unscripted | steve harrington
pairing: director! steve x fem! reader
summary: steve harrington is a visual genius, but his actors have zero chemistry. frustrated and losing light, he pulls you —his script supervisor— under the artificial rain to demonstrate exactly how the film’s rain confession should feel. but as the crew goes silent and the cameras roll, it becomes clear that steve isn’t just directing a scene anymore; he’s finally making his move.
themes: WHOLE LOTTA FLUFF, awkward steve, moviemaker x script supervisor, workplace romance, established friendship, method acting, mutual pining, kissing in front of the whole crew
“cut, for the love of god, cut,” steve shoved his headset down around his neck, his signature hair already beginning to deflate in the humidity. across the set, the two main actors stood awkwardly in the center of the artificial downpour, looking more like they were waiting for a bus than confessing their undying love.
“it’s a heartbreak, not the grocery list,” steve shouted, pacing the length of the muddy track. he’s already stressed, and he’s making the whole team anxious; if they didn’t trust his judgment, they would’ve think this movie is a complete failure. “you’ve waited ten years to say this, dude. i need soul, i need– i need…”
he spun around, his eyes landing on you. you were tucked safely behind the monitors, a clipboard lying in your lap and a red pen tucked behind your ear. you were the only person on the set who didn’t look like they were panicking. “y/n,” he snapped, waving you over.
“harrington, we’re losing light,” you cautioned, checking your light. the sky was a beautiful bruised purple. “we have twelve minutes before the union calls it,” you warned him.
“i don’t give a shit about the light, i care about the performance, for fuck’s sake,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, frantic register he got when a vision was slipping through his fingers. he reached out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the center of the street.
"steve, what are you doing? i’m script supervisor, not an understudy–" you demanded as you pulled back, clearly undecided about being in the spotlight for even a minute. without a doubt, and with that characteristic temperament of his, steve threw you into the pouring rain.
"just stand there," he commanded, his hands landing on your shoulders. he ignored the gasps from the crew. he ignored the way your heart jumped against your ribs. he turned his head to the lead actor. "watch her close. it should be like this.”
steve stepped into the spray of the water, his jacket instantly soaked. he didn't look at the actors anymore. he looked only at you. his eyes were dark, searching, and suddenly stripped of all the director energy.
"i’ve spent every night since the day i left wondering if you’d ever forgive me," steve whispered, his voice cracking perfectly. he stepped closer, invading your space until you could feel the heat radiating off him despite the cold water.
he reached up, his thumb brushing your cheekbone to clear a stray drop of rain. his hand stayed there, cupping your face with a tenderness that wasn't in the notes you’d written. "and then," steve breathed, his gaze dropping to your lips, "you stop talking. because words are useless now."
you didn't have time to remind him that sixty people were watching. you didn't have time to tell him the actors were supposed to be the ones moving. steve leaned in, closing the distance until the only thing you could feel was the press of his mouth against yours: desperate, rain-slicked, and entirely unscripted.
it wasn't a movie kiss. it was heavy and real, tasting like cold water and the secret he’d been keeping for three months of filming. his fingers tangled in your wet hair, pulling you closer as if he’d forgotten he was supposed to be teaching a lesson.
the silence on set was deafening. the only sound was the hiss of the rain machines and the pounding of your own heart. when he finally pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, both of you breathing hard.
steve cleared his throat, his eyes still locked on yours, hazy and vulnerable. then, without looking away, he raised a hand and gestured vaguely toward the stunned lead actor.
"do it like that," he rasped, his voice thick. "we’re going again. everyone back to ones." he let go of you, but his hand lingered on your arm for a second too long before he turned and walked back to the monitors, leaving you standing alone in the rain, shaking and wondering if you still had a job, or if you finally had him.
