cw: 90s older!steve, stereotypes sorta cause i was going off of a more characterized version of hoochies, not proof read, fem reader
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. ݁ for the most part steve is around your family since contact with his is nearly nonexistent. for a while it felt very unfamiliar to him to be in an environment full of love, where people seemed to care and respect one another, and every exchange is honest and not purely transactional, but after some time he eventually felt less tense being around your peoples. it feels good being around you and your family, and its something he typically looks forward too; your cousins do too! younger cousins loveeee playing in his hair, tiny hands sloppily adding twists that immediately come undone, and plats that are so obviously done by a child. colorful hair clips and miscellaneous accessories plastered all over his head. your mom playfully shakes her head from afar, “please stop putting bows on that boys hair.”
steve’s coming to their defense with a silly smirk and a shrug, “i don’t mind it honestly, it’s a lot more relaxing than you think.” and the kids are just giggling and squealing plotting on how they’re gonna get a tutu and princess hat on him next. (it doesn’t take much convincing for him.)
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. ݁ sitting in his lap at house parties, and every once in a while people recognize him from high school, and that’s where you learn about his nickname ‘king steve’ and ‘the hair harrington’, and you clown the hell out of him for it LOL. cause why did he let them corny ass nicknames slide!
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. ݁ dragging him by his ear to every store so he can carry everything for you, and you’ve got your arm looped beneath his while you watch him swipe that card left and right. big, pretty eyes gleefully watching while he pays for anything you put in a basket. and he does it happily, soft adoring eyes just taking you all in, in your excitement. he also loves watching you press bikinis, and dresses against your frame, to give him a glimpse of what he might be graced with in the near future
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. ݁ steve knows you love the finer things, and while he’d much rather hand you his card, he stays hading you wads of cash. he knows you love the smell, the look, the weight of a fresh stack of cash. he loves pampering you, he feels the most fulfilled when he’s taking care of someone.
and when you’re out shoe shopping he’s rushing to the floor with sheer joy, a knee propped up for you to put your foot on. delicately slipping shoes on and off you as if you were cinderella herself. catching glimpses of your freshly painted pedicure that he paid for. he looks up at you with so much admiration, eyes soft and sweet.
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. ݁ on your birthday you absolutely go ballistic when he purchases your first fur coat, its poofy and hangs super long. your hot pink, curved, 4XL nails rake through the soft fur with gratitude. lurching forward with dramatically puckered lips, you give him a well earned smooch.
he’s also buying you your first grill, and truthfully he’s sorta ignorant about it, but it comes off as genuine confusion. he asking if it’d hurt and you’re rolling you eyes lightheartedly, “why would i get something painful, baby?” and he just shrugs. unfortunately i think steve is decently ignorant or uneducated when it comes to black culture, he knows a bit due to his relationship with the sinclairs. but even then sometimes its not enough since black people on his side of hawkins feel the pressure and need to conform. so he’s still learning.
tw: foot kink, afab reader, slightly older steve, im a writer that hasn’t written in over a year
not fully proof read. minors dni
will y’all get mad at me if i say steve is into feet.. like actually walk with me rq.
i imagine him laid up on the couch opposite of you, the two of you agreeing to past time and entertain yourself with a movie. truthfully it’s gotten to the point where it’s less about the movie and more about being in each others suffocating company, but it’s in the most delicious way possible. you’re not 100% sure when the shift happened, or when the air got thicker, but you do know your foot has accidentally grazed steve’s inner thigh more than once. over the course of a few minutes a hard bulge has grown beneath your foot, and now you’ve got the sole of your heel pressing against the fabric that pathetically stretches over his shaft.
not only is it hot because he’s just so attracted to you it’s nearly embarrassing, but the tabboo of it all makes his brain fuzzy. on a surface level he knows its “gross” or “wrong”, but deep down that’s what’s turning him on, what’s exciting him. in his defense its harmless, but knowing the current activity is frowned upon and he’s indulging anyway could make him cum right now. but that’d be no fun!
initially he had the instinct to ignore his fantasy, his urges, submitting to the fact that he’d have to admit to himself he was into it, but also trying to read wether or not YOU were into it. to be fair its YOUR heel thats continuously brushing and pushing against him. thankfully he’s able to read you quite well, mouth parted, bottom lip and eyes heavy with lust; you couldn’t be more obvious and it’s relieving for him to know you both have a new shared interest. you softly grind your foot into his bulge further, testing to see if he’d rut his hips toward you, and without missing a beat he surely does.
the look on your face as you focus on pleasuring him, but (not so) sneakily pleasuring yourself with the squeeze of your thighs, clit already pleading for some kind of stimulation.
steve’s is trying hard to restrain himself, keeping his hands off you and letting you fully have control over his experience. nubby finger nails digging into the rough fabric of his couch, finger tips flushed red. his sweats are hitting this particular vain beneath his cock each time your foot pulses upward and he wants to cry out so bad. he’s not sure why he’s holding back his moans, he’s so focused on watching you; watching how you press deeper depending on his response. he can tell you want him a broken mess, and god is he trying hard not to ruin this experience by cumming too fast. he can already feel that familiar heat blooming through his abdomen, and the task of concealing his whining is getting more difficult by the second. as far as you’re concerned, you are having a blast watching him resist the delicious urge to cum.
teasingly you briefly lift your foot from the pre-cum soiled spot you’ve been occupying and you could’ve sworn you saw tears welling up. the way he looks fucked out, you would’ve thought the two of you have been at it all night. his eyes are glossy and slightly unfocused, hair disheveled, his lips look swollen and wet, cheeks flushed a deep red, he nearly looks like he’s panting. the sight makes your pussy clench and mouth salivate.
“wha-“ his voice sounds weak and strained, as if he hasn’t spoken in days. before he gets the chance for form a coherent sentence, you’re right back were you started, foot flesh against his hard on.
he’s careless at this point, he doesn’t care if he looks ridiculous. he’s wrapping his large hand around your bare foot keeping it still in its place so he can fuck himself against it. his moans are choked up and loud, at least louder than a few moments ago. the friction of his sweats against his tip almost makes him twitch, his brows are nearly one the way they’re knitted together. his head is lightly bobbing, eyes rolled back to his skull and lips slick with spit he’s bucking against you so hard. he’s so pitiful chasing his high you almost wanna laugh.
he tries muttering what you think is him telling you that he’s close, but his barely formed sentence breaks off into a moan. before he knows it, white spots flash behind his lids, the bloom in his abdomen finally snapping, his head is lulled back, neck is red, mouth is hung, toes are curled, each thrust slower and harder than the last as he cums. a broken grunt and a shudder is his last sign of his orgasm when he finally releases his grip on you.
A/N: s4 steve is WAY too babygirl like what am i supposed to do. he is literally begging to be domesticated. (gif creds: @emziess)
Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!AFAB!Reader
Summary: You and a sleepy Steve have a very domestic conversation about the future. 0.9k words
Warnings: domestic fluff, talk of pregnancy/children, cuddling, pet names (daddy /j, baby, honey), cursing
Steve's hair is mussed when he reenters the living room from the kitchen. You're not sure what exactly he got up to in there besides dishes, but you're sure he looks even more tired than when he left. And now, he's a heat seeking missile for your lap.
"Tired, honey?" you whisper just to see him nod and close his eyes halfway to the couch. And when he finally reaches you, he spreads his body weight completely atop yours, ear pressed to your heart and cheek smushed against your sternum.
He hums with your lithe fingers sweetly combing through his hair.
"Fuckin' exhausted. Don't even get me started on my shift," he grumbles.
"What happened on your shift?"
He sighs long and hard, rumbling your chest. It takes everything in you not to laugh at how it even shakes the couch a little.
"Robin ditched halfway through to go on a date with Vickie"—he mocks—"and I forgot my lunch."
"Aw, baby, you know I would've brought it to you."
"Don't feel bad, I only didn't call because I worked through my entire break because no one was there to remind me that I even had a break. Stupid. If I hadn't just gotten a raise, I fuckin' swear."
With every second, he seems to sink further into your embrace, bones becoming goo the longer he crushes you into the cushions. Even with the air running and the night chill cooling the house, he stills runs hot like an oven. If you held your breath, you could probably hear his veins humming to produce all that heat.
"I knew I should've visited today. I had a feeling," you say, fingertips soft on the back of his neck. He hums, pushing his hands up your sides and taking your top with them.
"I like when you visit me, baby," he says, "makes me happy. And way more productive."
"Except for the twenty minutes we spend doing nothing."
"Hey, we don't do nothing."
"Oh, sorry, the twenty minutes we spend staring into each others eyes and making out. How could I forget?"
"Dunno," he shrugs, hands now snug up underneath your shoulder blades. "You ever think about kids?"
"Like how loud and obnoxious they are? Yeah, sometimes."
"Yeah, that." But you know that's not all because his brow furrows, his face taut against your chest. He takes a deep breath and shivers when you dip your fingers into the neck of his shirt. "But also about how cute ours would be."
Fuck. For all the shit running through his mind, you're shocked that's all he let out. How cute your kids would be. You and Steve. Cute kids? No doubt. Have you seen his eyes? Of course they'd be cute. You just can't beleive he said it out loud. Like the though of getting older and settling down never crossed his mind as a kind of threat. Like that's the natural course of action for two young adult lovers. You've talked about marriage, sure, but children is a whole new ballpark.
"Honey?" he coos, lifting his head to meet your eyes. "Did I scare you?"
"No. No, no. Just... hadn't really thought of it.
But I agree. Our kids would be cute. Loud and obnoxious and cute."
Your heart gives you away, pounding hard against his cheek and against your will. It makes him blush to hear you say it. Makes him a little embarrassed he said anything at all. But, they'd be pretty cute, wouldn't they?
"We don't have to talk about it," he whispers. You look down at him, pushing all of his hair up past his hairline and covering it up until he looks hairless and then letting it all flop down in his face.
"It's okay, we can talk about it," you whisper, leaning in to kiss his forehead and pull away with a smile. 
"I hope they have your eyes," he says.
"No way, you've got stunners. They better have yours, daddy," you say, grinning wickedly.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, daddio, better get used to it if you want to father our annoying yet gorgeous children."
He goes bug-eyed, staring you down in the dark, and then squinting when you cover your face to laugh.
"Not funny."
"I'm sorry! You should've seen your face, baby. Just a teensy weensy bit funny."
"You're my number one enemy right now."
"Fine, no babies for you."
Steve rucks up your shirt with haste, swiping his hand over your tummy before pressing his wet lips to the hot skin. And blowing a raspberry onto it.
"Steven! Get off of me!" you shout. He takes a very minor beating to his upper back before he laughs and wipes his mouth on his sleeve and settling his head back on your chest. You rub circles over the muscle you had attacked, whispering an apology and rolling your eyes.
"Okay, I hope they have your nose."
"I do have a great nose," you tease.
"Yes, you do," he says.
"I hope they all get a good mix of everything. Little franken-babies."
"I hope so, too. All six of them."
"Six??"
"Sorry, did you want more?"
"More???" you gasp. He chuckles.
"I'm kidding," he teases, plucking at the edge of your tee. "Six is the perfect number." You'd definitely be discussing that number later on.
warnings: swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, family drama, best friends to lovers type beat (lemme know if i missed anything, as always)
a/n: this got pretty long, and i’m sorry about that. i put a steve option in my 1k celebration poll, and i haven’t been able to get over it, so that’s what this is. i thought i could try it out. i haven’t really had this much fun with a fic in a long time. i know my steve audience isn’t as big, but i guess there’s a chance someone might like it.
————
The crumbs from your crackers drop into your lap, the crease of your book catching them. You set your spoon back down, flipping the hardback over to ensure no crumb will be left lingering in between the pages.
You’re curled into the end chair at the table, just as always, legs crossed and book nestled against your bare legs. Your parents sit across from each other, talking about whatever, but you aren’t listening.
You dunk a cracker in your soup, holding it there for a moment to let it soak up the broth, before tossing it into your mouth. You continue on this way—alternating between scooping up noodles or chicken and drowning saltines—until you have nothing left but the dregs in your bowl.
You mark the page in your book, tuck it under your thigh. You’re tipping the bowl backwards, drinking the rest of the soup, when your mother says your name loudly enough to tear you from your stupor.
You swallow and wipe your mouth haphazardly with a napkin. “What?”
“Your father and I were just talking about your sister’s wedding.”
You raise your eyebrows, wondering if she’s actually being serious.
“No shit.”
Your father sets his cup down, glaring at you. “Language.”
“Sorry,” you say, though there’s no real meaning in the word.
Your sister has told practically every goddamn person in Hawkins that she’s getting married at the end of the month. Everyone is talking about her wedding. A wedding that you don’t give one singular fuck about.
She’s marrying her high school sweetheart, they’re moving into a sweet new house in the suburbs, blah blah blah. She’s doing the same shit every other peaked-in-high-school woman her age is doing. And you can’t be bothered to care.
Not only that, but you have to be a bridesmaid. You’re not very close with your sister, so her choosing another friend as her maid of honor really didn’t hurt you. Frankly, you would’ve been fine if she’d left you out of the bridal party completely.
None of this is really as spectacular as everyone’s made it out to be.
“Anyhow,” your mother begins, “you know she’s allowing her guests to bring a plus one.” She pauses, and you raise your eyebrows again, not understanding the need for dramatics here.
“Well, she asked if you were going to bring someone, and I told her that you were.”
You push back from the table, entirely too confused. “What?”
“Honey, don’t get so frantic. I didn’t think you would want to be alone, especially considering your attitude towards the entire function.”
You take a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your eyelids.
“I thought you could bring that boyfriend of yours. Actually, that’s what I told her. She’s already put in the name for a place card.”
“Mom, are you out of your mind?”
She gasps, taking a sip of her wine to gather herself. Your father chooses this moment to begin clearing up the table.
“I don’t have a boyfriend!” you exclaim.
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean? I told her you’d bring that boy, Steve. You spend an awful lot of time with him for him to not be your boyfriend.”
You feel like you’re choking on air. Like your dinner is going to come up if she doesn’t cut this out. “That’s because he’s my friend!”
“You’re always with him, sweetie. Much more than I ever was with any of my male friends.” She clearly doesn’t believe that he’s not your boyfriend. Like it’s impossible that he isn’t.
You shove past her and into the kitchen, utterly exasperated. Why are people making decisions for you? Why is your mother suddenly proclaiming to everyone that you’re in a relationship you didn’t even know you were in?
When you turn around from facing the sink, both of your parents are staring at you. “What now? Something else you’ve told the whole damn town about me?”
Your mother reaches out to you, but you brush her off. You’re a little too pissed for any sort of cooing right now.
“I’m sorry I assumed he was your boyfriend, honey. But you have to bring him, or else the family will ask questions and there will be an empty space next to you. Personally, I’d find that embarrassing.”
You push your way out of the kitchen, more than done with this situation. “You’ll be lucky if I even go to the damn wedding. And, personally, I wouldn’t go blabbing about things I’ve just assumed about my own daughter rather than just talking about them with her.”
When you turn down the hall, your father is rubbing his forehead, and your mother is looking at you like you should be grateful for her having assured you have company for the big event.
“This could be good for you!” she shouts, and your only response is the slam of your bedroom door.
In hindsight, of course the slam was childish, but you really can’t believe your mother.
You’ve never been so frustrated with her in your life. And yeah, you’ll go to the wedding, but what gave her the right to do that? This is your life. Not hers.
Normally, you would call Steve about something like this, but shit, you can’t.
Steve. As your boyfriend?
That’s too much for your brain to handle right now. You throw yourself on the bed and call it a night.
————
“So, let me get this straight,” Robin begins, holding up her hands so as to count off your main points. “Your mother just told everyone that you have a boyfriend, that this boyfriend is Steve, of all people, and that he’s your plus one to your bitchy sister’s wedding?”
The countertop is cold when you press your forehead against it. “Yes,” you whine.
You’d gotten up first thing this morning and head to Family Video, needing to spill your guts to the one and only person who would surely match your energy and try to help you handle the situation.
Your arms are laid out in front of you, hands dangling over the edge of the counter and reaching for Robin on the other side. She grabs hold of them and squeezes. “That’s one hell of a pickle you’re in. But! Lucky for you, I’m gonna help you figure it out.”
You squeeze her hands back, only to jerk your head up at an alarmingly fast rate. Robin cringes like you’re going to give yourself whiplash. You’ve just had an absolutely terrifying thought.
“Steve’s not working today, is he?”
Robin tries to think off the top of her head, but there are too many thoughts rambling around in there, so she’s quick to consult the schedule pinned to the wall behind her. She probably could’ve told you the times of each of his shifts if only you hadn’t asked.
“He won’t come in until this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank fuck. I’m not ready to see him yet. He’s going to notice something’s wrong and then he’ll want to talk about it and then it’ll just be a big fat shit show.”
Robin props her chin up with her hand, elbow resting against the green countertop. “You know, maybe that’s a good thing. He already knows you so well that he’ll probably make a great boyfriend.”
“Robin, what?”
She’s plotting and you’ve never felt more afraid.
“Well, you can’t just not take him to the wedding after all of this, right? It would be ten times messier now that your mom has told all of Hawkins that Steve Harrington is your boyfriend. And you know he’ll agree to go, being ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and whatnot. Besides, you’ve gotta admit that there’s chemistry between the two of you.”
You go to speak, but she holds a hand up to stop you.
“So you tell him about your little predicament, and maybe he can just act as your boyfriend for the night?” She smiles nervously, shoulders rising in slight fear of your reaction. “You two are best friends, no one’s bound to be the wiser.”
“Robin, are you suggesting that I just fake-date the man?”
She raises her hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “What’s the harm in it? It’s just a one time thing. You go, you get it over with, and Steve will be there the whole time. It’ll be totally fine.”
You drag your hands down your face, peeking at her through your fingers. This is insane. This is fucking delusional. But it could work, couldn’t it?
A customer comes in, and you step to the side while Robin helps them at the counter. Chemistry? Maybe Robin’s right. Not that you’d ever tell her that.
Last Valentine’s, Steve showed up at your place after dark, flowers in hand, knowing full well that you hate the holiday. “I just wanted you to feel special,” he’d said. “And I love you and everything.” You’ve been saying that to each other for forever it seems. And you mean it. He’s your best friend. But now you’re wondering if maybe he means it in a different way. Or if that’s just what you want to think.
Steve doesn’t know that you pressed a few of the flowers to keep, or that you’ve saved the stubs from the movies you’ve seen together. You think about how he holds your hand on the way up the theater stairs, keeping you from tripping and spilling popcorn everywhere. How he offers to go out with you when you need to be away from home, not wanting to leave you alone. That he takes your bag from you the second he notices you adjusting it, straps digging into your shoulder.
Your hands start to sweat, and you feel like this could either go just as Robin’s told you, or it could go really fucking badly.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Robin’s voice breaks you out of your stupor. She’s waving her hand in front of your face.
“Listen honey, I can see your brain working from here. I know you’re coming up with every possible way that this could go wrong. Just talk to him! It might go really well. You never know.”
Robin boops you on the nose and starts to walk towards the staff room. It’s her way of signaling that you need to get your shit together.
“Good luck! I love you!”
You grab your keys and make for the door, flipping her off as you go. She only blows a kiss in response.
————
You’d been pacing your room when Steve called and offered to take you to the bookstore. Really he just wanted to spend time with you, and you needed to spill your guts. You spent an hour contemplating calling him, going over to see him, maybe even just cutting yourself off from him as a whole. In fact, cutting yourself off from the world had crossed your mind, but he’d since prevented that.
Now Steve hovers behind you while you wander down an aisle filled with mystery novels. None of them are catching your eye.
There’s a warmth behind you, and you look up to see Steve. He reaches above your head, one hand on your waist, and pulls something down. He flips it around in his hands before holding it out to you. “What about this one?”
Surprisingly enough it does sound vaguely interesting. “You have to read it after I do.”
He grins. “Yes ma'am.”
And we will read it. You know that he will because he’s done it before. He’s sat on your couch and blabbed about books to you, whining about this character, asking you a question about that plotline. Robin’s voice chirps in your head. Chemistry. Shit.
Steve takes the book back from you. He never lets you carry anything.
You walk further into the store, your feet carrying you to the same places they always do. You end up in a quiet corner, and your heart rate picks up. Not telling him is only hurting you more. You take a deep breath.
“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”
He crosses his arms and leans against the end cap. “Shoot.”
“You know how my sister is getting married?”
He snorts. “Yeah, I’d say I’m familiar with the event.”
You’d smile if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you might puke at any moment. “Well she decided that guests could have a plus one.” Steve hates the way he warms up at that. At the fact that he wants you to take him. He nods, encouraging you to continue.
“Well my mother decided to tell everyone that I’d bring you. As my boyfriend.”
Steve coughs, and your head jerks in his direction. “Your boyfriend?”
You press your hands together. “Yeah. She said she assumed that we were dating because we’re always together, and when my sister asked if I’d be bringing someone, she just told her that it would be you.”
You make eye contact with Steve. His cheeks have gone red. “So naturally, she’s already had your nameplate printed. And now, what I’m saying is that I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend and go to my sister’s wedding with me.” The last part spills out of your mouth faster than you’d intended.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you start to panic. It’s as if you’ve been sent into overdrive, like every sense in your body is on high alert. If this goes wrong, Robin’s ass is grass.
You back into the corner of the aisle, book spines pressing into your back. “I realize I said I need you to do this, but I should have prefaced it by saying that of course you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to–”
“I’ll do it.”
Steve pushes his hair back from his forehead.
“What?”
“I said I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”
“Steve, are you sure?”
He’s moving into your personal space bubble, hands grasping for your arms where you’ve tucked them behind your back. He pulls them out, hands sliding down your forearms until he’s got your hands in his. His palms are warm, and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are. There’s a ring on his pinky finger too, and it takes you by surprise, considering he’s not usually one for jewelry. You’ll have to ask him about it later, assuming you survive this.
“I’m sure. I’m not just going to let you show up after your mom did all that shit. She’s more trouble than she’s worth, if you ask me. But I promise, I don’t mind. I’ll go and be your boyfriend. I don’t know how good I’ll be, but hey…we’ll see.”
You pull your hand away to smack him on the arm. He winces like you’ve brutally wounded him.
“Don’t you dare say that, Steven. You’d make an excellent fake boyfriend. And a kickass real one. Don’t let me hear that shit again.”
You let go of him and start to walk away.
Steve chuckles. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll beat your ass, Harrington. And you’d definitely lose that one.”
He catches up to you and his hands find your waist again, though he struggles to hold on when you’re continually moving.
“Hey,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out at you. “Not fair.”
You look back up at him and reach up to pat his cheek. It’s warmer than you’d expected, and still all rosy. “Sorry, sorry.”
“That’s not very nice of a fake girlfriend.”
You snort. “Ha! I guess my fake girlfriend skills aren’t up to the great Steve Harrington’s standards.”
“You’re being so mean to me today.” He rests his chin on your shoulder while you pick through a sale pile.
“Only yanking your chain, dearest.”
He chuckles, and you can feel his breath against your neck.
You start to wonder if maybe everyone has a point. You do spend the majority of your time with Steve, and you are touchy, but that’s just the kind of person Steve is. You hadn’t realized how much you enjoyed physical touch from another person, even when it’s the most mundane action, until him. Robin is the same way, always holding your hands or leaning on you. They’re spoiling you.
But the more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve started to crave Steve’s touch when he’s not around. At night when you feel lonely, when you’re staring at the ceiling and letting your thoughts engulf you, you wish he was there to give you a hug. You wish he was there when you’re eating lunch alone and his leg isn’t pressed against yours under the table. You miss the warmth and the weight of him beside you on the couch. It’s like there’s a part of your brain that’s reserved for him, and suddenly you’re worried that this fake dating Steve thing might be the worst decision you’ve ever made.
————
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, and I’m going to leave this with you until the masquerade is complete so that both of you morons have a reminder of your agreement.”
Robin sits on Steve’s couch, white board in hand. She’s brought way too many markers with her. She decided it would be best if you and Steve had a list of things that are acceptable for your temporary fake romance. She also insisted she be moderator.
“Masquerade? Is that really what we’re calling this?” Steve looks at you.
“No. It’s not.”
“Both of you! Focus!” Robin uncaps a marker and throws the lid at Steve. He catches it. “Now, what kinds of things are okay to do during this little performance? I’m talking, hugging, handholding, kissing, the lot of it. Now shoot.”
Steve looks at you again. “What do you think? This is your family that we’ll be around.”
Your knee starts to bounce.
The majority of your little charade will be during the reception, and having to stand during the ceremony is saving you much more trouble than you’d realized. You never thought you’d be grateful to be a bridesmaid. But now there’s the added pressure of knowing Steve will be watching you then, that your family will be watching the both of you afterwards.
Steve catches your shaking leg and is quick to put a hand out to steady you. He knows you’re nervous.
“See? That’s good. Believable.” Robin is staring at the two of you, or more specifically, at where Steve’s hand rests on your knee.
Steve pulls his hand back. “Okay, so we can hold hands?” you say, questioning yourself already. “You can touch me, like that or like you usually do.”
“I can do that. Hands, arms, back. That alright?”
You start to warm up. “Yeah, that works. What about you? I don’t want to be too handsy or anything but it might be weird if I don’t touch you at all.”
Steve sits back in his chair while Robin scribbles away, her bulletpoints little stars. There are two sides, one for each of you.
“All of that is fine with me too. I really don’t mind, and I think you know I like physical affection. But you know when you like, hang on my arm sometimes? I really like that.”
Robin smiles brilliantly. “That’s good! Makes you look super lovey-dovey.” She jots it down under Steve’s name.
You try not to let it show, but Steve’s words are running rampant in your head. I really like that. He does? You hadn’t realized it before.
“What else?” Robin asks. “Kissing? How do we feel about that?”
“Uh—I hadn’t really thought about it,” you tell her. And you hadn’t. The thought of Steve kissing you at all, other than the top of your head like he’s done before, makes you feel like your heart has just dropped out of your ass. “But I suppose it’d be weird if we didn’t at all, you know?”
You’re looking at Steve, hoping he’ll feel the same way, searching for some sort of consolation.
“No, yeah, that’s a good point.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing, “What about your cheeks and forehead and stuff? Maybe the face is fair game? And you can do the same for me.”
You wipe your palms across your thighs. Kissing Steve. Steve kissing you. You’re losing your shit.
“Yeah, that’s totally fine. That works.” You’re amazed that you’ve even managed to get the words out.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know?” Steve’s expression is soft. You know he’s being serious with you.
“I know. And I don’t want to make you feel that way either. I want this to be a perfectly comfortable evening.”
“And I’m sure it will be!” Robin claps her hands together, setting her board down against the couch cushions beside her.
She stands abruptly. “Basically you’re just behaving like you normally do, but with a little more hands-on action, you know?”
Steve quirks a brow, taking a furtive glance at you. “What do you mean, like we normally do?”
Robin moves towards her best friend and crouches, taking his hands in hers. “Uh…what are you doing?”
“Listen, little Stevie, you’re a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you’re always all over the lovely lady to our left. You can’t deny that.”
“I mean—yeah.”
Robin nods her head. Steve struggles to keep eye contact with her, knowing you’re watching the interaction.
“And you’ve rubbed off on her! She wasn’t really like this before you, Harrington.”
This time he jerks his head towards you. “Really?”
He’s thinking about your hugs, how you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze. About how you always take his hand when he offers it, or how you'll toss a leg over his on the couch. Any other sort of behavior would feel strange.
You feel yourself go all warm. Feel your chest squeeze. You’re forgetting how to breathe. She’s completely right. Steve has brought out a side of you that you swore you didn’t have. The side that longs for affection. Maybe more.
You nod your head at him.
“Yeah,” Robin says, “Most I’d get out of her was some hand holding before you came around.”
She releases Steve from her grasp and rises once again.
“But my point is, you two are going to make a fantastic fake couple. And maybe even an excellent real one.”
Steve face palms. “Robin.”
“Sorry, sorry! Make sure to take pictures for me, alright? I’ll be so sad to miss this happening in person.”
Steve stands, grabbing Robin’s bag for her. “Yep. Alright. See you later, Rob.”
He looks at you with what you’re quite positive is fear in his eyes. He leads her to the door, and you can’t help but chuckle, even if you’re nervous as shit, as he reassures her that there will be pictures, and that you’ll tell her all about it.
————
“Just hang it up on the doorframe, and then you can hold stuff up to it.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
You sit cross legged in the center of Steve’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s going to knock your dress on the floor if he doesn’t quit his frenzy.
You’d told him it wasn’t necessary that he coordinate his outfit with yours, but he insisted, so you brought your dress over for him to see. Steve has a feeling that when he sees you in it he’s going to lose his shit, not that he can tell you that.
“You know, I never thought these would be useful. But I guess your asshole dad dragging you to business events pays off sometimes.”
Steve lifts a bunch of hangers from the rack and pulls them out of his closet, setting them on the bed beside you.
“Fancy,” you say, smirking.
He rubs his hand over his chin, the other braced against his hip. “Yeah.”
You can tell he’s a little frazzled at this. The reminder of dressing himself up to be paraded around by his father—a father who doesn’t spare Steve a second when not in the public eye.
You hate that you’ve made him dig up all these memories.
“They all fit okay?” you question.
He nods, that one insistent lock of hair slipping free. He pushes it back before you have the chance to.
You slide off the side of the bed and stand. You gesture for him to sit and that gets a smile out of him.
After he’s settled, you lift each suit up one by one, seeing which matches the blue of your dress best. You’re only glad that your sister picked a nice shade: a dark, rich midnight blue. The kind you’d be able to spot from far off in a department store and need to take a look.
You get to a sort of soft gray one, and Steve stops you. You hook it up on the doorframe beside your dress.
“I think that looks nice, yeah?”
You walk backwards until your spine meets Steve’s knees. You brace yourself, hands on his calves. His chin meets the top of your head because of how high up the bed is.
“I like it a lot, Harrington.”
He snorts, and you can feel the puff of air against your scalp. He’s warm, his presence all around you. His cologne, maybe his shampoo if you let yourself fall in between his legs. But you don’t. You stand.
“Looks pretty solid to me,” you tell him, though your grin falters just slightly enough for him to catch it.
He puts a gentle hand on your cheek, making sure you keep your eyes locked on his.
“Hey. It’s gonna be great, okay? You’re going to kill it in that dress. Probably kill me, actually,” he laughs. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”
“Alright, Steven.” You’re trying not to over-analyze that comment. This is not the time to get sweaty.
He stands up, hand sliding down from your cheek to cover your collarbones. You wrap your arms around his back on instinct, and you swear you see him blush as he moves to encircle you in his own.
“Does being your fake boyfriend mean your incessant picking has only gotten worse?”
You rest your forehead against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heartbeat. You think about how nice it might be to do this all the time. What it might be like if he weren’t your fake boyfriend, but your real one.
“Mhm,” you mumble. “I plan on continuing it, too.”
Steve’s hands run up and down your back.
“I look forward to it,” he whispers. There’s a part of you that knows he means it.
————
Steve hasn’t stopped looking at you since you met him at the door to the wedding venue.
You’d run down, more than happy to have company that wasn’t your sister's bitchy bridal party.
He stands with you now, waiting until he’s allowed to take his seat, and you can feel his eyes burning into you.
Not that you’re any better than he is.
His suit fits him just right, and every time he pushes his hair around, you watch his shoulders move under his jacket. It’s driving you insane. And he’s wearing that fucking ring again. Except this time, there’s also one on the middle finger of his opposite hand.
The sun is hitting him just right, turning his eyes this amber color. It’s mesmerizing. You notice then that his tie is the same blue as your dress.
“Steve?”
“Hm?”
“Did you have that? Just lying around?”
He follows your gaze to his chest. No, he absolutely didn’t. He ran out and picked one up in a shade as close as he could get it to yours. Wearing something that felt like a piece of you had his mind abuzz. Abuzz with you.
It’s the same way he feels about these rings Robin bought him. She said you were into them, always talking about Steve’s hands or something. He’s started to like them, but really it’s for you. Most things are.
“Yeah. I found it in a drawer.”
Robin would slap him if she were here. He doesn’t know why he lies, but he does. And then you’re blushing and he’s got to sit down. He squeezes your hand one last time, an encouraging gesture, but one that has so much more buried beneath it.
The ceremony thankfully goes quickly for you, and you’re grateful, hating having to stand up there like you give a shit, like your sister is some saint.
For Steve, it’s the slowest wedding he’s ever been to. You look so fucking gorgeous and he can’t keep it together. He barely even pays attention to the wedding, too busy looking at you. The way your indifference shows on your face, even if you know you’ll hear about it later. The way your hands wrap around the little bouquet you’ve been given. The way the setting sun sets your skin alight, and he thinks that you might truly be the death of him.
When the ceremony has concluded, when Steve is looking for you in the reception hall, he realizes he has to tell you so. You deserve to know how gorgeous you are. He’s beating himself up for having said you looked ‘great,’ and that was all.
You spot him first, and rush to him like you had before, anxious to be near him.
“My mother is looking for me,” you tell him.
“You want to get some air?” His hand finds the small of your back, already leading you away from the crowd and just outside the doors.
“You’re such a good fake boyfriend.”
You suck in a breath of cool air, shake your hands out.
Steve smirks, hands moving up to massage at your shoulders before he even has a chance to give the action a second thought. “Just knew you’d like to get away is all.”
Knew.
The word hits you and you feel like you’ve been slapped. Goddammit, Robin. She’s been in your head all day, and you’ve done nothing but pick up on the little things Steve does for you, the things he seems to know about you, that make him so much more than just a best friend.
You’re fucked.
“Thank you, Steve. For that, and for coming to this. It means a lot to me.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’d do it again.”
He’s looking at you with such fondness, and you have a feeling he wants to say more. You grab hold of one of his wrists, locking your eyes with his in hopes that it will communicate the message. Go ahead.
He exhales. This sort of thing used to be so easy for him, but it’s never been that way with you. He knows it’s because you aren’t just some chick he wants to take out. You’re everything. And he’s fumbling for words.
“I, uh, I wanted to tell you that…” You squeeze his wrist, and he continues, albeit with a shaky voice. “I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful.”
A smile creeps up and onto your face before you can stop it.
“I mean, you always look beautiful, b-but tonight you’re just—stunning. Like, totally breathtaking. Don’t let anyone hear this, but I’d even say you look better than the bride.”
You let out a laugh then, the kind that comes straight from your belly, rich and sickly sweet. It makes Steve laugh, too. He can’t believe you. You’re unbelievable.
“Sorry, Steve, I just–fuck that was so funny.” You straighten up, putting your serious face back on. “Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it.”
“I’m serious, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and plush against your skin.
You go all warm and fuzzy inside. “Thank you, Stevie.”
He smacks another kiss to your cheek, just because he can.
“You look pretty too, you know.”
Steve blushes at your comment, and it’s at this very moment that your mother’s voice rings out, “Sweetie! Come in here, people want to see you!”
Fear flashes across your face, any trace of the sweet flirtiness there seconds before having vanished.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve says, watching you gesture towards your mother, telling her you’re on your way. “Let’s do this, yeah?”
You make eye contact with him, and he grabs hold of your hand, weaving his fingers between yours. “Yeah.”
————
“So, how’d the two of you meet?”
You’re surrounded by a crowd of women, some are your family–your mother and sister–some women you’re not even sure you know.
“School.” Steve saves you from having to speak first. “We went to high school together, but we met through a mutual friend.”
Your mother quirks a brow. “Robin,” you tell her.
“Oh! What a lovely young lady.”
Steve snorts and you slap him on the back. Not that anyone could’ve seen it with how close he’s got you pressed to his side. “Yep,” Steve coughs, “She’s great.”
He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hoping it’ll give him a moment to suppress his smile. Your sister steps away from her friends, catching the action.
“So, Steve, does she treat you okay? I know my sister can be a bit frantic sometimes.” You watch your mother down the rest of her wine, and you know she’s hoping nothing breaks out between the two of you like it has plenty of times before.
Steve’s arm wraps more firmly around you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. Everyone has their eyes locked on you, waiting, hoping that Steve will spill some sort of secret that they can spread throughout Hawkins like wildfire. Nothing beats good gossip around here.
He squeezes your hip, and for a split second you think the gesture might be possessive. Protective, even.
“She does. Your sister is considerate and thoughtful, and she’s the best woman I know. I’ve never felt more comfortable than I do with her. And if she’s ever frantic, it only helps her deal with me when I’m the same way.”
You feel like you could pass out. Because you know he meant every damn word of that. You know he isn’t lying.
Your sister looks between the two of you. “Well, I suppose that’s good to hear.” Her smile is nothing but insincere when she walks off to greet another wedding guest.
One of your aunts swoops in, and Steve feels you clutch his side a little harder. He has a feeling you’re about to be ridiculed.
“Such a lovely day, isn’t it? You two ever think about tying the knot?”
Steve pinks and your hand slips under his suit jacket, clutching at the fabric of his shirt instead. Is this really the time?
“No,” you pipe up. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”
The woman frowns at you. “Well, isn’t that silly? You better get around to it sooner than later, honey. Take after your big sister. You won’t be young forever.”
You go to speak, but Steve’s already begun. “I’m sorry, but she doesn’t have to get married on anyone else’s terms. Hell, she doesn’t have to get married at all, and I can say that in utmost confidence. Maybe back off, okay?”
Your aunt looks absolutely scandalized, as if she cannot bear to accept what just happened to her.
Steve starts to lead you away from the group. “Come on, baby.”
Baby.
Steve called you ‘baby.’
You don’t have time to analyze that though with the way he’s escorting you back outside. He parks you on a bench and starts to pace in front of you.
“I can see why you didn’t want to do this now. Jesus, are they always like that? I thought my dad’s colleagues were dicks, but my god.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wait—can you call judgmental ladies dicks?”
You snort and bury your face in your hands. “Yes, Steve, I think so.” It comes out muffled, but he hears it all the same.
When you look up, Steve is staring at you, and he’s much closer than he had been. He starts to say something, but both your mother and sister have shown up, looking for you.
“Sweetie! What are you doing out here?” Your mother looks frazzled, and maybe a little tipsy. You knew your sister would be a bitch on her wedding day, but apparently your mother hadn’t yet realized.
“Escaping the mob.”
“Your aunt isn’t entirely pleased with your behavior, I’ve been told.”
You stand up then. “Honestly, mom, I don’t really give a shit. I came to this wedding, like you told me to. I brought, Steve, like you told me to. And I just don’t care anymore. I’m sick of your bullshit.”
She looks aghast, way more than your aunt had.
You look at your sister, who’s clearly hoping to see you fuck up.
“Congratulations on fucking yourself over. You’ll have a severely depressing marriage.”
“C’mon, Steve.”
He takes your hand, and he can’t help but giggle as he follows you out.
————
“Sweetheart? You comin’?”
You’ve stopped halfway up Steve’s stairs, a far off look in your eyes. He’d brought you back to his place to stay the night, and now that you’re here, it’s like every thought you’ve had about him is fit to burst. This cannot just be a tonight situation. You can’t let this end here.
You drop your dress where you’d been holding it up to prevent yourself from tripping.
“Maybe Robin’s right. About the chemistry.”
Steve’s hands go to his hips. He’s got no idea what you’re on about, but the way you’re looking at him is enough to have his heart rate kicking up a notch. “Chemistry?”
“Yeah. She pointed it out. And she said we’d make a fantastic couple, remember?”
He blushes. He hopes this is going where he thinks it is. Tonight has made him realize how much more you are to him than just a friend. He wants you all the time. “Yeah, I remember.”
Your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t really breathe, but if you don’t say this now, you’re not sure you ever will.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?” He’s never been so stressed in his life. He’s actually starting to sweat.
You exhale and push the words out. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend. I want you to be my real one.”
He coughs, chokes really, and you move up the stairs towards him to make sure he’s okay and not actually sick over the matter.
“Are you sure?” he asks, surprising himself with the ability to speak considering how raw his throat feels.
“Wouldn’t have said so if I felt otherwise, Harrington.”
There she is, he thinks. You really want him. Just like he does you. He can’t believe it.
“Again with the picking. You’re so mean to me.”
You smirk, your hands finding his sides again. You seem to have some attachment to them, and Steve wonders if it’s because you know there are scars underneath. If you’re telling him more than what you can bear to say. Giving him a glimpse of all you have to offer him, all the love you might hope to share.
“I’ll show you mean, you little shit.”
You press your lips against his before you can second guess yourself, before you let that little voice win.
Steve hums in surprise, but it’s clear he’s not upset by the gesture with the way he responds to your touch. His hands find your neck, thumbs stroking over your cheeks.
He’s kissing you back, and fuck if he’s not trying to tell you everything he’s been feeling.
When you pull away for air, Steve’s too greedy to let you go. He pecks your lips once, twice more, and when he really can’t breathe, he peppers your face instead. Now that you’ve given him the chance, he seriously can’t get enough of you.
“Damn.”
You laugh, and push that strand of hair back where it goes, this time getting to it before he can.
You take Steve’s wrist in your hand. It’s late. You hadn’t realized how worn out you were, but you are.
“Can we go to sleep?” you ask, searching his brown eyes. His lashes are unfairly long, but you’ll have to berate him about it later.
“Do I get another one of those before bed?” He’s already hauling you up the stairs, wanting you settled.
“If you’re good.”
————
“So when did it happen?” Robin’s voice is almost accusatory.
“What?”
You’re standing close enough to Steve to ensure that you can hear Robin on the other side.
“When did this love confession take place?”
“That’s not what it was—”
“Just tell me when, dingus!”
“Last night, after we got home. She told me she didn’t want it to be fake anymore.”
“Shit!”
Steve rolls his eyes. You fuss with the belt loops on his jeans, trying to figure out what she’s been up to. “What did you do?” he asks.
“I owe Dustin twenty.”
“You bet on us?” Your voice is loud enough that she hears it, and you know she’s cringing even if you can’t see it.
“Maybe? Yes. I bet that you’d give up the act later than that, that you two would be cowards about it. Figured you’d both wallow in self pity for a while before you just came out and said how you feel.”
Steve looks at you, and mouths: Are you hearing this?
Robin keeps going. “Dustin said you’d come to your senses quicker than that. He bet on the wedding day specifically. Goddamnit!”
You take the phone from Steve, and his forehead meets your shoulder. You can feel the way he shakes with laughter.
“Thanks for having so much faith in us, Rob.”
She chuckles. “What? You’re both extremely good at lying to yourselves. I expected this to be much more dramatic.”
“Mhm,” you start, a plan forming in your mind. Steve can almost feel it. “Hey, Robin?”
“Yes?”
“Just for that, I’m calling in sick for Steve today. That shift is all yours.”
“No. Nononono—”
You hang up the phone. That means there won’t be the buffer that is Steve Harrington to prevent Robin having to interact with Keith. She’ll be stuck with him all evening.
“That was just cruel,” Steve laughs.
You cross your arms. “Oh, so you wanna go in then?”
He smiles at you and holds his arms out. You move into the circle of them. His hands find your waist and squeeze. “No, I didn’t say that. I haven’t had a day off in months.”
“So quit whining.”
“See? I’ve only been your real boyfriend for like, a matter of hours, and you’re still being so mean to me.”
You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. It seems to appease him.
“Was that mean?”
“Not at all.”
You grin and kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Mean and a tease. Wow.”
You let out a breath of a laugh. “Only for you, Stevie.”
He takes your face in his hands, fingers pushing gently into your skin.
“Damn right.”
————
please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33
Synopsis: There's no way someone like Steve would love you. It's only a matter of time before he forgets you.
Warnings: Self-deprecation, feelings of unworthiness, angst to fluff, language
Word Count: 2016
A/N: In celebration of 500+ followers, here is my Steve fic you voted on! Admitted, this is not the original one I had in mind, but one I thought of this idea, I couldn't stop. I hope you enjoy it! And thank you to those who have supported my writing. I'm truly blown away by your kindness.
Watching Steve flirt with every woman who enters Family Video may kill you. Not because he sucks at it—god, he’s such a dork, all faux suave and big eyes. You don’t know how any woman could turn him down. You fluster just from witnessing it.
No, you’ll end up six feet under because he never flirts with you.
It’s pathetic how you crave his attention when nothing will ever happen between you.
Still, you wait for the moments when his eyes turn to you. The ones where he throws you a smile or pulls you in for a hug. He’s always so warm…
He has this unbelievable ability to make you feel safe. And you can’t recall a time that's ever happened.
But it doesn’t matter how you feel.
Steve will never give you the looks you want. Or the flirty smiles. Or the relationship he’s constantly seeking out.
You’re only you.
“I should really get a new sign,” Robin sighs loudly, shaking you from your thoughts. “The board would already be full.”
You’re thankful she’s distracted with teasing Steve, or else she may notice how you zoned out while she was talking.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Steve says. “I suck.”
You try to give him the best sympathetic smile you can muster, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.
His head tilts slightly, but Robin pushes the cart toward him before he can say anything.
“It’s your turn to stock. There are some new tapes in the back,” she says.
He rolls his eyes but takes the cart without complaint and walks to the back room.
Robin leans her elbows on the counter and raises an eyebrow.
“You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask.
“You just had to watch that.” She gestures to where Steve had stood. “Granted, it was bad. I’m sure it wasn’t fun.”
“I don’t get what you’re talking about, Robin.” Surely she doesn’t know…does she?
“I’m talking about your massive crush on a certain employee here,” she says. “And I’m not talking about Keith or me.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “How did…How did you know?”
“You looked like a kicked puppy when he started talking.” Her tone is gentle as she levels you with a look.
You fiddle with your fingers. “It’s not like it matters.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
You meet her gaze, and she really has no idea what you’re talking about.
“How I feel,” you whisper. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it matters.” She matches your volume. “If you like him, you should tell him.”
You shook your head. “And embarrass me? Make everything weird between us? No.”
“That’s assuming he doesn’t feel the same,” she says.
“He just got done flirting with another woman. In what world does that mean he likes me back.” There’s a slight tingle in your nose, and you blink a few times before the tears can come.
“Maybe he’s thinking the same as you are: he doesn't want to make things awkward.” Her tone is reassuring and hopeful. Her heart is in the right place, but you know better.
“C’mon, Robin, it’s not like I’m anything special.” You say it as if it’s obvious. “I’m not the type of person guys give a second look, let alone love. I’m just…I’m just here.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean you’re ‘just here?’” She doesn’t give you room to respond. “You’re my best friend! Do you think anyone else could put up with me?”
“What about Steve?” You raise an eyebrow in challenge.
“Steve is Steve. But you are my ride or die.” She levels you with a look. “Don’t give me any of that ‘I’m unlovable’ crap. You are the kindest, most considerate person I know! You literally fight monsters and have saved every one of our asses—multiple times!”
You open your mouth, but she’s on a roll.
“And as for those guys you’re referring to—fucking dumbasses. If they can’t realize how amazing you are, then fuck’em. Well…not really. But you know what I mean!”
You feel a little awkward that you caused her to say all that, but mostly, you’re touched. And your feet are carrying you over to her before you can register what’s happening.
You pull her into a hug, holding back tears.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“Anytime,” she says, wrapping you in her arms. Like the action alone will convince you of her words.
You both slowly separate, her hands resting on your shoulders.
“We all love you. You’re important to us. And if you ever need reminding, tell me, okay?” she asks.
You nod. “Okay.”
—
Steve’s chest hurts.
He heard everything.
He’s in the back, ready to come out with more videos to stack when he hears you talking to Robin.
And all he wants to do is burst out and make you realize how wrong you are.
How could you think you’re forgettable?
How could you think you’re unlovable?
Especially when he’s right here? When he’s completely gone for you?
He wants to kick himself for flirting with that girl and everyone before her. He should have just told you how he feels.
He nods along to Robin’s reassurances, urging his agreement to somehow ease your mind.
He has to do something.
You deserve the world. You deserve to know how much he values you—how much you mean to him. That he returns your feelings.
Just the thought of being with you sends his heart skyrocketing. He would think he’s dreaming if it weren’t for how you spoke about yourself.
After your conversation ends, he waits ten minutes before emerging from the back.
He throws you a smile, your words still echoing in his head. And as he shelves tapes, he decides it’s finally time he tells you.
—
You hang around Family Video until Steve clocks out. Tonight’s your weekly pizza and movies. And despite your little confession with Robin, you’ll never rob yourself of alone time with Steve.
You watched two movies and ate half of the pizza when you took a break to stretch your legs.
Steve sets up in front of the sink, and you grab a dish towel without a word. An additional part of your ritual.
You can tell by the way he moves something’s bothering him. He’s been off all night.
In these quiet moments, you know you’ll get an honest answer.
“Do you need to talk about something?” you ask, drying the first plate.
He doesn’t glance at you or indicates he even heard you. Just scrubs the nonexistent sauce from the dish.
You run the towel over the plate again, so you’re not standing there looking at him, so you’re not pressuring him to tell you.
He hesitates a second before he speaks.
“I heard you earlier,” he says, washing the dish in his hand. “With Robin.”
You freeze mid-swipe, your conversation flashing through your head. Then continue just so your hands are doing something.
“...And?”
He wouldn’t bring it up if he didn’t want to fight you on it. You know him too well. Steve is sweet, too sweet for his own good sometimes. You never wanted him to know your feelings.
“...Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks as gently as ever. He could’ve been settling your fears.
He could’ve been telling you he loves you for years.
You shrug as if you don’t know, putting the plate away.
He sighs when you don’t elaborate.
“You aren’t forgettable.” He turns to you. “You could never be.”
You let out a humorless laugh through your nose. “Tell that to my friends from kindergarten. Or elementary school. Or maybe the ones from middle—”
“I will never forget you. I don’t care about those dickheads you called friends. It’s their loss.” His jaw clenches. “You matter to all of us.” You matter to me.
You don’t let his words penetrate. You can’t because once you do, he's bound to leave. So, you swing the hammer and embed another nail in the wall.
“Like I haven’t heard that before,” you whisper, eyes closed, waiting.
You can hear his hands form fists, his teeth grind, and you want to hide. Away from his anger, his disappointment.
But when he speaks, his tone isn’t angry. It’s soft, disbelieving…
…heartbroken.
“I don't get why you think you’re so hard to love.”
You swallow, still avoiding his gaze. If you look at him, your floodgates will break.
“Because I am,” you whisper. And you can’t help how refreshing your honesty is. It’s addicting. “Who in their right mind would love me?”
What sorry, self-sabotaging, blind person will ever love someone as flawed as you? How could anyone see any value in all your cracks and chips?
Broken things are thrown away. Love doesn’t come to something past its prime.
“I do,” he says. “I do. Everyday.”
Your brow furrows, mind coming to a screeching halt.
He can’t be serious.
He’s reassuring you. Saying he loves you as a friend. Nothing more.
Because Steve Harrington can do better. So, how could he love you?
“I’ve loved you for a long time now. And it’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He swallows, unnerved by your silence.
He waits, knowing he may have ruined the best thing that’s happened to him. But he had to tell you. You have to know that you’re everything to him.
You finally, finally meet his eyes. They’re watering, and he wants to take you in his arms and protect you. But the last thing he wants is to scare you, to push himself on you if you don’t feel the same.
“Do you…Do you mean it?” you whisper, desperation clear in your tone. You're too fragile to care.
“Of course I mean it.” He steps toward you. “I’ve meant it for the past two years.”
Your eyes widen. “Years?” You barely get it out.
He nods. “Just waiting for you to realize.” He can feel the energy shifting. You’re out of your head. “Didn’t know I’d have to spell it out for you.” He huffs good-naturedly
You breathe out a laugh of disbelief. “Of course, you’d have to spell it out! How the hell was I supposed to know you love me?”
All those girls come to both of your minds. It makes him sick.
“I’m a coward,” he says.
You tilt your head as if to say, “No, you’re not.”
He only shrugs, a fond smile on his face. “You always tease me and ask if I have my eye on someone. And I’ve never lied to you.”
“You also never asked anyone o—“ You slowly realize what he means. “Me?”
He nods. “You.”
You're silent long enough that it makes him nervous. But all you can think about is how much time you’ve wasted not being with him in the way you want.
“So there you go, not unlovable.” He rocks on the balls of his feet.
And it’s that nervousness that makes you realize you have yet to respond.
“I love you, too, Steve.” And once again, honesty is addicting.
“Really?” He grins, all big and bright.
You nod, a shy smile on your face. “Really. I’d have to be crazy not to.”
He carefully takes your hands, dragging his thumbs over your knuckles, memorizing your softness.
“So I love you. You love me. Is it safe to say you’re officially mine?” He bites his lip. You want to pull it free.
“I think so,” you tease. “Unless you want to wait another two years.”
He shakes his head frantically, though the smile is still there. “No, no, definitely not.” He clears his throat. “So…can I kiss you now?”
He’s already leaning in, too eager to care if he’s coming off too excited.
You hum softly, meeting him halfway.
It’s everything you imagined it would be. Soft and warm, a minty sweetness from that spray Steve keeps in his pocket, and gentle. As he always is with you—like you’ll shatter if he presses too hard. But you want to break this time because he will help put everything back together.
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