#it also says to avoid eyes/lips but i feel like at least undereye bags could prolly benefit from skincare treatment XD

[miss-floral-thief]

got this at the dollar store idk about a 'sleep mask' but i guessi can keep it on for a few hours while i'm playing a game/before bed

[skullrock]

the (fake) date

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: In an attempt to avoid Keith’s advances, you tell him you’re going out with Steve. Steve makes that a reality.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: none!!

a/n: first oneshot in months!!! wooo!!! this includes Steve being scared of haunted houses xox

===

Every week, you had to feed Keith another lie as to why you couldn’t go on a date with him.

You could have simply told him you weren’t interested, but he was your boss, and you were worried that letting him down harshly would have consequences. It wasn’t like there were a plethora of jobs in Hawkins once the mall burned down; Family Video was all you had. Family Video and your creepy, weird boss that always carried a bag of Cheetos with him.

You’d say just about anything to get him off your back - that you were busy with school, or you had plans with family, or you were sick. Anything to get him to walk away. You even spent a week trying to make yourself look sick - sunken and dark undereyes, hardly combed hair. It was so convincing that Steve walked up to you and put his hand against your forehead to feel for a fever.

“Not sick,” you told him.

“You look like hell,” he said, brows furrowed.

“That’s very sweet,” you said, and continued to the back room to sort tapes.

But this week, you were out of ideas. You didn’t know what to tell him.

“Friday, you and me?” Keith asked, hand sunken into a bag of Cheetos. “We can go to a haunted house.”

“Oh, I can’t,” you say weakly.

“What’s got you so damn busy this week?”

You searched your brain for any kind of excuse before blurting out, “I’m going to one with Steve.”

The Cheeto bag fell from Keith’s hand.

As if on cue, Steve comes out from the back room and promptly trips on his own feet, slamming into the counter. He smiles dorkily at you before moving to the other side of the counter to help a customer.

“You’re going out with Harrington?” Keith was practically seething.

“Yeah,” you say quickly, turning to watch Steve. “I am.”

Keith scoffs and walks away, dejected and pissed that Harrington won again, mumbling something about how he shouldn’t have hired him.

You lean against the counter, letting out a breath you were holding. Close call.

You thought that was the end of it - but Keith, of course, brings this up again, and in front of Steve this time.

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Couple weeks,” you say, while Steve stands on the other side of Keith, confused.

“Wh-“ Steve starts, but you look at him with pleading eyes, and it clicks with him.

“Yeah,” he says, recovering. Steve steps closer to you and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you into him. You pray that you’re not blushing too noticeably. “Yeah, since September 28th.”

Keith scoffs. “No PDA in the store, Harrington.”

Steve shrugs and lets you go. “Sorry, Keith. Can’t keep my hands off of them.”

Keith points a dust-covered finger at Steve. “Hands to yourself.” He leans back just slightly. “We have a form you need to fill out if you’re dating. Saves the company’s ass if something goes wrong.” He produces the papers from his back pocket and slams them onto the counter. “Fill ‘em out. I want them by your next shift.” He shoots Steve another hard glare before stalking off, out the front door.

Silence.

You grab the papers and fold them, shoving them into your own back pocket and attempting to walk away.

“Wait,” Steve says, gently taking your arm. “We gonna talk about this?”

You freeze.

Steve had been your crush since forever. You were always in love with him - when he was a dorky 7th grader, when he was an asshole junior, and now as a dorky young man. But you’d sunken into a beautiful friendship with him that you absolutely weren’t willing to throw away over dumb feelings.

“You know Keith.” You try to sound nonchalant. “He keeps asking me out on dates.”

A sudden jealousy hits Steve right in the gut, but he swallows it down.

“And he wouldn’t leave me alone. So I … I told him that we were seeing each other.”

Steve blinks.

Steve coincidentally has also been into you. Maybe not as long, but just as deep. And he’d be damned if he ever tried telling you that. So if he has to pretend to date you to get close to the real thing, he’ll do it.

“Oh, God, please don’t be mad -“ you begin, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not mad,” he says. “No. No. I’m not mad. We should have done this sooner.”

You blink.

“Because - so that - he would have left you alone sooner,” he clarifies, shifting, putting his hands in his back pockets. “You know.”

“You don’t have to -“

“I want to,” he says, then shakes his head a bit. “I mean - not like, I want to be your boyfriend - or anything weird -“

“I get it,” you say, a bit crushed but happy that he’s not pissed and is willing to go along with you. “I told him we were going to a haunted house this Friday.”

“Well, maybe we should,” Steve suggests. “You know - so we seem like a real couple.”

You blush deeply and look away, busying yourself with a random piece of paper on the counter. “Yeah, that would be fun. Or - the house would be fun -“

“I get it,” he says. He leans his back against the counter and watches your fingers play with the paper, smiling softly as he does. “Should I pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds good,” you say, trying to sound casual, but your heart was about to hammer out of your chest.

So was Steve’s.

===

As it would turn out, Steve hates haunted houses.

Every sound makes him shake, and his teeth chatter loudly as you move through the rooms. Steve tries to laugh off his fright, but he gets more worked up as it goes on. After all he’s been through, something like this shouldn’t make him so scared - but it sends him into a near panic attack.

And he feels so stupid, because you’re taking the frights like a champ, laughing at the masks and costumes and guiding Steve along. You willingly hold his hand and help him through the rooms, never once making fun of him for being scared. Steve thinks he probably looks like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and it makes him want to drop to the floor and die.

“This is bullshit,” he mumbles, holding onto you for dear life as actors walk around you.

“What’s bullshit?” you ask, laughing and blushing, holding his hand tightly. “They aren’t real, Steve.”

Steve runs a sweaty palm through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, I know -“

A person in a mask jumps out randomly and Steve shouts, “Jesus!”

It’s very endearing in an odd way.

“You hate this,” you declare over the loud and obnoxious sound effects. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Thank God,” Steve says hoarsely, and allows you to guide him to the exit.

Outside, Steve takes in large gulps of hair, keeping watch for any monsters - or humans. You rub his back soothingly, and he wipes his palms on his jeans.

“Gross,” he groans. “I didn’t know - ugh, you had to hold these -“

“I don’t care,” you say, and that settles it.

“This might sound crazy,” he says as you both head for his car, “but I’ve never actually been to one of these before.”

“You haven’t?” You’re shocked. “And how many dates have you been on? A thousand?”

Steve glares at you in his periphery. “No. Doesn’t matter. Point is, I’ve never been to a haunted house before.”

“Glad I was there for your first time,” you say, and Steve’s happy you were there, too.

When you approach his car, you realize you’re both still holding hands, and you pull your hand away quickly. Steve frowns.

“Sorry,” you say.

“For what?”

“Holding your hand for so long.”

“Didn’t bother me.”

You pause, studying his face. He looks warm, a slight smile on the edge of his lips, shoulders relaxed, almost leaning towards you but not quite.

You continue looking at each other for a few moments, trying to decipher each other. Finally, Steve whispers, “I’m still scared, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, and holds his hand out to you. “I think you should hold it again.”

You blush and smile. “Let’s get in the car.”

Steve practically sprints to his side, then runs back to get your door for you. He tucks you inside, then runs back to his side. In his head, he gives himself a pep talk, tries to remember how to be flirty and smooth. But Steve Harrington doesn’t know how to be suave, not anymore, and maybe that’s not really a bad thing. Steve quickly puts his seatbelt on and then reaches over the center console, taking your hand in his.

“It’s still sweaty,” you say, quietly, a lame attempt at a joke.

“That didn’t bother you before,” Steve says, smiling slightly.

The look he’s giving you is so sweet and pure that you almost want to run out of the car. Or lean forward and kiss him. Or maybe both.

And even though you’re both holding hands and very obviously pining, neither of you actually know what this means. Steve has hope in his aching chest that maybe this is almost a real date under the premise of being a fake one. You have hope that it is, too. But neither of you know how to breach the topic, and after some lingering looks, Steve starts to drive. His right hand is still laced in your left, tightly, almost afraid that you’d let him go.

“Where to?” he asks. “It’s only nine.”

You desperately try to think of something to do, anything to keep him with you for a little while longer. “I- horror movies?”

Steve can’t help the laugh that bubbles from his chest. “I don’t do super well with those, either.”

“King Steve!” you say, faking a scandalized tone. “You telling me you hate horror flicks?”

“Can’t stand ‘em,” he says, absentmindedly squeezing your hand. “They make me jump.”

“How high?”

A childish giggle comes from him. “At least five feet.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“Too bad,” he smiles, glancing over to you. Then he gasps. “Oh, I know a place!”

===

As it would turn out, the quarry is a perfect place for a chilly October night.

It’s scary, but not too scary. It’s more so serene and beautiful, and the moon casts a silver glow onto the water and trees. You and Steve lean against the front of his car, hands to yourself, as you watch the surroundings.

“You scared?” he asks suddenly.

You laugh. “No. Are you?”

“No.” A pause. “You just - you seem like you’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold.” You wrap your arms around yourself for some warmth. “I don’t know why I thought a thin sweater -”

Steve scoots beside you and takes his jacket off - the infamous Members Only one, which he insists to Robin is made with the very threads of good luck - and he wraps it around your shoulders. You slink into yourself, smiling coyly at him and he secures it onto your frame.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Steve nods and smiles down at you. The moon hits the left side of his face and illuminates his features, and you hold yourself back from tucking a stray hair behind his ear.

“What about you?” you ask. “Aren’t you cold now?”

“A little,” he admits. “I’ll be okay.”

You don’t believe him. You wrap your arm around him and pull him in closely, and his hair flops over his forehead as he leans into your side. His arm snakes around your waist and you feel frozen in time, like nothing could ever be this perfect, like you never want it to end.

“What are we doing?” you whisper after a moment.

Steve smiles. “If you ask me, I think we’re on a date.”

You blush against Steve’s shoulder and he can feel the heat through his shirt.

“Yeah?” you ask. “A fake one or a real one?”

Steve swallows hard, contemplating his answer. “Seems… seems like a real one to me.”

You look up at him at the same time he looks down at you and your noses almost brush together. Steve’s eyes trail down to your lips and he leans forward a microscopic amount, his arm still tight around your waist. You look away before he can close the gap, and his shoulders slump just slightly.

“I think it seems like a real one, too,” you say, voice cracking from nerves.

There’s a moment of silence before Steve whispers, “Hey.”

You look at him and there’s no time to contemplate.

Steve’s lips are warm and soft, tasting vaguely like cherry chapstick and Coca-Cola. They move against yours slowly, and although the kiss feels like a minute, it only lasts a fleeting moment before he pulls back, gauging your reaction.

“Is that… cherry chapstick?” It’s all you can think to say.

“Cherry Coke,” he corrects. “L-Lipsmacker.”

A slow smile breaks out over your face. “I have the same one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smile wider. “Maybe you should taste it on me sometime.”

Steve melts into you, pulling you closer to him. “I think you taste just fine without it.”

Your lips meet again and time stands still once more. Steve’s warm hand cups your face as he pulls you in, and your thumb traces his cheekbone. You’d never felt so alive and lucky as the cold October air picks your hair up and blows it around you.

Steve leans his forehead against yours as he breaks the kiss again. You remain there for a while, thanking the universe for your luck.

Steve thanks his jacket, and, oddly, Keith.

“Hope you kept those papers,” Steve mumbles.

You laugh. “I did.”

“Good,” he smiles, his breath tickling your nose. “Because I think we’ll need to sign them.”

===

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