accidentally on purpose
a little april fools special ᥫ᭡
𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader
𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: A prank war between you and Steve backfires when a thunderstorm washes away your paint, leaving behind an accidental love confession scribbled across his car.
𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩: fluff, with a side of making out. a little bit of cussing. Steve and reader are college age. 3.8k words
“Son of a bitch.” Dustin mutters beside you.
“Language,” you remind him, but the reprimand falls flat. You’re too busy staring at rainbow grenade parked in your driveway.
Your entire car is filled with balloons. Rubber blues, oranges, greens, and pinks packed so tightly they press into the windows, completely blocking the interior.
And you know exactly who to blame.
Your watch beeps, sending a thread of panic through you. “God! I’ve got to get to my test!” You hitch your backpack higher and start toward the car. “Why does it have to be today? Of all the days!”
The morning sun throws your reflections across the grey-blue paint, warping you to look shorter than you are. As you approach, you eye the driver’s side door handle suspiciously, as if it might succumb to all that internal pressure and pop off before you can reach it.
“Well it is April Fools today,” Dustin offers unhelpfully. “So…at least he’s punctual.”
“Not helping,” you grit out, finally wrenching open the door.
A shriek catches in your throat as an avalanche of balloons spills out, bouncing across the ground in every direction.
“How did he even do this?” Dustin says in awe, kicking at a pink balloon drifting past. “It’s kind of impressive. It must’ve taken him forever.”
“God, I hope he’s stumbling all over campus right now, dizzy from lack of oxygen. Oh my God—look! They’re all over the street. Dustin, go catch them.”
“Hey, I’ve got to get to school, too!” he says, gesturing towards his backpack. “Better drive fast.”
You check the time on your watch, batting a ballon from your face. “Ah, shit, there’s no time. Okay, listen, go call Nancy. She’s student-teaching the freshmen at your high school now, right? If you ask her right now, she’ll probably have enough time to swing by and pick you up.”
“No,” Dustin groans. “I don’t want to call Nancy! Her car smells like a perfume bomb went off, and she’ll just lecture me the whole way about turning in my homework on time.”
You ignore his complaints, attempting to forge your way into the driver’s seat. Balloons slide over your head as you push through, the static promptly ruining your fresh blowout.
“And to think all I was going to do to him this year was tape over his mixtapes,” you mutter, glancing back to meet your brother’s eyes. “Dustin…this means war.”
“Oh, shit!” He grins, readjusting his hat like he’s gearing up for the battle ahead. “What are you gonna do to him?”
“I don’t know,” you say, shoving your backpack into the passenger seat with all your might. “But I swear, if I miss this test, Steve Harrington is going to pay.”
“Do you know how long it takes to get rid of a hundred balloons?” You complain to Robin later that afternoon.
The cart squeaks along the carpet as you push the next pile of videos over for re-shelving. Robin waits at the end of the row for you, wearing a green Family Video vest that matches yours.
“You can’t just…take them out,” you continue. “Oh, no. Because then they all fly away in the wind, absolutely littering the road. And it takes so long to chase them down—don’t ask me how I know. And then only, like, six of them fit inside a trash bag. Six! Which means you have to pop them all first, and then stuff them in a bag, I mean seriously, Robin. I think my ears are still ringing.”
She grimaces, picking up Alien 2 and sliding it into its place.
“I had to drive to the college with all my windows blocked by the damn things. Huge safety hazard, by the way. And of course, my professor wouldn’t even let me in the testing room by the time I got there.”
Robin’s eyes widen with every word until she’s simply staring at you. “Wow, that is…wait. Where is Steve today, anyway?”
“I swapped shifts with him because sometimes he has an afternoon class that runs late on Mondays.”
She looks at you for another moment. “That was…nice of you.”
You shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal. But now, I’m done playing nice.”
A smile twists her lips as she moves down a row. “…Okay.”
“I’m serious, Robin!” You say, flipping your hair over your shoulder in exasperation. “This year, I’m going to do it. I’m gonna cross the uncrossable line.”
She freezes, then slowly turns to face you. “Oh my God. You wouldn’t.”
“Mark my words, Buckley. This is the year I go for the Beamer.” You point Footloose at her. “And I’m going to need your help.”
The plan sounded pretty badass in theory.
You were going to be a ninja in the night, leaving a message for your enemy. No—a promise.
You could almost picture yourself tossing back your hood under the full moon and licking the knife of victory, letting revenge bloom sweet on your tongue as you put an end to the prank wars.
But in reality…it looks like you crouching in the bushes with bugs crawling down your shirt, and cringing every time a car’s headlights sweep past.
Even though the sun went down hours ago, it’s still not dark enough for your taste. Gone are your visions of being an alluring silhouette against the stars, because the Harrington house sits in a neighborhood that believes in the HOA, twenty-four-hour police watch, and lots and lots of streetlights.
Which is why you brought your lookout.
“You’re positive this stuff will wash off?” You ask Robin for the thousandth time, smuggling the paint can out of your jean jacket and holding it close to read the label again.
“I mean, you heard the guy at the store—shit—” she ducks, spitting out a twig, “—he said it comes off with water. It’s like…liquid kid’s chalk or something.”
Steve’s Beamer sits in front of you, maroon and silver glinting in the light. Look at it. Oblivious. Unassuming.
The streetlights buzz above your head, blending with the croaks of nearby frogs. They’re probably breeding in Steve’s pool. There’s always, like, a gigillion of them every time you come over to swim in the summer.
It’s a warm night for early April, but a cool breeze stirs your hair, carrying that earthy, bitter smell of water in the air.
“Wait—is it supposed to rain?” you whisper.
“Shit, I don’t know,” Robin replies. “I wasn’t really tracking the weather, I was more focused on us not getting arrested. Or killed by Steve if he finds us. What are you going to write, anyway?”
With one last look around the empty street, you shake the bottle and pop the lid. “I thought I’d just let the spirit guide me.”
“The spirit of what?” she asks, but you’re already creeping toward the car.
This product isn’t like normal spray paint. The bottle hisses the same, and sort of sputters if you go too fast, but it writes smoothly—almost like a gel pen but in paint form.
The whole thing has your pulse pounding in your throat, your body wired, ready to run. It’s kind of…really fun.
You write two words. Attention ladies. That’s good.
You pause, shake the bottle, glance around, then go again.
By the end of the first sentence, you’re adding little flourishes to the ends of your letters.This paint is amazing. Your knees ache from bending over this long, and you’re a little lightheaded from the fumes. But when you’re finally running out of space, you stand back to admire your work.
From the trunk, all the way to the hood, in bright white letters, it reads:
ATTENTION LADIES: STEVE IS A TERRIBLE LOVER. YOU DON’T WANT TO KISS HIM.
“Wow,” Robin says, appearing at your side.
You jump. “God! Don’t—sneak like that.”
“That is…” She trails off, shaking her head, gaze pinned to the car.
“What?” you ask. “Petty?”
She shrugs, her white T-shirt glowing under the streetlight. “Well, yeah…”
You tuck the can into your jean jacket. “Childish?”
“Absolutely.” After a moment she adds, “How do you know he’s a terrible lover?”
You freeze.“W-what?”
She’s still staring at your words, lips pursed, head cocked to the side, waiting for your reply.
“I don’t! I just—it’s a prank, Robin!”
She holds her hands out in defense. “Okay! Okay, I was just curious. You know. If you’ve had, like, firsthand experience or something.”
“God! What? No! I just—you know how big his ego is,” you whisper, unsure of exactly why you’re still explaining yourself. “I’m just trying to…knock it down a little.”
Truth is, you don’t really know why you wrote that. All that went through your mind was him rolling up to a red light, doing a stupid double take at the girl next to him in her shiny red convertible. Putting on his sunglasses—the ones he thinks make him look cool—and rolling down his window. She’d take one look at that hair, that smile, and start fluttering her lashes. Maybe reapply her lipstick in the mirror, purposely parting her mouth in a pretty O, just to get his thoughts to run rampant and dirty.
And then…
Something on his car would catch her eye. Words. She’d read them…and then she’d drive off before the light turned green.
It’s brilliant. Or, you thought it was. And anyway, it’s not like it’s going to last forever. Steve Harrington can go a few days without another date.
“Okay, sorry, and what’s the kissing part supposed to mean?” Robin asks, drawing you from your thoughts.
You sigh, exasperated. “What do you mean, what does it mean? I think it’s pretty self-explanatory—car!”
You both dive into the bushes just as headlights sweep over the driveway. The car passes, the engine rattling off into the distance. You press a hand over your racing heart.
“So you’ve kissed him then?” Robin says once you’ve both caught your breath.
“What? No!” You practically shriek. It echoes down the silent street and you smack your forehead, wincing at the sound.
Robin stifles a laugh with her knuckles to her lips. “Okay, so if you haven’t slept with him, and you haven’t kissed him, then this—” she gestures through the bushes at your work, “—looks like it came from some petty-ex girlfriend.”
“Oh my God,” you turn back to the car. “You’re right. Wait here.”
You ignore Robin’s hiss to be careful as you creep forwards again. When you’re close enough, you sign your name on the right-hand sign with a little heart, like you always do.
There. Now he’ll know.
But as you step back to admire your work a second time, your stomach sinks.
What are you doing? You just wrote…that… on his car. And signed it.
There your name sits right under the words lover, and kiss, and Steve…
A light flicks on in the neighboring house. It might as well be the heavens cracking open with the way you take off.
Thankfully, Robin takes the hint, and scampers across the yard after you.
“Why did I do that?” you whisper as you near the car. The grass swishes under your sneakers, mixing with Robin’s raspy chuckle. “You made me do it!”
“You know he’s going to be pissed right?” Robin says, slamming the door behind her and throwing her car into gear. “Like—completely off his rocker, pissed.”
“Great,” You deadpan, checking over your shoulder one more time. “Maybe he’ll get so mad, he’ll declare me the official winner and we can stop this war altogether.”
Robin scoffs. “You’re telling me this time next year, you’re just gonna be like ‘wow, I really don’t miss that extremely flirtatious prank war we used to have going’? Because I don’t believe that for a second.
You don’t answer right away, your brain still short-circuiting over the word flirtatious.
She glances over and catches your expression. “Oh, don’t—seriously? I’m stuck in that video store with the two of you. I know exactly how you look at each other.”
“We don’t look at each other any certain way! We don’t look at each other…at all, actually! Our eyes just…never…connect—God, Robin.” You huff, turning to watch the streetlights blur past. “Are you just choosing to ignore all the times he comes in with some girl-of-the-week draped on his arm? Or all the times he rushes closing because he’s late for some hot new date?”
Robin looks over at you for a long moment. Her blinker clicking fills the silence.
“You’re jealous,” she says abruptly.
“Am not.
“Are too.”
You give up, pressing your forehead to the cool glass and letting out a miserable groan. You are.
You have been for a very, very long time.
“Hey, look at it this way,” she says, jutting a thumb back the way you came. “If that stuff actually is as water-soluble as the guy said, there’s like a solid chance this whole thing is gone by morning.”
Your face rolls into your palms. “This was such a terrible idea.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Robin says, a smile in her voice. “Sometimes, those are the best kind.”
It’s late afternoon the next day, and you’re almost done with your shift when a familiar voice echoes through the quiet Family Video store.
“Is this your idea of a prank, Henderson? ‘Cause it’s not fucking funny!”
Shit.
The knot of anxiety in your stomach had been easing with the gentle click of video cases as you checked the returns—and because you talked to your professor again this morning. Thankfully, after a mortifying amount of pleading, he’s letting you retake the test in his office this afternoon.
But now, hearing Steve angrily stomp into work….it’s back.
You barely slept last night. Lightning crashed outside, rain pelted your roof, and louder than all of it was the worry about what Steve would do when he saw his car this morning.
You sort of let yourself believe Robin for a moment. That there might not be anything left for him to see.
But, of course. things can’t be that easy.
The second you step out of the backroom, Steve’s eyes lock onto you. He’s standing just inside, breathing hard under a yellow crewneck, hair raked through.
You risk a glance over at Robin. She’s leaned back on the counter, a smirk tugging on her mouth. What’s she so happy about?
“We’ve done a lot of shit to each other over the years,” Steve says, drawing your eyes back to him. “and I get that. But this? This is too far.”
Guilt spears through your gut. You did this to him.
“I know, I know it’s your car,” you mumble, eyes dropping to your shoes. “But I missed my test and I was angry and—” a sudden thought occurs to you. “Oh, God, please tell me the paint washes off!”
Steve squints down at you, hands on his hips. “Yes, it washes off,” he says, “You think that’s not the first thing I checked?” His eyes soften a little as he finally processes your words. “Wait—you missed your test?”
Oh. Well, then, it must be the message itself that has him so worked up. That, you can deal with.
“Then why are you so mad?” You ask, crossing your arms. “So you can’t go on a date for one day. Big deal. Can’t go to the drive-in movie with a car looking like that? Prank accomplished.”
“What?” His lips curl in confusion.
You frown and look to Robin. When your eyes meet she gives a small shrug, and with how much she looks like she’s enjoying this, you half expect her to pull out popcorn.
“Outside,” Steve barks. “Now.”
The glass door slams behind you as you step out into the parking lot. The afternoon sun has heated the still-wet asphalt, making ripples across the ground.
Steve crosses his arms beside you, gesturing for you to look. His Beamer is parked in the closest space, giving you a clear view of…what the—
Looks like Robin was right about the rain. It’s smeared your message into streaks, leaving only white fragments and a few choppy words behind.
ATTENTION, it reads. The next word, ‘ladies’, is gone. STEVE is clear as day, and the rain has taken the word ‘terrible’, leaving just the I. Followed by a pristine LOVE YOU. And conveniently, the words, WANT TO KISS, made the cut as well.
Your jaw drops.
Pulse racing, you scramble for something to say. Anything. “T-that’s…H-how do you know I evenwrote that?”
“That’s still your name, isn’t it?” Steve says, pointing above the wheel rim. There it is, your name, perfectly preserved down to the little heart next to it.
Wow.
Mother Nature is a bitch.
You stand there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. A shadow falls over you, cooling your skin. Suddenly, your vision fills with warm chocolate eyes, and sunlight splicing through messy hair.
“You don’t mean it. Right?” Steve asks, voice achingly soft. “Because…that’s— I need to hear you say it. Or…”
Your breath hitches. “Or what?”
His hand finds your waist, the warmth bleeding through the fabric of your vest. That one touch nearly sets you aflame.
“God—just say April fools right now before I do something that’s gonna make me look like one,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to your lips.
You should say it. Or tell him the truth. But as he stands there holding you in his arms, sun-warmed, smelling like mints and hairspray, you just…can’t.
When his nose bumps yours, your heart nearly beats out of your chest. Your chin tilts to meet him, but he stops just shy.
“Are you sure?” he whispers. “Because if this is just some prank—”
You don’t let him finish. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you drag him down the last inch and meet his mouth with yours.
A low groan spills from his chest as he pulls you into him, hands slipping under your vest like he can’t get close enough. His lips are soft and warm, and you sink into this kiss, threading his soft hair between your fingers.
Your lips meet and part in a pattern so familiar, yet so new. Your head spins at the heat of his hands, the minty sweet taste of his tongue, and most of all, the fact that this Steve—your Steve.
Dustin’s going to kill you. Both of you.
You don’t even register you’re moving until your back hits the car. Steve’s lips don’t leave yours, the kiss growing eager and desperate.
A bell chimes above the door. Footsteps echo somewhere in the parking lot.
You don’t open your eyes. You can’t.
Steve is a fantastic kisser. You expected that, given his platinum playboy status, but experiencing his skill is another thing entirely. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your face as he kisses you deeper, slower. The scorching glide of his tongue against yours makes your knees go weak. As his thumb brushes down your throat, a soft sound slips out, like he drew it out himself. Like he just played your body like an instrument.
Damn.
Steve pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, a quiet laugh stuck in his chest.
“I love you, too,” he whispers. “Have for a long time, I just thought…well, I thought you didn’t want me like that, and—”
Your heart soars at his confession, but words won’t come to you right now. They’re plastered across his car instead. He’s breathing hard under your palms, and you can’t do anything but close the gap between your lips again, needing him to know you feel the same.
The bell chimes again, and someone clears their throat loudly.
You break apart and spin to see Robin leaning out the door. The AC spills past her, cooling your flushed cheeks. She’s holding your navy backpack out to you.
“Oh shit!” You smack your forehead. “I’ve got to get to my test!”
“I’ll drive you!” Steve offers instantly.
“No, but you have to work!”
“Guys,” Robin interrupts, “I’ve got it. It’s dead in here today. Go.”
“I owe you, Buckley,” Steve says, pointing his car keys at her as he jogs over to the driver’s side door.
You swipe the backpack from her and turn to leave, but she pinches your vest, a silent reminder you still have it on.
“No, seriously, you’re an angel,” you add, shrugging off your vest and placing it in her outstretched palm.
“Yeah, well, someone’s got to attend to the customers. Am I right?” She winks before disappearing back in the store.
Steve looks so good sitting next to you in the driver’s seat, hair falling over his brow as he turns the ignition. He has to actually remind you to put on your seatbelt when he catches you staring.
He pulls off onto the main road, one hand flung over the wheel.
How are you actually expected to focus on anything right now? Let alone taking a test in twenty minutes?
Because one look at those eyes falling down to your lips, his knuckles brushing across his mouth like he can’t get the taste of you out of his head. The way your hands find each other over the console, leaning towards each other like some unseen manger is pulling you together.
Steve clears his throat, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You got plans after this?”
“Actually, yeah I do.”
His face falls but he recovers quickly. “Okay, yeah! Sorry. Last minute—“
“It’s just that I’ve got to wash this guy’s car…”
He grins, and your heart flutters at the sight. “Damn right you do. And what about after that?”
“Depends,” you bite your lip. “What are you suggesting?”
He shrugs one shoulder, the very picture of confidence, even if you see the way his fingers drum the steering wheel. “What was it you were saying about drive-in movies earlier?”
You smile. “Just that… I love ‘em.”
“And that’s curtain, ladies and gents.” Robin mutters to herself, closing the glass door as she watches the two of you speed off. The dust motes floating through the sunbeams are her only audience as she takes a bow.
“Roses? For me? You shouldn’t have.” She flicks her hand, waving off imaginary applause as she tucks her bucket of soapy water and sponge into the backroom.
Robin doesn’t do early mornings. But today, she made an exception.
There she was at sunrise, crouched beside the Beamer, scrubbing off very specific words the rain barely touched the night before.
Because this whole bit—where the two of you pretend not to be in love—was just going on a bit too long for her taste.
ᥫ᭡
a/n: robin is a real one. idk man, holidays just inspire me lol so here you go.
steve masterlist
taglist: @sassycupcake12, @britt-mf, @xoxocelestial
