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A Fool for Love| Steve Harrington x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: 7,354 OOF

Warnings: swearing, Shakespearean English, general fluff

Author’s Note: So I got inspired by @jxnehxpper‘s headcanon on Steve being a secret theatre lover and set to giving us what we deserve-Steve being a little theatre kid. And then I told her about it. And then I reread it. And now I’m doubtful of what this even is and how long it is. Good luck I guess

Tag List: @marvelslut16 @shinydixon @jxnehxpper

The laces were too tight. You couldn’t breathe. You were going to faint once you got up there. And your sleeves were too tight. You were already sweating through the long sleeves. Damn your overconfidence and crappy old patterns. And damn the seventies for making their bodices too tight and tan suede lacing so pretty over rouge coloured linen. And your shoes were too loose; they were going to fall off the second you took a step. Stupid Tammy Thompson and her stupid wide feet. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Mrs. Blackburn loved to plan out a big spring show without thinking about how many students would be there on auditions. She chose these bombastic plays without thinking about who was actually going to be there. The drama club was made up of about ten members, who’d all be there on audition day, and that was usually it. And Mrs. Blackburn would throw a fit about it to you, her trusted right hand man with a plan. Then she’d spend her classes kissing ass to get students to come out for promised roles after stroking their egos enough to get them to bother with extracurricular theatre. Most kids took the class for an easy A, a quick passing grade that would boost their GPAs without making them want to claw their eyes out. Only a certain type of student would go through with this sort of embarrassment.

So when Mrs. Blackburn announced the spring show to be an abridged version of Twelfth Night, a choice you thought was decent enough. Cutting down the b-plot with Malvolio and the servants made the story run smoother and cut a metric crap ton of roles. Unfortunately, Mrs. Blackburn didn’t have the heart to cut the fool, which meant that she needed another guy to be in the show. And your little crew of nerds only had two boys. If only cross dressing was something she deigned to allow, alas Mrs. Blackburn believed firmly in women playing women and men playing men, which made it even harder to cast anything. It was ironic, knowing the actual plot of the play she’d chosen. Still, now she had a little challenge to hum and ha over for a month before casting the thing.

It was during this casting point that you heard quite possibly the worst idea you’d ever heard.

You often ate lunch in Mrs. Blackburn’s classroom. The entire drama club did. It was a nice, quiet place where no screaming teens or bullies could attack a boy for trotting around in a kilt from costume cupboard and kick a girl for her looks if they didn’t conform to what was considered pretty by the rest of the school. A hodgepodge of personalities grew in there like bacteria. Usually, there shining saviour would eat in the teacher’s lounge with the rest of the staff, but as shows got closer, she’d make sporadic appearances.

“Y/N!” the door slammed open, Mrs. Blackburn standing in the doorway, her wild red curls bouncing wildly around her tiny face, her thin pointed glasses slipping off her nose. “I’ve done it!”

“You’ve done what?” you looked up from your sack lunch. Mrs. Blackburn looked a mess. Her olive green paisley skirt was stained with coffee and her raggedy cream blouse was flashing her bra to the world. She looked as if she’d gotten dressed in her donation bag. You had a sort of love-hate relationship with the woman. She was like a second mother to you, which meant that you loved her unconditionally but hated her in the moment.

“I’ve found us a diamond in the rough,” she marched over to the desk. As always, you’d taken over the teacher’s desk. You were the only person she trusted to sit there with her unmarked tests and unopened lipsticks gifted to her by Lisa Gardner’s Avon selling mother. Her hands slapped the fake wood “I’ve found our Duke Orsino.”

You watched from behind her as both Gordon Fisher and Dale Michaels deflated behind you. The only boys in the club would kill for a leading role. They shouldn’t have to kill, there were only two of them; there shouldn’t be a fight at all. But Mrs. Blackburn liked to do a bit of stunt casting within the Hawkins High School student body.

“No one has been chosen yet!” you turned you attention directly to them. Of course, that was a blatant lie. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn already had pretty much the entire show cast before auditions had even been announced. Dale would play the jester, who Mrs. Blackburn had flagrantly rewritten as a sort of narrator, believing herself capable of rewriting Shakespeare, and Gordon would play Sebastian. He was fundamentally much more attractive than Dale, and much less mockable. Dale was the kid hiding in the classroom in a kilt from Tommy H, which he was wearing because he ripped his pants and didn’t want to walk around with his stained tighty whities.

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Blackburn, a small excited smile spreading across your face. “Who is it?” you asked.

“Oh he’s simply marvellous! He’s in our afternoon class, a Mr. Harrington!” Mrs. Blackburn had a dreamy grin spread across her face, her hands linked together in front of her chest.

Your smile dropped “Steve? Really?” This had to be a joke. Steve was in your drama class so to speak, he was never there. He skipped every class and only showed up for tests and to do graded performances. And his performances were shit. He was never off script and even with the script in front of his face he couldn’t keep the lines straight. He was useless!

“Oh yes yes! We had a very interesting conversation just a few moments ago and he’s very intrigued by our production and I think that he’ll make an interesting, dynamic choice for the role!” Mrs. Blackburn mused, her arms floating around as she spoke as if she was performing Swan Lake instead of properly explaining her decision.

“So, he’s coming into audition?” you asked slowly, leaning on your elbows. Mrs. Blackburn nodded. That was a surprise. The great king of Hawkins high bothering to join the unwashed, artistic masses? That was a shock. You expected him to just demand the role to be his. Not that you thought he’d read the play. You doubted he’d even skimmed the Cliff’s Notes.

“Yes, I’ve already signed him up. By the looks of it, if all the auditions go well we’ll have a full cast without call backs.” She turned her attention to the cowering masses behind her, all staring up in awe. Well, all except Robin Buckley. She wasn’t really a part of the collective though; she was just there for Tammy Thompson.

“Alright, then I can’t wait to see what he does…” you replied with a small smirk. Everyone else in the room was thinking the same thing: Steve Harrington was going to choke. The second Mrs. Blackburn left the room, everyone began their muttering and musing. The only person who seemed to sympathize with the kid was Tammy, who kept whining about poor, poor Steve and how he was going to make a fool of himself. Everyone had seen Steve’s failings with performance, most of the room either spent their free period in your drama class or had taken drama with him in freshman year. His misgivings were known throughout the little crew, even Robin seemed to understand that the kid just wasn’t talented.

And when auditions rolled around, you except the worst. As always, you were playing stage manager slash costumer for the production, your chosen role, and you sat at the back of the classroom with a clipboard and red pen in hand. You had the audition list copied on a few sheets of paper with the role presumed to fit them best. You’d seen most of the room audition a million times before. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn had a clear idea of what was going to happen. And, for the most part, it all fell into place. Tammy, despite her pleas to be Viola, was much more suited to the prissy and rich Olivia; Dale actually wanted to be the fool, which made your life easier, now you wouldn’t have to crush him dreams; Heather Holloway would happily play Viola, which you were more than happy to give her; and sweet little Nicole Chandler would play the nursemaid Maria.

Then, there was Steve Harrington and Gordon Fisher. Gordon had come in and bashed all of your notions of him being fabulously brash and boisterous Sebastian by auditioning instead for the powerful and yet underwhelming awkward Duke Orsino. And he was great! He was better than great!

And then there was Steve. He was terrible. Just plain awful. He didn’t look up once from the crumpled photocopied pages he held in his fist and he didn’t seem to know what he was saying. No, scratch that he had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t so much playing a character but instead just trying to pronounce the words on the page and string them together in complete sentences. It was painful. But, to Mrs. Blackburn, it was perfect. She clapped when he finished, smiling far too wide as she egged him on. She kicked you under the table to follow suit and you added in a few slow claps. With a hefty dose of praise hefted on him like whipped cream, she sent Steve off and turned her attention to you.

“He’s perfect,” she said. You almost expected her to let out a dreamy sigh, like a love struck teenager instead of a married middle aged woman. She just looked so happy about the whole thing. You took a bit of secret joy in popping her bubble.

“Gordon was much better for the part.” You slipped your pen behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest. Mrs. Blackburn’s thin mouth dropped open into a tiny ‘o’, only really defined by her cherry red lipstick.

“What?” she cried before composing herself “No, no Gordon was fine, he’ll make a fabulous Sebastian, but Steve is what I want for the Duke.”

“Are you sure I mean-” You couldn’t help but try to argue the point. You knew in your heart that the little shows you helped put on weren’t award worthy by any means but you still took great care in making them as good as possible, if only as a self-serving move to make them watchable from the booth.

Mrs. Blackburn shook her head, her tiny mouth pulling into a stern frown. “The decision is made. You cannot change my mind, Y/N.” she said flippantly, turning away from her to collect her papers. “We’ll have the list up by Monday, yes?”

You swallowed and nodded once. Mrs. Blackburn swept out of the room, her silver bracelets clattering together as she left. Once the door shut, you let out a heavy sigh and put away your clipboard. You’d type up the temporary list and deal with your temperamental director. First, you had to find Steve.

You found him hunched over at his locker. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say that he was ashamed. But he was too much of a cocky shit to ever feel ashamed of his own showboating. And what you just saw was showboating. There was no other way to explain it. He didn’t care about the show, or the play, he only cared about himself and showing off.

You tapped him hard on the shoulder. Steve turned his head. He wasn’t certain of your name but he recognized you from only a few minutes prior. He wanted to disappear. He’d just made a complete fool of himself and now had to atone to his butchering of words he didn’t quite get.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you’re just signing onto this thing to fuck around and make fun of people, I suggest you back the fuck down. Fisher and Michaels might stand down to your asshole buddies but I won’t.” you sneered, planting your hands on your hips and straightening your back to reach your fullest height. You had never been in a fight before, at least not one that wasn’t staged and within a classroom setting, but you’d stand up for those kids. Anyone who volunteered themselves for theatrical productions were doing something vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t something that could be taught or captured in a bottle, it was something given that should be protected. And you vowed to protect them from someone with ill will, if only to make your show better.

“Look,” Steve swallowed hard, looking away from you. Your gaze was searing into him and he was already embarrassed as is. He didn’t think he could blush any harder. “I’m not bullshitting. Mrs. Blackburn offered and I said yes, that’s all. No buddy’s gonna find out about this.”

You watched him squirm like a worm on a hook. He looked genuine. His eyes spoke more volumes than his words. You nodded, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. “Alright…” you turned on your heel and walked off without a goodbye to the thoroughly embarrassed boy.

Once the work started, it was a wash of a production. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Tammy was over the moon that Steve Harrington was joining them to play pretend and thrilled to explain to him that his character was in love with hers. He seemed horrified by the idea but dutifully played along. Gordon was beyond pissed, having to watch Steve stumble through lines and direction given by Mrs. Blackburn while he waited for his shot to do any acting at all. Robin was pissed too. Mrs. Blackburn had roped her into the production to do a few flute solos in pivotal scenes, which meant her having to watch the scenes she’d be playing in and you’d have to make her a little costume to wear. You’d been given your budget and some ancient patterns from Mrs. Blackburn’s collection, a 1970s renaissance faire dress pattern that didn’t fit in at all with the period. You bit back complaints about how little money you had to make anything nice.

You silently thanked god for Heather Holloway and her rich parents. They would pay to have her costumes done separately from your handiwork and all you’d have to do was make some decent things for the rest of the cast. You’d be sewing until your fingers bled. You were just thankful that you had made patterns for men’s pants in the same style of the dresses. You wouldn’t have to draft different sizes off a thin parchment pattern for them. Nicole, Tammy, and Heather were all around the same size so you’d only need to two different sizes of pattern. The project would be fairly simple.

Which meant that Mrs. Blackburn had to throw a wrench in everything.

She asked you to speak with her after your afternoon class one month into rehearsals. You stood awkwardly in front of her desk, your trapper keeper clutched tight to your chest, a few fingers bandaged from pricks and pokes from rouge pins and needles. You’d spent the night before alternating between putting blocking notes into your script and hemming the skirt of Tammy Thompson’s pale yellow dress. You’d bought a very pretty pale yellow brocade fabric with thin gold laurel patterns over the material and it was heavier than expected but it looked rightfully rich enough for a duchess to wear.

“Now, I might have overestimated Mr. Harrington’s acting abilities,” she said quietly, looking between you and the door. Steve was the first out of the room when the bell rang, he wasn’t lurking by the door waiting to hear you shit talk him. “He’s not performing well.”

“Well yes, I tried to tell you that when we auditioned him.” You replied, trying to hold back an eye roll.

“There’s no need to be bitter, he’s salvageable.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to erasing the board. She had a freshman year drama class after this and the smelly youths would burst through the door at any moment. “What we’ll do is simply give him some extra help, less time working with the others and have him focus on really working on his lines. He’s not off book anyway.”

You nodded “So, what do you need me to do here?” Mrs. Blackburn reached into her desk and pulled out her pads of excused late slips, pulling out a pen and scribbling out your student information.

“Well, I can’t very well stop blocking the performance and we need to start heading over to the theatre soon. So you’ll handle helping Mr. Harrington from here on out.” She said nonchalantly. Her hoard her stinky children burst into the room, taking over the class with sound and fury, signifying nothing but an assault on your eardrums.

“So, and just for clarification here, you want me to make all the costume, stage manage the production, and teach Steve his lines?” you asked, taking the green slip she dangled out in front of you.

“Well yes of course that’s what you signed on to do and we always come through on what we choose to do.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to her classroom, clapping twice to grab their attention. You knew that this was your cue to leave and you slinked away with your tail betwixt your legs, put back in your place by the older woman. You could’ve screamed. Teaching lines was not what you signed up for. Working with Steve was not what you signed up for. You signed on for making costumes and stage managing. Steve was not a part of the equation. He wasn’t even associated with the equation. He was a whole separate equation that you weren’t supposed to be tasked with solving.

And yet when Mrs. Blackburn announced that the rest of the cast would be heading to the theatre and you’d be staying behind with Steve to run lines, you didn’t complain. Steve did, he wanted to see the theatre, but you stayed silent, waving them goodbye as they left the cramped classroom. You and Steve stared at each other for a moment, silent and awkward, before you reached down and picked up the paper grocery bag you’d brought along with you and pulled out the pretty rouge pink linen you’d bought to make Nicole’s dress. You lay it flat on the desks and unfolded your newspaper patterns.

“Alright, sit.” You pointed to the desk in front of you and opened your patterning kit, pulling out your white tailor’s chalk and sewing scissors. Steve obeyed, tucking himself into the desk. You looked up with a forced smile “Alright, this is how we’re doing to do this. You are going to perform the lines without your script. When you need a line, say line and I’ll give it to you. Repeat it and then start again from the top. We’ll do that until you can say the whole thing without stuttering or calling line. Got it?”

Steve swallowed hard “Got it.”

“Alright, we’ll start from the first scene.” You pulled out your copy of the abridged play. Steve looked at you for a moment, confused and you summoned him to begin.

He took a heaving breath and you began pinning your pattern pieces to the material. “If music be the food of love, play on, give me…” Steve began, already stuttering. He went silent before shamefully asking “Line?”

You looked up with a raised eyebrow. You were hoping for at least a few lines to be known before he needed help. Mrs. Blackburn underestimated how little he knew. “Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die…that strain again!” you read out, monotone before turning your attention to Steve “Start again.”

He spouted out the dialogue, just a nervous as before and stuttering all the while. You managed to get through pinning the skirt piece down before he called line again. He only got through a line of dialogue past your last prompting. Steve looked utterly defeated and small in his seat. “I can’t think like this…” he muttered.

“The stand up. Or pace. Whatever you need to do. Just get through the speech here,” you said with a sigh “Do you need the line?” Steve nodded sadly and you read out the next line and Steve started again.

“If music be the food of love; play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die…that strain again! It had a dying fall: o’ it came o’er my ear like the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of violets; stealing odour…enough, no more!” he took a heaving breath. He was halfway across the room now and staring at the wall. You had turned your attention to him and were watching almost in awe. He knew the lines. He knew the whole speech. When he finished, he looked to you as if for the next line. You didn’t give it, instead you stepped out from the desk.

“You know the lines…” you breathed. It wasn’t a good performance, but he was off book. He was putting in work. You were impressed. Surprised, but impressed.

“When I’m walking around the room I do…” Steve chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a small smile.

“But you have no idea what you’re saying…” you breathed, watching as Steve deflated, giving a small nod.

“Why can’t he just write what he means, I get it’s supposed to be like poetry or whatever, but it makes no sense.” He pushed himself up onto the desk, crossing his legs under him.

“It helps to think about the character as a whole. What do you know about the duke?” you asked, taking a step back to approach the scene with script in hand.

“I mean…he’s a duke, which is an important person with a lot of people who work under him, and he’s in love with Olivia, who’s a rich duchess,” he counted them off with his fingers, chewing on his lower lip as he thought.

“Exactly!” you stopped him mid-sentence, pointing excitedly “He’s in love with Olivia and Olivia doesn’t love him back, right?”

“Right?” he had a right to be confused; Mrs. Blackburn had given Tammy the note to stop playing Olivia so moony eyed over Orsino for weeks now. She hadn’t stopped, despite swearing up and down that she wasn’t trying.

“She doesn’t, and so when he’s talking about love and music, do you think he’s happy to hear the music or not?” you asked.

“I mean…I guess yes and no?” you raised an eyebrow at him. That wasn’t the exact answer you expected. He continued “Cause he’s love sick, and being love sick is fun and terrible at the same time. He talks about being sick in the speech.”

You nodded “Yes! And when he says that he wants to surfeit, that means to like overdose. He wants to die from all the love. He’s overwhelmed by it all.” Steve’s smile grew. For the first time, he felt like he was getting it now. When you explained it, the scene made sense.

You reached for your scissors and picked up the material, taking a deep breath before making the first cut in the fabric. “Alright, now I want you to take all that stuff I told you and try to put it on the words.” You said, gesturing with your finger for him to start again.

And he did. He did the scene over and over again, pacing the room while trying to feel different things. It was easy to be overwhelmed-he was overwhelmed. Everything he was doing overwhelmed him. It didn’t help that you were watching him. He didn’t like being watched. And you kept smiling at some parts and frowning at others. He wanted you to smile all the way through it. That meant that it was good, that he was doing good. And he liked your smile. This was the first time he’d seen it directed at him.

“Alright,” you stopped him mid sentence, holding out a flat palm out “Enough pacing. The blocking has you seat in like this big chair.” You stepped out from behind the desks and pulled out a chair, placing it in the centre of the room. “Sit down, we’re going to put it altogether.”

Steve gingerly sat in the chair, positioning himself the way Mrs. Blackburn had instructed with his legs splayed wide and his right elbow propped on his knee, holding his head up. With a heavy breath he started again “If music be the food of love, play on…fuck!” you looked up from your work curiously “I forgot the line already! I keep thinking about the words and the meaning and the emotions and the meter-I can’t do it all.”

You nodded, pulling the pins out of the pattern and marking the pieces numerically. “Tap your foot to the beat of the words, one less thing to think about.” You said, capping the pin box. “Do it one more time and then we’re done. They’re finishing up at the theatre now, we have to vacate ASAP.”

Steve tried your trick. It worked. He was shocked. You knew so much about this stuff. He didn’t know anything about any of this. He felt like a doofus. But you helped him through. He thought it was a onetime thing, but every rehearsal you’d take him aside and work on the words. Mrs. Blackburn had cut the thing down to about two acts, still longer than most parents wanted to sit through, but better than five acts and two intermissions. He didn’t know how he was going to do this at all. Still, he felt safe with you watching. He could perform to you instead of the audience.

For your part, you liked working with Steve. You didn’t think that you would, but he was pretty self sufficient with the piece after you gave him your Cliff’s Notes version of the text to help him understand the scenes he had to do and the context of the play as a whole. And he was funny. You didn’t know that he was funny. And he hated Tammy. Anyone who hated Tammy was a friend of yours. She was brutally annoying in rehearsals and at this point was refusing to kiss Gordon. And poor Gordon was more than over having Steve there, he swore that the guy was doing something to distract Tammy. Of course he was, he was existing in her world for the first time, but you were quick to defend him, because he was trying. It wasn’t his fault that Tammy couldn’t keep it in her pants or that Heather was more focused on her costumes than her performance. Still, nobody understood why he was there.

Sat with Steve at the back of the Hawkins Community Playhouse, you decided to ask him. “Hey,” you asked quietly. Gordon and Tammy were doing their little love scene on the stage below and Mrs. Blackburn would kill you if she could hear you talking. “Can I ask you something?” Steve nodded, looking up from his script.

“Why are you doing this show?” Steve frowned and you backtracked quickly “I mean, this isn’t your bag I just was curious…”

“Honestly?” Steve asked. You gave a half nod, trying not to appear too curious. “Mrs. Blackburn promised me that if I did this, she’d pass me for the year and that I can skip out on the final.” Your eyes blew wide. You were pissed. Not because he was only doing the show for a decent grade, but because you still had to prepare a monologue performance to perform for your final on top of all this work.

“That bitch…” you murmured “I wanna skip out on the final!”

Steve laughed “Ask! She was only gonna pass me, I haggled for the final.”

“She’d never. She wants to work me to death, I swear.” You chuckled darkly. You flipped up the tan suede Bodice you built, the lace dangling loosely from the eyelets. It looked good. It would look better on Nicole, for now it would have to look good on the floor.

Steve was called up to the stage and you returned to Mrs. Blackburn’s side, watching the ending go down, as Viola’s true nature is revealed and Sebastian is reunited with his sister. It was a messy scene, with the Malvolio plotline cut there wasn’t a scheme to reveal or a villain to unmask, so the scene became instead a bit of a wedding. You still wished you’d done A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, you would’ve actually auditioned for that show. Still, Twelfth Night was turning into a half decent show. You hadn’t expected Steve to bring anything, but he played the duke like a sort of well meaning dunce, a loveable yet hopeless fool. He just seemed to have fun, especially when Nicole and Dale were acting silly behind him. He just seemed to have fun with them, unlike Tammy and Heather who had no interest in playing and seemed to be fighting for who could look the most bored. It had been a long day, it was nearly eight o’clock at night and Mrs. Blackburn had sent her husband to go pick up pizza for the cast an hour ago. Everyone was exhausted, but you were supposed to do a full fitting for the cast after they were done.

Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn ended the torture. “Alright,” she clapped once, calling an end to the scene “Let’s call it quits there. Y/N has brought all the costumes for the show with her today, let’s have a try on and then we’ll take our pizza to go. Sound good?” the whole room let out an exhausted half cheer and you picked up the massive duffel bag you’d brought from home.

“I hope everyone remembered their shoes,” you said, pulling out the first hanger, holding the intense yellow brocade with the golden Bodice for Tammy to take. “Heather, your stuff is here, right?” Heather scoffed, taking the three off the stage and picking up her own bag. You handed Nicole her dress and passed out the brown faux burlap pants and white puffy shirts. You’d made separate vests for each character-Steve’s a rich navy blue, Dale’s a jaunty royal purple with a matching jester cap from the prop closet, and Gordon a dull olive green. Their colours would have to do to differentiate them to the audience. Everyone left to do their try on and when they returned you were transported to the ren faire.

You stepped off the stage, joining Mrs. Blackburn in the fifth row. You smiled; the brocade looked lovely under the lights, as did the silver buttons you’d put on Steve’s vest. It was a bit wide. “Alright, Tammy you’re good to change, Steve stay put.” You jumped back onto the stage, stepping behind him. Up close, it was hard to look at him. He was too attractive. You were stunned that any man could look sexy in a stupid puffy shirt, but there Steve was, ruining your work relationship with him.

“Stay still, I’m putting pins in your vest, I don’t want to poke you.” You whispered, pulling a couple pins from your cushion. You felt Steve suck in a deep breath as your fingers grazed his lower back, tingles running up his spine. You pulled the material in a bit, pinning it flat. You noted that you’d have to add a couple darts to each side to make it fit better. It only took a few moments, but when you came back around to look over Steve he looked as if he might faint. “Steve,” he looked to you with blown out eyes “Breathe.” He nodded twice and you stepped off the stage. It was only a week until performances. He must have been scared shitless.

Steve was scared shitless. Of you. He didn’t know how to act when you were watching him. Well, he knew how to act, you’d trained him to play Orsino, but he didn’t know how Steve fit into your relationship. All he knew was that when he had to kiss Heather at the end of the show, he only had you on his mind. He couldn’t even look at you when it was over, he felt like he’d cheated on you. Which was insane, but the feeling stuck in his gut.

When the day of performances came around, Steve was shaken. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t told any of his friends about what he was doing and yet word had gone around the school. All of his friends were coming opening night, he swore with pitchforks and rotten fruit to throw. When he got the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, however, the whole cast was in a tizzy.

Heather was an hour late. And, according to Nicole, she wasn’t coming. “Her father’s hosting a benefit at the Carmel Country Club tonight, there’s no way that she’s showing.” She moaned. Mrs. Blackburn was already in the phone book, looking up the number of the club. She left to make a call, promising that Heather would never do such a thing.

Tammy was crying off her makeup in the corner, with Robin consoling her while trying to not get blackened tears on her white shirt. “She’s going to ruin my show! She’s ruining it!” she sobbed.

You were stood in the corner, unsure where to place yourself. Luckily, Mrs. Blackburn returned quickly. “I’ve just spoken to Heather,” she announced. The room fell into a hush.

“And?” you asked, looking up from the hot rollers you were putting in Nicole’s hair.

“And she’s not coming. She told me about this and I said it was okay. I guess I forgot.” Mrs. Blackburn replied. You knew that was bullshit, but you held your tongue.

“What’re we going to do???” Tammy cried out. That sent the room into an uproar, everyone talking over one another. Steve stayed silent. In truth, he was a bit glad to be rid of Heather. Maybe they wouldn’t have to perform.

“Now, now as we know in the theatre the show must go on!” Mrs. Blackburn cried. “Y/N, as stage manager, has been learning the blocking and pacing for the show. She will go on as Viola and I will make a speech before we go on! It’s all we can do!”

Everyone turned to look at you. You turned your attention to Mrs. Blackburn, walking over to her and whispering in her ear. “If I do this, I don’t have to do the final. You grade on this.” She looked you over and then turned once. You turned to the cast and sighed softly, nodding “The show will go on.” You shrugged, heaving up your trapper keeper.

“She doesn’t look right. She doesn’t have a costume.” Tammy whined.

“I will go to the school and get what we have left. I’m sure we have a pair of trousers and a puffed shirt for her to wear.” Mrs. Blackburn grabbed her purse off the makeup counter “Girls, work your magic on her.”

You put the last roller in Nicole’s hair and she grabbed your arm, pulling her into the chair next to her. “Grab that green skirt from last year!” Nicole called after her teacher “You’re gonna wear this dress for the opening. I’ll wear the skirt and whatever else she brings back, now let’s make you Viola.”

You were poked and prodded and burned until you were as close to looking like Heather as you were going to get. Then, you were stuffed into Nicole’s dress. Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn had found two leftover puffy white shirts and a bodice, and the decision was made that you’d wear the rouge dress and she’d wear the green skirt from last year. It was a nice enough gesture, as was Tammy being forced to give up her extra pair of character shoes, which she did begrudgingly at the behest of Robin.

And then, you were stood offstage. And you were terrified. You’d never done this before. In your four years of stage managing, no one had ever called out of a performance, you’d never had to take over a role last minute. Your mind kept focusing on the discomfort of the costume. Nicole had tied your bodice too tight. Tammy’s shoes were too big. The skirt was too long. You were too wrong for this. You wanted to run. And then, the lights came up on Steve. Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke the opening lines so well and Robin began her first flute solo. Steve was doing wonderfully. With his left foot tapping lightly on the wooden stage floor, he knew what he was saying, even with distraction surrounding him. Internally, he felt as close to someone else as he’d ever felt in his life. Steve didn’t like that you weren’t in the audience to watch him, but he couldn’t see anyone with the lights on anyway. The audience clapped as he finished his scene and left with Dale, the lights going out fully as Robin cleared her chair and music stand and Gordon carried off the throne. Steve reached out and squeeze your shoulder with a kind smile.

“You have this,” he said softly. You heaved out a breath and stepped on the stage. You went right to the centre and right up to the edge, sitting down so your legs dangled off. You had no idea how Heather did this. You were too close to the audience. As the lights came up, you looked down at the lines in front of you. Dale stepped onto the stage in a sailor’s cap. He really had to play everyone in this stupid show. He nodded to you with a smile.

“What…” you voice came out in a whisper. No one could hear you. You took a breath, closing your eyes before trying again. “What country, friends, is this?” you asked loudly.

Dale’s smile grew. The scene was actually happening. “This is Illyria, lady.” He said, doing his best to sound like an old man.

The first scene was bumpy. Dale wanted to show off a bit and make the audience laugh, even though the scene was an info dump, which meant that you could just read the lines back to him and follow the blocking. You were more comfortable moving than you were speaking. But it got easier. Once you were dressed as Ceserio and working with Steve, things went smoother. You knew those scenes very well, the lines were almost memorized on your part from playing scene partner to him. Steve was fun to work with, he constantly made you smile.

It wasn’t hard for you to pretend to be in love with Steve. You felt like you were. Well, maybe not love. But like. Like a whole lot. And you were sure that he liked you to. Or maybe he was just that good of an actor.

The show went so fast. It was refreshing. Sat in the booth, it was a slog to get through, but onstage it went quick. You were nervous over the ending. You knew Heather’s last scene was a kiss with Steve. It wasn’t the passionate, intense kiss that Tammy and Gordon would do a scene before, but it was still a kiss. No matter how he felt about you, this was going to change your friendship forever.

You joined the cast last on stage, the who’s who of the plot being broken down, Steve was supposed to be mad when you came onstage, but he smiled like he’d seen what heaven looked like. You smiled up at Steve as the changed scene began, cutting the duel that leads the group into their explanations of the mix ups. Mrs. Blackwell hadn’t had the heart to cut a bit of Viola’s dialogue, so it lead the group into the explanations instead.

“After him I love, more than I love these eyes, more than my life, more by all the mores than e’er I shall love my wife.” You had no direction for what to do with the line. Heather had said it dramatically towards the audience. You turned your attention to Steve, caressing his face with your thumb. It was greedy, you were using the scene to get a bit of affection from the boy. You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. Steve seemed bewildered but happy, he fit the moment perfectly.

The scene continued as planned, with all the reveals shown to the characters and couples happily coupled off. Sebastian and Olivia were revealed to be married and that all was okay between Viola and Olivia once her gender was revealed.

Steve turned to you, smiling ear to ear “Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman like me.” He took your hands in his squeezing them tight.

“And all those sayings will I over-swear, and all those swearing keep me as true in soul as doth orbed continent the fire that severs day from night.” You replied, matching his giddy grin. The kiss was coming soon, he had one more line and then he’d plant one on you.

“Give me thy hand,” you both looked down at your still clasped together hands. The audience chuckled. Steve pressed on “And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.” You and Nicole rushed offstage and quickly changed you into the dress again. You were all butterflies and pins and needles, shaking in your loose heels. Nicole brushed out your skirt and smiled, escorting you back onstage.

The audience clapped politely on your return, you tried your best to smile although was hard to breath with Steve looking at you like that. He scooped you up in his arms and kissed you quickly before you had a moment to react. You swore that he had a line before this happened but you didn’t care. Your script was out of your hands anyway, he’d knocked it out of your hands when he lifted you off the ground. You swore you were flying.

And then you were on the ground. Steve cleared his throat. He was blushing madly. He remembered his line. He turned to Tammy, who was holding back a laugh before turning back to you.

“Cesario, come! For so you shall be, while you are a man; but, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.” He announced, grabbing your hand and sweeping you off the stage, Gordon and Tammy in close pursuit. Dale and Nicole still had a scene, which Mrs. Blackburn had changed for them to share. You weren’t paying attention to them though.

“Nice work,” Steve breathed, squeezing your hand in his.

“You surprised the hell outta me,” you chuckled “Made me lose my script.”

“You look really pretty like this,” Steve said. You looked at him carefully. He was sweaty and shy, his eye barely met yours.

You smiled “Thank you, you look good in cheap period costumes.” You knocked your hip into his, making him stumble just a bit. He grabbed your hip, pulling them parallel to his.

“Yeah?” he asked, bring his left hand to grab your chin.

You smiled “Oh yeah, definitely,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again as Tammy and Gordon ran to grab you for curtain call. You didn’t care. Looking into Steve’s eyes, you knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the way he looked at you. And you swore the world went silent in that moment, nothing standing between you and the swirling stars and hearts in his eyes.

#steve x reader insert

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#steve x reader insert