❝ Dream Boy ❞
a collection of steve harrington imagines set both in canon hawkins ( with upside down ) and au hawkins ( without the upside down ) // centered around steve harrington x reader
note: requests are open, send me a message here or
at my t...
During your shift at Family Video, Steve notices something's off about you, you're not looking too good, so he closes up early to take care of you ♥️ Warnings: Just a lot of Fluff.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was dark out already, snow falling outside the Christmas-light-framed windows of Family Video, little white flurries dancing in the dark. There was only an hour left, only one more hour until you could go home and take off your stupid scratchy green vest and crawl into bed. Why were you so tired? And did Keith crank the heat up again before he left?
"Hello? Anyone home?"
Glancing up you blinked a few times and Steve came into focus, waving a hand in front of your face.
"Whoa, you don't look so good," his brow furrowed with concern as he took a step closer to you.
"What? I'm fine," you snarked, but you couldn't hide the shake of your shoulders as you shivered, pulling your sweater closer.
"Yeah. Okay," he drug out the last word, clearly not convinced. Rolling up the sleeve of his henley he closed the gap between you and pressed his wrist to your forehead, "Jesus, you're burning up."
"Am not. You're just mad I'm hotter than you for once," jerking away from him you started to laugh at your own joke, but it stuttered as you winced at the pounding that had started in your head.
"Incredible, that's incredible. I see what you did there," he grinned. You were clever. Shaking his head he hopped over the counter to flip over the 'Open' sign hanging on the door, "It's only an hour." Steve clicked off the florescent store light and rolled the returns cart back over to you, "Besides, no one comes in after five on Sundays anyway."
You groaned in protest, but felt your body slowly melting into the counter as you leaned your elbows against it, exhaustion wrapping around you. "I'm fine," you grumbled, putting your face in your hands, "What if Keith comes in?"
"Alright, first? You're not fine. You're sick," he started, fixing you with the most dad face you'd ever seen as he yanked his coat on. "Second. Screw, Keith. He doesn't even like that movie, the one with Alex P. Keaton? C'mon, how can you not like it? The guy's a menace," after pulling his hat on he grabbed your coat and held it out expectantly. "Your arms go in the sleeves," he prompted giving it a shake.
Your lips firmed into a line, but you didn't have it in you to fight back so you crammed yourself into it with a grumble.
"Keys?" Steve made a grabby hand at you.
"Oh, right," you dug around in your bag, fingers blindly looking for them. Was your head pounding harder now? You shivered again, finally finding them, and dropped them with a clink into Steve's hand.
His car, his baby, had gotten a ding in the parking lot yesterday and was in the shop getting fixed so he had hitched a ride with you in your crappy old beater. It ran! That was all that mattered. Point A to point B you'd told him. So Steve went out first to get it warmed up as you fumbled with the lock on the shop door. Giving it a good jiggle it finally slid into place with a click. Thank god.
