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luveline · 2 years

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bribery and a movie | steve harrington x mayfield!reader

summary Steve wants a date with Max’s older sibling. You want Max to be happy. It doesn’t hurt that he’s good looking. [3k]

warnings fluff, first date, steve is a pining mess, mutual pining, max is a baby angel sweetheart that deserves the world, gn!reader, mayfield!reader, mentions of domestic violence not graphic, pre-s4, some s4 spoilers, requested here

“Bribery is a felony,” Max says, looking up at Steve with her solemn eyes.

Steve leans against the store window behind him. Family Video glows red, painting the young girl in neon crimson, her auburn hair aflame. He knows she’s playing hardball — there has to be something a sixteen year old girl wants enough to accept a bribe, even if that bribe is to secure a date with Max’s hot older sibling.

Steve tries to be very patient. If he gets hysterical Max will react with sarcasm and ridicule, and Steve will lose.

“There has to be something you want.”

“Enough to serve up my sibling like a piece of meat? Classy.”

“Not serving up! I just want a date. One date. Or a phone number, I’m not picky.”

“Y/N isn’t interested in boys.”

“At all, or just me?”

Max, sitting on the hood of Steve’s car with her skateboard across her knees, grins. “Just you.”

��And they said this to you?” he asks incredulously.

“In a way,” Max says.

He’s quickly at the end of his rope, tipping his head back, mouth open in indignation. “You’re hurting my feelings.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then presses his hands together pleadingly. “I would be a perfect gentleman. Dinner, a movie, that’s it.”

“And then a quick soiree at Skull Rock.”

“No!” Steve shouts. After smiling at a startled customer on their way out of the store, he says, “No, of course not.”

Max looks unconvinced. She hops down off of the hood and sets her board on the ground with more kindness than she’s ever shown him, one foot on like she’s about to push off. Steve feels it for what it is.

A vague threat to up his bribe.

“There has to be something you want, Mayfield.”

“For you to stop propositioning my sibling via me? I’m not their pimp.”

“I’m not propositioning. Just asking you to ask them if they may or may not be interested in me.”

He’d do it himself if he could talk to you without pissing his pants.

Max sighs, kicking the skateboard up into her waiting hands. She’s wearing her new jacket, blue with yellow accents, and it turns purple in the store's light. It’s getting late. She shouldn’t be skating around in the dark.

“Look, get in. I’ll drive you home,” he says, feeling dejected at being nowhere closer to a date.

Max hesitates and tilts her head, messy red braids falling to one side. “Shit,” she says under her breath. “Fine, I’ll ask them for you. I know you’re a good guy deep down, Steve. Deep, deep down.” Her voice is smooth as silk, her mouth open in a sympathetic smile. “And who knows, maybe they’ll find you inexplicably attractive. A beat up 733i, a steady job at Family Video, no college degree, no opportunities-“

“What the hell, Max?” he asks, scowling. He can’t believe he almost fell for her sarcasm. Again. A year ago he would’ve ruffled her hair. Instead, he pushes up off the window with a groan. “You're a little shit, you know that?”

Max smiles saccharine sweet and nods.

He rubs his forehead with the back of his hand and fishes for his keys in his pocket. “Alright, get in the car before I change my mind.”

“Y/N’s coming to get me.”

Steve thinks he might have gone a bit deaf for a second or five. “Here? Y/N’s coming here? To Family Video?”

“That’s what I said.”

Sure enough, what can’t have been ten seconds later your car turns a corner and there you are through the window, beautiful and radiant and so out of Steve’s league he forgets to breathe, even from the side. You roll down the window and turn. He chokes.

“Hey, Maxie,” you call brightly, arm crossed over the open window.

Steve sees the way Max’s face lights up even though she tries to hide it.

“Hey, Steve,” you add. “Family Video? Nice.”

“H-hey, Y/N.”

Max looks between the two of you, disgusted, walking to the trunk to throw in her board. She drags her feet like listening to your interaction is torturing her.

“How’s it going?” you ask pleasantly.

Steve feels like he’s shrinking under your gaze, obsessed with your hair and your skin and the way your eyes are basically sparkling in the evening dark.

“It’s going,” he says, voice high. He coughs. “Yeah, definitely going. How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know. We’re okay. I got a new job with my mom at the diner. I look killer in the uniform,” you tell him with a cheeky smile.

“I bet you do,” he says.

You laugh quietly. “Yeah, I’m the bell of the ball in that place.”

Max opens the passenger door. You give Steve an intoxicating smile. “Nice to see you!” you call, rolling up the window.

It’s firmly closed by the time he’s managed to reply. “Nice to- oh.”

He blinks, ashamed and embarrassed, looking down at his wrecked shoes with something close to pleading. God, he thinks, if you’re real, let the ground swallow me up. Please.

“Steve!” Max calls.

He flinches, his attention drawn back up. Max stands with the door open and resting on her hip, leaning over the roof of the car with a begrudging expression. He tries not to look at you, your hands fiddling with something hanging off of your rear view mirror.

“Kate Bush, Hounds of Love on cassette. The day it comes out. The day it comes out,” she emphasises.

“Whatever you want!” he promises, tripping over his words in a rush to get them out.

Max glares at him. “Don’t make me regret this.”

You smile at your little sister in the passenger seat. Her braids are a mess, loose and windblown from skating. You slow at a red and take the opportunity to reach out, running one through your fingers gently.

“They’re a mess, Maxie.”

Max pretends to be mad. “You weren’t there.”

“Sorry, baby.”

She shrugs. It’s been hard on her — everything. Losing Billy, your step dad leaving (though he was an asshole), moving into the trailer home, a summer alone; she'd broken up with her boyfriend and was spending less time with her friends. She’s been having bad headaches and nightmares.

Max doesn’t tell you much besides the bare minimum. Good thing your baby sister hasn’t ever needed to say her feelings aloud before you clocked them.

“You know my shifts are early now. With the overtime, and mom’s, we should be real comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” she scoffs.

You chew your bottom lip and take a long turn. “Don’t be like that. Overtime got you your new jacket. Which looks great, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

You frown even more at her serious, grateful tone, reaching out for your little sister's hand blindly. Max is kind enough to save you the effort and you give her smaller fingers a brilliant squeeze.

“You don’t have to say thanks to me. You deserve everything you want, Max. You know that.”

There’s a long silence then. You steal your hand back and flick on your indicator.

“Are you happy?” she asks.

You giggle, startled peels, and can’t help but look at her.

“Am I happy?”

“Are you happy?” she repeats resolutely.

“Of course I am. I have you. I have mom. Every night we go to bed with full bellies, and we don’t ever have to worry about someone laying their hands on us.”

“But are you happy? Are you…lonely?”

“Max, baby, is this about Lucas? You know, it’s okay to miss people, especially when you’re struggling-”

“No, it’s not about Lucas.” She slouches down in her seat, the seatbelt almost strangling her. You hold in the urge to scold her and wait for her to explain. “Do you like Steve?”

“Sure I do.”

“Enough to go out with him?”

You give her a tight smile. “I don’t have time for boys.”

Max looks out the window. You’re on the road outside the trailer now. You pull your car up onto the grass though you’re not supposed to and put it in park. Neither of you move to get out.

“He’s very handsome. And sweet. I think if I had a little bit more time and he asked me, then yes. I’d go out with him,” you tell her honestly.

Max doesn’t just admire honesty, she thrives on it. It’s good for her to feel trusted, and right now all you want is for her to be happy when she so clearly hasn’t been.

She looks at you seriously. “I don’t think you and mom both need to work overtime.”

“Come on. We have to take what we can get. You start high school in a few weeks, you need new clothes, a new bag. One of those fancy calculators,” you say, going for an airy lightness.

“I don’t need new clothes,” Max says, almost angry as she tears off her belt.

“We just want you to feel good about-”

“I would be happier if I thought you were happy,” Max says, quick and firm, pushing open the passenger door with her leg. She scrambles out, stands up tall, and then ducks her head back inside the car. “If you go, Steve said he’ll get me the new Kate Bush cassette.”

You pull the keys out of the ignition and give your scheming sister a reluctantly impressed chagrin.

“He really is handsome,” you say, sighing. Max’s smile is worth it, even if he turns out to be a real freak.

Steve doesn’t look like a freak outside Enzo’s. He looks tall. Casual enough, a button down and a pair of dark trousers, fancy shoes but not too fancy. He stands with his back to you but you’d know that hair anywhere. You call out his name as you approach.

It seems natural to give him a kiss on the cheek. He’s pretty and he’d been really, really nice over the phone when you’d called. Funny, slightly doting. And he’d said a bucketful of nice things about Max.

You were sold.

“Hi,” you say happily as you set back on your shoes.

“Hi,” he says, equally enthused.

“I’m sorry if I’m a bit late,” you say quickly.

You don’t have a watch. Steve doesn’t look at his own as he says, “No, you’re not late. I was early.”

He opens the door for you and gives his name for the reservation and soon you’re sitting down just close enough to the kitchen to smell a little bit of everything they’re making. Being asked on a date is nice in that you know Steve likes you, at least enough to ask, if not more, so all the real pressure is on him.

He’s feeling it, you think, his eyes everywhere but your face as he takes off his jacket.

“I’ve never been on a real date,” he says.

“Me neither,” you smile, “‘Less you count, like, prom.”

He raises his eyebrows, pushing up his sleeves as he slides forward, his full attention on you. You melt under his warm, brown gaze. “Who did you go with?”

“Randy.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. You grin, ready to lay into him.

“You have a problem with Randy?”

“What? No, no problem with Randy. Randy’s a nice guy. Really… tolerable.”

You snort. A waiter puts down two menus and asks if you’re ready for a round of drinks. Steve asks for a soda and you hold up two fingers with a smile.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you confide, hedging forward on your elbows to be closer to him. “Randy was tolerable. He was a bad kisser, though.”

“I’ve heard that about him,” Steve says.

“Yeah?”

“No.”

A small silence, then you’re bursting into laughter, hand thrown up to cover your mouth.

“Have you had dinner here before?” you ask once the giggles have faded.

“No, but Dustin said we should try the Ziti.”

“Dustin…” you squint, eyes looking up to your lashes quizzically. “Max’s friend?”

Steve pales but saves himself quickly. “Yeah, Dustin Henderson. He’s like,” his lips part but nothing comes out. He wets his lips. “He comes to me for advice. And I look out for him, drive him places. He’s a good kid. Funny.”

“So he’s like your little brother.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why Max likes you so much,” you say, nodding.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would. Max is very particular, you know.”

“Trust me, I do.”

Your soda arrives and Steve orders the baked ziti. You ask for the same, this time aloud, and then spend the time waiting looking over Steve appreciatively. He’s very handsome, as you’ve said, with a nice body and a nice smile, but what you really like about him is his kindness. He asks questions, seems more than intrigued by your answers. His chin rises as he answers yours, humble and funny.

He’s also a bumbling idiot, visually smitten and easy to get a rise out of. You’re obsessed.

“The uniform,” he’s saying, a fork held loosely in his hand, “you have an apron?”

“And why does that matter, Harrington?”

“You know, just in case you get messy.”

You put down your drink. “That’s disgusting,” you say seriously, knowing perfectly well he wasn’t insinuating anything.

He blushes mad scarlet. “No, I didn’t-”

You can’t contain a smile, laughing as it dawns on him.

“Oh, you’re mean,” Steve says. He doesn’t sound like he minds.

You finish up, running late for the ‘movie’ part of dinner and a movie. He insists on paying. You insist on going halves. It’s brisk outside and he’s quick to offer you his jacket. It smells like him, amber buried beneath bergamot, sandalwood, a handful of rich smells. A cologne you could get used to, you think, his jacket over your shoulders as you walk to his car.

You’re about two feet from his car, dizzy with how well you’re getting on and excited to see a new blockbuster with him when he puts a hand out between you. You slow.

“You have…” he says, hand raised slowly to your face.

You close your eyes and he draws near, careful where he touches your face. His fingertips brush against the well of your eye and pinch, his warmth disappearing. You blink open your eyes and see he’s holding an eyelash in front of your face.

He’s looking at the eyelash. You look at him, his brown eyes hedged in long, dark lashes, his thick eyebrows. He has a darling crop of freckles smattered over his nose and cheeks.

It’s dark out now. The ebbing light of the restaurant kisses his face, throws a shadow across his cheek as it hits his straight nose. His lips form words and you’re enchanted.

“Make a wish,” he says easily.

You close your eyes to think. For Max to be happy, you decide. And then, a voice that sounds suspiciously of your aforementioned sister, for me to be happy.

You blow the eyelash away and open your eyes. Steve’s hand hovers in front of your chest for a moment. You can’t explain why, only that the light and his company and the fullness of a great meal has made you slap dap happy, but you step forward, closing the gap until there’s less than a half foot of space between your rising chests. His hand bumps into your shoulder.

He has a split second to decide whether he should take it back or play it off. He makes the right decision, you think, or at least the one that makes you happy, when his palm sweeps up your neck, his fingers brushing the hair at the back of your head. Your chest burns with pleasure at his touch.

“You look really nice, tonight,” he says.

“Thank you,” you murmur, watching your own hand as you wrap your fingers around his elbow. You slide your hand up the warm plane of his forearm until you're clutching his wrist. “You look really nice, too.”

He rubs the curve that makes up the juncture of your neck. His hand is so warm you think it must be filled with nothing but hot, hot blood, rubbing your shoulder, his fingers spreading as they chase down the fall of your arm and then pull away.

“I’m glad you think so. Lucas vetoed the majority of my wardrobe this morning. Shithead said I dress like I’m trying too hard.”

He pulls open the passenger door. You’re busy feeling fond, your stomach awash with a thousand dancing butterflies.

“Are you getting in?” he asks.

You nod and smile and brush past him, lingering at his side for a half-second too long. You climb in. He shuts the door behind you.

He rounds the hood and jumps in next to you. You turn to him as he’s checking his rear view mirror, curious.

He sees your curiosity and is quick to grin, albeit nervously.

“What?” he asks.

“Do you always let 15 year olds dress you?” you ask.

Steve sighs morosely. “Not always.”

“Ah,” you say. You decide then and there that you’ll be sorely put out if he doesn’t kiss you goodnight after the movie.

He does.

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