“Steve’s Her Daddy Now”

Family Video wasn’t exactly where you’d imagined spending your summer. You knew you’d be working for most of it, but you’d be hoping it would at least be somewhere more…stimulating.

You didn’t hate the place. It was great for the employee discount, and you almost always got first pick out of the new tapes when they came in but you would be lying if it bring some kind of heaviness in your chest when you spent every afternoon stocking the shelves whilst the rest of your friends had free time to do whatever they wanted.

It’s fine, you’ve made your piece with it for the most part. Some people are just dealt different hands in life and while yes, you could spend the rest of your summer outwardly pissed off at the world, how would that help you?

Instead, you channel your energy, into expense sheets and budgeting folders that live under your bed next to your little silver lunchbox you use to keep all the money you make.

It’s nothing grand, but it brings you safety. A crutch, something to fall back on. Most people wouldn’t understand your need to know where every cent is going, because who really cares what happens to the 50c you let fall onto the floor?

You did. You knew just how far to stretch every single dollar left in that little lunchbox like your life depended on it. That was what kept you going, that if you knew it all went to shit one day, you’d still have that.

Steve Harrington was a curveball. A boy raised with a silver spoon in his mouth who only carried 10 dollar bills in his wallet, not a single coin to be seen.

You knew boys like Steve Harrington from the countless service jobs you’d worked over the years. Boys who would have to call Daddy just to know how much gas cost, boys whose biggest concerns were winning their next match, or when their next haircut would be.

So, seeing ‘King Steve’ take up a job at Family Video? Call yourself intrigued, who knew graduation would end with such a fall from grace for the former high school star athlete.

You’d imagined him somewhere far from here, working some corporate job for his father in the big city. That had been the plan after all, everyone knew kids like Harrington basically had their whole lives planned out for them.

But there he was, same mousy brown hair and brown eyes yet this time in an awful vest embroidered in the Family Video logo and his surname, you’d laugh if you weren’t so shocked.

“Harrington?” you say shocked, your jaw slackening as you catch sight of him behind the counter.

His own expression morphs into perplexion as he watches you walk into the store, uniform freshly buttoned over your baby tee. His mouth forms your name in a hesitantly baffled manner.

“Oh shit,” you laugh, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you walk closer, “It really is you!”

His smile is strained as he replies, “It’s me.”

You want to ask him why he’s here, why he’s decided to start slumming it downtown when he’s got a nice cushy mansion practically all for himself. However, he looks like he’s begging you not to ask any of that, and you’re a lot of things but an asshole isn’t one.

So, you let it go, you smile and nod your head like you’re not bursting with a million questions and instead offer, “Where do you want me, boss?”

Steve lets a breath out, his shoulders slumping in relief.

Odd.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

It’s almost embarrassing how easily the two of you become friends. Who would’ve known that Steve Harrington was a total loser?

God, it’s almost like all that confidence in high school got washed away the second he graduated.

He’s dumb. In the funniest way. He knows jack shit about movies except for the dumb action movies that somehow every boy in Hawkins has ever seen and he’s horrendously bad at flirting.

Which is even worse for you considering that it works on you. The dumb smiles and the lines that fall flat—they endear you. So, despite your best efforts—you fall for Steve Harrington.

He’s unusually sweet, kinder than he was in high school and weirdly self-actualised which throws you off.

And as much ad you promised yourself you wouldn’t, you can’t help but compare your Steve to ‘King Steve’. Even though you know he’s not that anymore—that he’s left all that behind him when he left high school.

Dating Steve is nothing like you’d thought it would be, he takes you out to dinner and pays for your meal without even asking, he brings you flowers—different bouquets at first until you mention you like one more than the others, and those become ‘your flowers’, and he never pushes.

You know more about his sex life than you would like but surprisingly enough—Steve is a romantic. He is slow and tender and kind-hearted that you can’t even imagine that the same boy you once knew in high school is the same man you love.

The first time he picks you up, you clean obsessively. Your place has never been dirty but you’re hoping the obsessive cleanliness will distract him from the glaring wealth gap between the two of you.

You’re not embarrassed perse, it’s just that—you really like him. He’s become one of the best things in your life and it would really suck if the one thing you couldn’t control became the thing that drove him away.

Three subsequent knocks echo through your home and with a heavy chest and a smile about as fragile as your mental state, you open the door.

Steve is smiling, that charming boyish smile that you’ve grown immeasurably fond of.

“Hi.” He beams, he thrusts his hand out to you, practically shoving the bouquet under your nose as you flinch back slightly.

“Oh!” you say surprised, “These are for me?” you ask shyly, your hands lifting to grasp the stems of the colourful bouquet with a frail hold.

Steve rubs the back of his neck with a nod, “Yeah, I uh—I thought you’d like them. I dunno, is it too much? I can take them back—” he offers hastily.

You frown, pulling them towards you with a swift shake of your head, “No! no—no they’re nice. They’re lovely Steve.” You assure him, watching delightedly as a red hue blooms from his neck over to his face.

You glace down at the flowers with a fond gaze, biting your lip.

“I’ve never gotten flowers before.” You admit in a hushed whisper, slowly tracing the petals of the fragrant rainbow in front of you.

You glance up at Steve with a soft look, “I’m going to put these in some water, would you like to come in?” you offer.

He nods fast enough that you worry he might just pull a muscle, “Yeah—yeah let’s do that.”

He follows you into your home as you try not to turn around and stare at him. You want to know what he’s thinking—if he finds your place too small, too cold or unlived in, if he likes that you have pillows scattered over your couch despite them being mismatched—if the colour scheme reminds him of something.

You don’t realise it then, but he’s staring at you as you make your way to the kitchen, flowers in your delicate hold as you take precision to care for the flowers.

His gaze is soft and adoring, eyes alight with wonder and ill-hidden emotion. Steve had always worn his heart on his chest and was never really that good at hiding his feelings—he just hopes he makes it through this date without blurting it out that he loves you

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Dating Steve is nothing short of the best time of your life, you do nauseatingly cute couple things like going to the movies just to make out, drive down to lover’s lake to have picnics and spend hours on the phone with one another.

You open yourself up to him, telling him things you thought you’d never have the confidence to utter aloud.

“My family isn’t around anymore,” you mention casually one night. You’re lying on Steve’s bed with his arms around you as you trace formless shapes onto his chest.

You feel Steve freeze beneath you, and you worry that you’ve overstepped, that maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all.

His arms tighten around you slowly, unsure at first before he pulls you closer to him, smacking a loving kiss onto the top of your head.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, acknowledging that he’d heard you but not pushy enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

You nibble on your lip with a contemplative expression, “Yeah,” you admit. “They uh—they left after the earthquake.”

“And you stayed behind?”

“And I stayed behind.” You agree.

There’s a bout of silence between the two of you before Steve’s voice whispers softly, “Why?”

“Why’d I stay?” you rhetorically ask, feeling his hum as he does it.

You shrug, “Dunno, I guess I just couldn’t imagine myself leaving y’know? I was old enough to move out and Hawkins is home.” You mumble.

You don’t see the smile that graces Steve’s lips, but you feel him tug you closer and snuggle into you, a silent agreement between the both of you that he shares your sentiment.

“’S that why you started working at Family Video?” he asks and you tense in his arms, trying to avoid where the conversation is heading.

“Yeah,” you mumble reluctantly. “Gotta make a living somehow.”

Steve frowns, “Does Keith even pay you enough? I don’t really know how much you need but if it’s not enough I could aways—”

“Stop,” you cut him off. “He pays me fine Steve, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Steve sniffs, tugging your face to look up at him. “Always gonna worry about you honey,” he says softly, a soft smile spreading across his face.

You squint at him, “Well don’t. I’m fine.” You promise.

He glances over your face, offering no other rebuttal so you drop your head back to his chest without another word.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

And soon enough, Steve’s kids become your kids. It’s like overnight that you end up adopting 6 kids that are somehow simultaneously the most amusing and annoying things in your life.

They’re fuels for chaos, but they bring so much love into yours and Steve’s life that you can’t help but adore them. Steve and you become honorary parents to the most accident and danger prone group of children.

It’s only right as a group-appointed mother that you spoil your kids, well as much as you can afford to anyways. You find yourself rearranging your own budget to fit in the rest of the party.

Candy for the kids DND nights, birthday gifts for everyone, anniversary gifts for Steve and small things that you think any of them will enjoy. It leaves you wrought out sometimes but it’s worth it most of the time to see the grateful smiles and endless affection that you receive in return.

You like making them happy, and if that means skipping a couple of meals here and there or having to sacrifice some of the luxuries you treat yourself to? You’re more than willing to sacrifice.

You want them to like you.

So, when Steve offers to pick the kids up from the arcade after your date, you don’t hesitate to offer to pay for them to get milkshakes on the way home.

Steve levels you with a look that more amusement than begrudging.

“I wanted one anyway,” you say softly as he scrutinizes you doubtfully but relents to their whining and heads towards the drive thru.

“Alright,” you call out, turning backwards in the passengers’ seat to confirm their orders.

“It’s 3 chocolate, two vanilla’s and one strawberry right?”

“Yes,” they chorus back to you and with a snort you turn to look at Steve who raises a brow at you.

“You want anything?” you offer and he scrunches his face, shaking his head.

 “Still full from lunch.” He says and you nod.

“That’ll be $15.” The crackly speaker answers you when you’ve read out the kids’ order, having you pause as you contemplate whether to add your own.

“Will that be all?”

You only have $20 in your wallet; you can’t afford to have a milkshake and get groceries this month.

“Yes,” you say softly, ignoring that Steve whips his head to your own with a confused look.

While you’re making your way through the drive thru line the kids are involved in their own discussions, Steve interrupts your train of thought with a hushed whisper, “Baby, I thought you wanted a milkshake too?”

You force a smile, shaking your head, “I wouldn’t be able to finish it anyways.”

He frowns, “You sure? I can always drive back around and get you one, the lines not that long.” He offers

You disagree with him immediately, “It’s alright—we’ve gotta get Will home soon or Joyce will kill us.” You remind him.

He doesn’t look happy about your stance, but he can’t actually refute it, so he nods even though there’s a tightness in his chest that won’t go away and drives to drop the kids off as they slurp their milkshakes in the back.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

It all comes back to bite you when Steve arrives early to your place for your date, forcing you to let him wander around while you shower and get ready. You promise you’ll only be 10 minutes, but Steve knows better than to hold you to that.

He doesn’t mind waiting, he makes himself comfortable on your bed, throwing a random ball around as he whistles to himself.

With an ill-timed throw it misses his outstretched hand and falls to the ground, rolling under your bed. He leans over your bed, pushing himself down to peak under to try and grab it before his attention shifts to a different item.

A silver lunchbox, completely unassuming laid against the wall just begging for Steve to open it.

He hems and haws for a couple of seconds, still hearing the sound of water rushing through the thin walls of your room before he reaches a handout and tugs the lunchbox with him to sit back onto your bed.

He questions his own ethics for a few seconds, arguing that this might be a complete betrayal of your trust even though you yourself knew fairly well that he would be snooping around your room.

Nevertheless, the box is opened and Steve’s face morphs into confusion.

“What?” he mutters to himself, taking in the sight of carefully folded pieces of paper and stacks of bills hidden inside. Granted its probably only around a hundred dollars, but it’s odd enough to have Steve wondering.

Is this some kind of emergency fund? Something you just haven’t told him about?

With barely constrained inquisitiveness, he opens the folded papers one by one. His heart clenches in his chest when he reads your handwriting.

May—expense sheet

Total income: $175

Groceries: $50 $30

Rent: $75

Fun stuff: $15 milkshakes w the kids $15

Steve’s present: $50

Leftover: $5 (savings)

5 dollars leftover for your savings? What the hell?? How didn’t Steve notice this?

His heart grows heavy the more he goes over your previous expense sheets, every single sheet has money adjusted—times when Steve rarely let you pay for dinner when he left his wallet at home had made you late on rent, when you had bought Steve the cologne he’s been speaking about for ages for his birthday, you’d had to stretch 20 dollars over two weeks for your groceries.

He was the worst boyfriend, what kind of boyfriend didn’t know that his girlfriend was struggling to make ends meet? What kind of boyfriend doesn’t notice that she’s been skipping meals, that she’s been taking care of everyone else but not herself—

“Hey, so I was thinking after the movie we could go back to yours? I was thinking—” you babble as you walk out of the bathroom, steam billowing behind you as you towel dry your hair without looking at him.

He stares at you with something akin to horror and despair in his expression and when you don’t hear him respond, you turn to look at him.

“Steve?” you say confused, frowning at his expression before you catch sight of the familiar items on your bed, spread out before him like photos of a crime scene.

No, a horrified thought invades your mind. Nononono

He was never supposed to find those.

“Steve I can explain—” you say panicked.

He frowns, shaking his head, “What?”

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, devastation coating his tongue in an acidic pain.

Your heart feels as heavy as lead in your chest, “I didn’t want you to worry, I was handling it—”

“Handling it?! You were skipping meals!” He disproves.

You shrink into yourself from his tone, feeling like a child being scolded by their parent. He softens at the sight of you, getting off the bed and tentatively walking over with his arms outstretched presumably to show he’s not a threat.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles as he grows near. “I didn’t mean to lash out.”

You shrug, wringing your hands out in front of you in nervousness before he tugs them into his own. He pulls you into his chest, his arms bracketing your form as he rests his head on your own.

“I just wish you would’ve trusted me,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You shake your head, “I do trust you!” you insist, pulling away to look up at him.

His smile is crooked and a little fragile, “But you don’t trust me enough with this.”

“That’s okay! Hey—it’s okay, I’m not mad. I’m not mad I promise.” He insists when it looks like you’re about to argue with him.

“I’m sorry,” you say uncertainly, blinking back the tears that prick the corners of your eyes.

“No need,” he dismisses you immediately.

“I just didn’t want to burden you with the bills and the budgeting—I’ve had it under control since my family left, and I thought if I did it well enough then you wouldn’t realise because I can handle it you know? I—I can be self-sufficient and I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone, and I could still be a good friend and girlfriend and buy you these things you want because you deserve them—”

Steve cups your face in his hands, cutting off your train of thought as he forces your gaze to meet his.

“It’s okay” he reassures you, stopping you in your tracks. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

You bite your lip unsurely, “Are you—do you think less of me?”

Steve’s face grows dark, “Never,” he vows. “I would never think less of you.”

Some of the weight eases off your chest and you let a fragile smile break through your nervous expression.

“However,” he adds despite your protests. “You are going to let me help.” He asserts.

You frown, already shaking your head, “I’m not a charity case, I don’t need—”

“Ah ah,” he tuts with an amused smile. “I never said that I know you don’t need my help, but it would make me very happy if you’d let me help every once in a while. Most of my trust fund is sitting untouched and trust me—I’d be a whole lot happier spending it on spoiling and taking care of you than on anything else.” He practically pleads.

You try to smother the wobble in your lips as you lean up to press a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips.

“You can’t go crazy,” you threaten him with a shaky voice.

He agrees immediately, because of course he does.

“You have to let me help, okay?” he fires back.

With a small amount of hesitation, you nod slowly.

His tongue increased its impossible pace as you reached your climax for the third time in a row, licking up and down between your folds like he would find paradise if he searched deeper.

It was all so intense—his hands squeezed around your thighs, pinning them over his shoulders as your back arched, the tightness in your stomach at its peak as he kept lapping at your center. Your fingers twitched in hair, stomach tensing from how tight the muscles held.

“Steve, please…” you begged, your fingers practically urging his head backward. Steve whined in protest, moving back to look at you.

His face was red, the bottom half covered in your slick, his breathing ragged. “Tastes so good, baby,” he groaned, his eyes shining under your gaze.

You fought to catch your breath before Steve started laving kisses on the tight, strained muscles of your stomach. “Think you can give me one more, baby?” He begged, eyes locked on yours. “Please? Just one more on my cock?”

Your breath hitched. The thing was you wanted to. You knew how hard he was—how much he wanted you—but you weren't sure you could physically take anymore.

“I don't know, Steve…” you whispered softly. He slowly moved up, coming to see you face to face. “Please, baby?” Steve whispered, lips traveling over to your ear. “I'll be so good…”

God, he was going to kill you one of these days.

The shake in your thighs pleaded with you to say no—to put a stop to their torment—but you could never say no to Steve Harrington.

Your head found itself nodding before you could say anything else. You felt his smile against your ear, breathing heavy. “That's my girl,” Steve whispered as he lifted himself up.

You couldn't help the way your whole body jerked when you felt his length press against you, your core so sensitive now. Steve smiled at it. “Yeah, she likes me, huh?”

His tip sliding up and down your folds felt like an act of torture. You held back a whimper, trying to keep yourself together for him. He didn't need to know how the pleasure was starting to fade.

“That's it, baby. Gonna make you feel me for weeks.” He started to situate himself at your core, leaning back down to kiss your cheek.

It wasn't until he tasted salt that he noticed you were crying. Steve pulled back, searching your face to find faint tears glazing your cheeks.

His heart stuttered for a second. “Hey, hey,” he called softly, voice gentle as ever. “Sweetheart…”

You covered your face, hiding the state you were in. “Hey, hey, don't hide from me, baby.” Steve carefully removed your hands from your face. “Can you look at me? Please?”

You breathed in roughly, silently gasping for air underwater. “I'm sorry…” You sobbed. Steve immediately shook his head, brows furrowing.

“No, hey, don't do that,” Steve quickly resituated himself. Your safety mattered more than where his dick was right now. He laid on his side, settling next to you. “You're okay, baby. You're safe.” He promised, trying to calm you down.

Steve felt his heart breaking as your breathing seemed to get harsher. “Sweetheart…” he extended his hand before hesitation ran through his bones. “Do… Do you need space, right now?” He whispered gently.

Your heart hurt in your chest. You wished you could give him a clear answer, but everything in you was burning like forest fire.

“I don't know,” you felt pathetic, unsure of what you were feeling, what was going on, what was safe.

Steve understood—well, he didn't exactly, but he knew he was yours, and that wasn't going to change no matter what you were feeling.

“Okay,” he agreed. As hard as it was, he inched away from you on the bed, giving you room without abandoning you entirely. For good measure, Steve kept his hand near your body. Not on it, not hovering. He let his hand rest on the space right next to you.

“I'm right here, baby.” He promised, watching you intently as your breath continued to shake. “I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You tried, you really did, but every spark in your body was igniting right now. Steve hesitated, desperately wanting to make it better.

“Can you—can you try putting your hand on my chest?” He whispered. “Just want you to feel me breathing.”

You carefully let him take your hand, allowing him to guide it over his chest. “That's it, pretty girl. Just focus on my breathing, okay?”

Steve watched as you slowly calmed down. “There you go.” He encouraged. Steve smiled when you turned to face him. “Hi, baby.”

The sweetness in his voice made you feel like crying more. Steve must have noticed because he finally reached out to touch you, holding your face. “You're okay… you're okay, baby. It's just me.”

You nodded. You knew you were safe. You just were having trouble getting your body to understand.

“Can I hold you please, baby?” Steve felt like he was granted mercy by the grace of God when you agreed, moving closer to him. He brought his arms around you, making sure not to overwhelm you. You squeezed his forearm, trying to hold some semblance of control. “...Do you think you can talk now?” He whispered softly.

Your breathing stopped at the thought.

“It's okay if not, baby,” Steve immediately assured you, soothing you with his hand on your back. “You don't have to.

You felt your breath return to you with his promise. But Steve still wanted to know. He needed to know if he had hurt you—if he had scared you. He needed you.

He pressed his lips to your head—not exactly a kiss, but the closest thing he could give you. “You don't have to talk,” he started, “but I want to listen.”

You looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“Can I ask you yes or no questions?” His voice was so unbelievably gentle it felt like falling onto a cloud. You looked away from his eyes, unable to take him looking at you as you nodded. “Okay,” he sighed gratefully. “Okay.”

His first question took a moment to leave his lips, as if it was painful for him to get out. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head softly. You could almost feel Steve's following sigh of relief. “Good… Okay, that's good.” It sounded like he was simply thinking out loud at the moment. “Did I scare you?"

You paused for a moment before nodding your head. Steve always told you to be honest with him. You were sure it had something to do with having his heart broken in a relationship he didn't know was failing. You feel his chest stutter as he tried to nod.

“Are—” he took a shaky, shallow breath, “are you still scared?”

“No,” you responded, your voice a hoarse whisper. “Not scared.”

Steve nodded, grateful to hear anything but your sobs.

Steve barely even heard your next words.

“Too much.”

He looked down at you. “What, baby?”

“Too much,” you repeated softly.

“It was too much?”

You nodded. Finally, Steve understood, looking back over it all. You wanted to stop, and he didn't. Steve repeats as much out loud, only to have his heart break when you confirm it with a nod.

“I'm so sorry, baby…” Steve held you closer. “I didn't realize you were that—overwhelmed.” Steve felt something sharp in his stomach. He had ignored the signs, scared you, and now you were crying in his arms. This was the last thing he ever wanted.

“I couldn't take any more…” you confessed in a voice that was too close to shame for Steve's liking. “I didn't mean to start cryin—”

“No, hey,” Steve made you look at him. “Don't do that, okay? It's okay,” he promised you, “I'm not mad at you, honey.”

Steve took your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “You did nothing wrong. Okay? I don't want you to blame yourself.”

His eyes reminded you of a fireplace, the way they felt like home. Steve took a quiet breath, briefly glancing down at your hand.

“I love you more than anything else in the world, sweetheart.” That got a small smile out of you, something that felt like sunshine at the moment. “...But I can't read minds.”

You looked down as well. Steve took your chin in his hand, wanting to meet your eyes again. “I need you to tell me when it's too much for you like that, okay?” He whispered.

“When we're doing… this, it's not something I want you to stay silent about. I want to hear everything from you, honey. What you like, what's making you feel good, how I'm making you feel…” he listed, making you smile a bit, “...but most importantly I need to know what you don't like—what's not making you feel good—all of that.” Steve explained. “I need to feel that you're able to tell me something you're scared I won't like."

You closed your eyes, breathing carefully as you nod your head. “Okay."

He mirrored your nod, smiling gently. “Okay.” He settled you in closer next to him. Steve soothingly caressed your hair, comforting you. “Can you start by telling me what was wrong just now?”

It took you a moment before you can get the words out. You had to remind yourself that Steve loved you—that he wants to know you.

“You had been going for so long, I was starting to get sore…” you explained slowly. “It's like if I kept sucking you off after you already came in my mouth,” you tried to compare.

Steve winced at the idea. As hot as it sounded, he could see how it could easily become too much.

“And then tried to ride you, too—”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, “I get it.”

You smiled back at him. “I'm sorry I freaked you out. I didn't want to ruin the mood.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Me doing something you don't like overrides everything, okay? Even my boner.” Your laugh felt like a symphony to Steve's ears.

You moved closer to him, feeling safe like before. You were with Steve, he was with you.

You were okay.

“Next time, I'll tell you,” you promised him. Steve smiled wide, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Next time, I'll stop,” he agreed.

You lifted your head to kiss him on the lips, gentle, sweet enough you could faintly taste yourself still on his lips.

Steve smiled when you pulled back. He placed one last kiss on your lips. “I love you, honey.” He hugged you close before suddenly hoisting you in his arms, getting up from the bed. “Let's go run you a bath.”

“Steve!” You squealed, barking out a laugh. “I can walk just fine.”

Steve shook his head solemnly. “I'm afraid not, sweetheart. I mean, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't carry you?”

Your smile felt so big you could hold it in your hands. You laid a featherlight kiss on the skin on his neck

“The best one, Steve. You'd always be the best one.”

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