I just saw your Steve fanfic and wanted to try my luck with a request! :3
I see Steve as a househusband lol in the sense that he's good at cooking, taking care of the kids when they visit, cleaning, he's organised, emotionally repressed blah blah blah, and he doesn't even get upset when people say that to him because he practically lives alone since his parents are never home and he's like, "well, if I'm going to live alone, at least I have to survive"
A Steve x (gn) reader with this dynamic, pretty pleaseeee?
hi anon this idea is so SO cute omg!! I imagined this would take place somewhere between the end of s2 and s3, I hope you enjoy it :3!! xx
steve harrington x gn!reader
cw: the tiniest bit of hurt/comfort, otherwise pure fluff :)
notes: yayyy my first ask!! also i have to admit that ironically i know nothing about star wars so please forgive any inaccuracies lol ><
āCould you pass me the cupcake wrappers, should be in the first drawer to the right of the sink,ā
Steveās voice traveled across the kitchen as he faced the oven, eyes squinting as he struggled to read his grandmotherās handwriting scribbled across an old recipe card.
āAlso, do you think this says 350Ā° or 360Ā°?ā He sighed, leaning against the kitchen island where you stood cracking eggs into the mixer.
Since the two of you began dating, you realized Steve doesnāt really like being alone. It's not that he was overbearing or clingyāin fact, he's always very conscious of giving you space when you need it, whether that be by rescheduling date night so you can study for a huge test, or turning down outings with your friends if their partners aren't also tagging along so you can enjoy some time with just them. Despite how respectful Steve is of your time, you canāt help but notice the way his eyes light up whenever you agree to tag along for quick grocery trips or the endless string of āthank-yousā that flow from his mouth when you offer to keep him company during the most mundane chores. This is how you found yourself pouring cupcake batter into R2D2 wrappers in your boyfriendās kitchen on a Friday night.
About a half hour ago, Steve received a call from a very droopy Dustin explaining that while him and the rest of the party were at Mikeās attempting to recreate a Lego X-Wing they had seen in Bantha Tracks, they might have left a litter of bricks across the stairs resulting in a fuming Mr. Wheeler booting them from the basement.
āI mean what was I gonna do, turn the kid away?ā Steve explained, placing the tray into the oven, āAnd I just thought if the six of them were gonna be putting together this spaceship-thing on my dining room table, then maybe itād be nice to have a movie on in the background and make em some snacks,ā
You laughed, adding a few dots of red food dye to a bowl of white chocolate.
āYāknow, I underestimated you, when you asked for help making some snacks I thought you meant pouring popcorn and chips into bowls or something, not themed cupcakes,ā You teased, earning an eyeroll from Steve,
"Youād make the perfect househusband, Harrington.ā
He grinned, picking up a pretzel stick from the bowl next to you, dipping it half way into the red chocolate mixture.
āActually, I underestimated you, these actually do kinda look like lightsabers.ā He chuckled, holding one up for you to take a bite. āIām sure the kids are gonna go nuts over them when theyāre on the cupcakes.ā
You and Steve take turns dipping the pretzels into the chocolate, alternating between making red and blue lightsabers, laying them out on a baking sheet to harden. As you set down the last pretzel, Steveās timer goes off signaling the cupcakes were ready. The warm, comforting smell of chocolate cake filled the kitchen as he lifted the treats out of the oven and onto the stovetop to cool. He reached up to the top cabinet, retrieving a cooling rack before tumbling the sweets onto it.
āMan, you guys have like every single kitchen gadget, does your mom bake a lot?ā You inquire, take a seat on one of the islandās barstools.
āNah, I mean she does, but only when she's not on a business trip with my dadā which is like, never.ā He replies, spacing out the cupcakes.
āTo be honest, I probably use this stuff more than her, but if I have to live alone, I have to at least try to survive and not starve.ā Steve admitted, laughing before realizing you had gone quiet, his eyes flicking up with a hint of fear in them.
āGod, sorry, I didnāt mean to get all depressing, I just,ā he paused, taking a deep breath, āI really appreciate you coming over and helping me tonight, even if they were here, my parents wouldāve brushed aside all this nerd shit and it just means a lot to me that you went all out on decorating and everything.ā Steve whispered, fiddling with cupcake wrapper in his hand.
Before he can backtrack on his words, Steve feels your arms wrap around his torso, head pressed into his chest. For a moment, he lets himself melt into the hug, any feelings of fear or embarrassment quickly fleeting. Your moment was swiftly shattered as the shrill chime of the doorbell echoed throughout the house, drawing out a groan from Steve as he gave you one last squeeze before pulling away to answer the door. Following him to the foyer, you see the kids pour into the living room, Dustin and Mike leading the pack immediately followed by Will, Lucas, Max, and El.
āWoah, woah, at least let me put a tablecloth down first!ā Steve shouted over their chatter as Max began to spread their half-finished project across the table.
The kidsā laughter filled the house as they continued their building and snacking (now on top of a plastic partycloth). You waltzed in, placing the now-decorated cupcakes in the middle of the group while Steve searched through his familyās VHS collection for Return of the Jedi (or as he likes to call it, āthe one with the teddy bearsā).
As the kidsā voices overlap with the booming sound of the TV, you settle into the couch leaning against Steve, watching as the kids argue over which Lego goes where.
āThanks,ā He mutters, lightly planting a kiss on your forehead, immediately followed by a chorus of āEWWWWWWWā from the table.
