair away from his face; he starts going cross eyed trying to follow her movement.

“Sweetheart, what are you up to?” Steve chuckles as she runs her hand along his forehead, face displaying a state of determination.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Where’s the spot Mommy’s tooth hit your head?”

He glares down at you playfully while his daughter continues searching for a scar. Looking back at his daughter, he answers, “It faded awhile ago, probably from all the forehead kisses Mommy gave me.”

You force a fake cough, “Corny.” At the same time, both of your kids make “blech!” noises.

Before Steve can retort, your son runs to climb into your lap, excitedly asking, “Can you show me how to do that?”

Your brows furrow a bit but you laugh, “Show you how to do what, kiddo?”

“Stage diving!”

Both you and Steve exclaim a firm, “NO.” making your son pout, but only for a moment.

“S’okay, I’ll ask Uncle Eddie instead,” He slips off your lap, marching out of the room; his sister wriggles out of Steve’s grasp, and he takes the hint, setting her down gently. She gives a “hmph!” stomping out after her brother.

Once the coast is clear, the two of you burst into a fit of laughter.

“Did you ever think us being absolute idiots would lead to all of this?” You find yourself asking Steve between giggles. He pulls you up off the chair and into his arms, kissing the top of your head as he laughs softly.

“Not at all, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

You push his hair away from his face, finding the very faint scar from that fateful night years ago, pressing a soft kiss to the exact spot, thinking:

What a hell of a story.

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yunirgo · 17 hours

Note

“What did you just say?” WOAH

hi bb! apologies for the wait and for getting a lil carried away on this one, but I hope you enjoy it <3 just a lil over 2k, enemies to lovers, mean(ish)!steve, dacryphilia, etc.

You hate slow shifts at work.

Correction: you hate slow shifts while working with Steve.

It was busier in the first half of the day, or so Robin said before clocking out, but once evening fell on a quiet Wednesday night, there had to be about 5 or so customers that came into the store. All spaced out by hours dragging in between.

Those hours drag much more when Steve’s around. You’ve come close to quitting a few times after working together, but once you found it brought him only more satisfaction to make you miserable, you decided to tough it out, stay out of pure spite.

That spite only encouraged Steve to become insufferable, burrowing under your skin any chance he’d get. It’s just been a back and forth, one-upping competition of who could be more terrible to the other ever since. Robin has tried mediating between the both of you with no progress in sight. Keith has warned you both, separately and together, that you’re on thin ice if this keeps up.

A shitty job at Family Video was not worth all of this stress, but you can’t bring yourself to back down now. Steve, still cocky and competitive when the right things set him off, couldn’t lose to you and your spiteful, bratty antics.

By now, neither of you could even remember why you couldn’t stand the other, but any reason wouldn’t matter now anyway. Something, something about Steve claiming you’re some “washed up slut”, how you always believe you’re right in any situation, and other shit that rolls off your back by now. You’ve thrown ugly remarks in return, something along the lines of him being a “failure whose only friends are a bunch of kids”, how it’s only the desperate girls throwing themselves at him, stuff like that.

All of that tension and fury have to lead to something eventually.

It only leads somewhere that you least expect.

Steve’s pocketing his third number of the night, given by yet another girl he lays the generic flirting on thick with.

With a wink, he tells her, “I’ll call you later.”

You retch behind him at the far end of the counter. She never notices, but Steve sure does. When the girl leaves, it’s just you and Steve alone in the store, your least favorite time of closing shifts with him.

Striding over to the front door, you lock it and flip the “closed” sign, mocking Steve as you mutter under your breath, “I’ll call you later.” Your tone’s whiny, comical, but Steve’s not laughing.

“Jesus, try a little harder if you’re gonna poke fun at me,” He rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter with his eyes on you. When you turn around, you spot the way his stare lingers on your legs, on display in the skirt you decided to wear. “Y’know, I don’t think that skirt’s short enough for you. Usually you’re flashing more skin than that.”

Your lip curls in a snarl, flipping him off as you walk back to the counter. You gather some tapes to return to the shelves, throwing over your shoulder, “Sorry, Harrington, the free shows are over.”

It doesn’t shake his stare off as you walk away; he’s pissed you always wear outfits that only accentuate your body’s features. Makes it harder for him to focus on work, or flirting with other girls. You’re the worst distraction Steve’s ever encountered.

You don’t even need to turn around to feel his gaze on you. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer, loser.”

With a disgusted huff, Steve grabs another stack of tapes to restock on the opposite side of the store. He can’t even focus on such a basic task, though. He’s bothered, to say the least; he’s shed the ‘King Steve’ persona years ago, realizing his faults while becoming a better person, for not just himself, but everyone around him.

Except you.

You’re the one person he’s ready to snap over. You’re the one roadblock in his way while he tries his hardest to move forward from his past. You’re the one asshole he considers throwing his progress aside just to make you cry, make you regret treating him like he’s lower than dirt.

Steve can’t think too much about wanting to see you cry, wanting to make you cry— it got him hard last time, and he’s still revolted by his body betraying him like that. It was something he couldn’t shake from his thoughts, not until he finally fucked his fist over the fantasies his lust painted out for him, all involving you.

He’d rather fight off another demogorgon than think of you like that.

You’re humming along to whatever song is playing softly over the store’s speakers, grabbing more tapes to put away. He looks up as you pass the aisle he’s in, noticing the lollipop in your mouth, and the dirty titles making up the tapes you carry to the back.

Steve knows better, knows he should leave you alone, finish his work, but he follows you into the adult section anyway.

Leaning against the doorframe, he watches you stretch up to the top shelf, unable to hold back as he mouths off, “Damn, you’re fast putting all that porn back, must know ‘em pretty well.”

You look back after settling back on your feet, brow quirking, “Oh, no! A girl watches porn! How scandalous!” You turn back to the shelves, continuing your task. “Get over yourself, Steve.”

That wasn’t the answer he expected, but there wasn’t an answer he had in mind anyway. Instead of leaving you alone, being the bigger person and dropping the insults, for once, he continues to taunt you.

While walking up behind you, Steve asks, “Are you even allowed to wear shit like that here?”

“I wear whatever I wanna wear.” You don’t turn to respond to him, don’t give him the basic respect to make eye contact. “What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering if it’s a slut thing,” He shrugs, grabbing some tapes from your hands. His hand ever so slightly brushes up along your chest, earning a scowl from you, “y’know, wearing skirts for easy access.”

You sputter, choking on air briefly. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“For someone who hates me, you sure love talking about my supposed sex life,” You snicker, giving him a once over, making him feel small under your stare. “Then again, I don’t expect anything different from someone who’ll fuck anything that moves.”

You hoped that’d shut him up, even for a moment, but without hesitation he cracks back, “Haven’t fucked you yet, so you might be wrong on that one.”

Face heating up, you’re flustered, until you catch one word that exposes him. “‘Yet’? You bankin’ on a wet dream about me? That’s cute. Dreamin’ big, huh?”

Steve’s running out of ammo to hit back with, faltering in his response, “Y- you wish.”

“What’s there to wish for, Steve? You, talking a big game, only to finish for yourself, while whatever girl’s in your bed is left frustrated and faking it for the sake of your fragile ego?” The laugh that leaves your lips, your pretty, pouty lips, the ones he’s always curious to feel around his dick, hits him hard. His face falls, too stunned to come back with a damaging response. “Yeah, I’m good.”

You replace the last tape in your hands, heading for the door. Steve, though, isn’t finished with this mess he started.

“What did you just say?” He catches your arm in his hand, yanking you towards him. You’re caught off guard, eyes wide as you look up at him.

Shaking off the surprise with a smirk, you taunt him, mirroring an earlier response he gave you, “You heard me.”

Steve pulls the lollipop from your mouth, earning a gasp while he places it in his mouth; he’s backing you up against the wall, arms on either side of you caging you in. “You need something bigger to keep that bratty mouth quiet, huh?”

He kicks at your feet, and you take the hint to spread your legs; his leg pushes between yours, but not close enough to give the pressure or friction you need for some relief.

“Knew you’d be fuckin’ easy,” The way his voice drops low, face close to yours while his eyes are blown out with lust, dark and full of trouble, it hitches your breath, causing you to clench around nothing with a whine. It’s soft, airy, but loud enough for him to catch it. “Y’let all these guys touch you… fuck you… bet none of ‘em ever tamed you, though.”

You huff and look away, but Steve grabs your face roughly, pulling your stare back to him.

“Answer me.” He throws the lollipop to the floor, needy for something more between his own lips.

You hate this. All of this. You hate how easy it is for him to shape you from a hardened brat to a submissive mess. Worst of all, you hate how much you love this entire scenario.

Steve’s giving you what other guys never give— a chance to brat out, to fight back, earn a struggle that builds pleasure like no other, running straight to your core.

“Get fucked, Stev—“ He shoves three fingers into your mouth, silencing you quickly. You’re going to give in quickly, he can tell by the way you don’t hesitate to swirl and roll your tongue around him. He groans, pushing his thigh against your core; your gasp is muffled, mouth still occupied.

It only takes seconds for Steve to feel it, “Christ, you’re fucking wet… knew it.”

You pull the fingers from your mouth, brows pinching together, annoyed. “How the hell would you know— oh—“ He grabs your hips, rolling you onto his leg slowly, back and forth, enjoying the way your jaw drops just from this alone.

Steve chuckles, hands leaving you as you continue grinding against him; he grabs your hands to pin them above your head, leaning in dangerously close to you. “Could smell how sweet ya’ are all night.”

Embarrassment flows through you, making you feel hot and lightheaded. “I- I haven’t been— that’s— you’re lying!”

“You know how hard it’s been not to bend you over the counter and make you take me right there?” His lips ghost over your trembling ones. “Show you what brats get when they’re outta line? Fuck, every time y’bent over, I’d get hard thinking ‘bout just spanking you, making you take every hit ‘til you cry.”

“Then do it already, quit being all talk and no—“ Steve pushes off the wall, leaving space between the two of you. You’re panting and aching and pissed off. Angry that he’s toying with you like this, how he’s doing everything right, the way you’ve always fantasized, like he’s inside your thoughts.

You’re so angry, the emotion lines your eyes with tears, threatening to spill over. Your bottom lip wobbles into the most pathetic, shameful pout that’s ever appeared on your face. Steve, on the other hand, is pleased as he witnesses you unravel from just being teased and humiliated alone.

You’re about to break; you can’t take this anymore. You need him on you, in you, or whatever he’ll offer at this point.

“Steve… please?” You hate hearing the words fall out of your own mouth. You sound so desperate, look desperate too as a tear finally slips down your face.

Taking pity on you, he strides back your way, flipping you to face the wall as he pulls your backside out towards him. Your legs spread automatically, wishing he’d touch you sooner if you’re compliant. His hands slide up and under your skirt before tugging your panties down, stealing them once you step out. He backs away for a moment before quickly spanking your cunt, causing you to jolt forward with a yelp.

Steve leans closer to your face, pressed against the wall; one hand holds you in place, while the other shoves the soaked fabric into your mouth, crudely gagging you. His hand winds through your hair, tugging roughly as he speaks to you.

“Here’s the deal, I’m gonna make you cum, as many times as it takes, ‘til you’re really crying for me. Got it?”

You nod feverishly, trying to speak around the fabric. Steve pulls it out.

“One condition.”

His brows knit together, “What’s that?”

“Toss out all those numbers you got today.”

Steve will. He already planned on it before any of this went down, but he refuses to hand over any satisfaction to you just yet.

As he shoves the fabric back between your lips, he mutters coldly, “I’ll think about it.”

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