Put It Into Practice — Steve Harrington x Reader (chapter four)
Pairing: Scoops Ahoy era Steve Harrington x f!Reader (she/her/hers pronouns, AFAB)
Rating (by chapter): M (Mature)
Summary: “King Steve” Harrington had been the subject of swooning for every girl in their right mind back in high school. But when his sexual dexterity comes into question the summer after graduation, Steve is not about to let his reputation become marred quite so easily. Luckily, Steve is offered the help of his new friend—to give him advice, a few pointers, and maybe a bit of healthy practice…
Word Count (by chapter): 9K
Content: sooo much fluff, very dialogue-heavy chapter (you’re going to love Steve even more than you already have), some angst, some cursing, Steve and Reader finally hash everything out lmfao
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be taken as truth or fact. I do not claim to own Stranger Things or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized.
A/N: Hi friends! I'm so excited for you to read PIIP chapter four! I’ve literally never struggled so hard to finish a chapter ever... It wasn’t even necessarily hard to write; I’ve just been beyond wiped out from my new job. I’m on my feet 6-7 hours straight during the day (and getting BANK for it) but it’s been simply exhausting. I find that I have absolutely no mental or physical energy left when I get home to write with the same intensity as I had earlier this summer. So I just wanted to say, I’m really sorry to everyone that I haven’t been churning out as much content in recent weeks 🥺 I still absolutely love writing and I’m excited to continue doing it! But I really really appreciate your patience with how slow/inactive I’ve been ♡ This chapter is verrrrry fluffy and dialogue heavy. It's becoming a bit of a slow burn which I know we all will love 👀 and I pinky promise there's smut in the next chapter!
And as always, PLEASE comment if you enjoyed this, for the love of all that is holy—your powers supercharge me!!—thank u in advance ♥ Love, Juni
chapter one \ chapter two \ chapter three
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“Hi, sweetie, how was the fair?”
You glance up at your mother as you close the front door behind you and kick off your shoes. She’s in the living room with a novel in hand, from which she’s hardly looking up to even acknowledge your arrival. In the reclining chair, your father is asleep, and his snores are drowned out only by the background noise of the television.
How was the fair? you think to yourself. Which part? The part where Steve Harrington and I got each other off in the Hall of Mirrors? Or the part where we made plans to sneak out tonight to see each other again?
“It was fun, Mom,” you say instead, as simply and calmly as possible. Inside your chest, your heart races with anticipation. You mentally go through a checklist. Tell her goodnight. Take shower. Pretend to sleep. Sneak out window.
“That’s wonderful,” she says absently as she turns the page of her novel.
“I’m going to shower and head to bed, I’m super tired,” you lie as you walk to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water to bring upstairs. It was part of your nightly routine, and you didn’t want her to be suspicious at all. Not that you had any reason to worry. Your mother, as expected, seems completely unsuspecting of your clandestine evening plans.
You go to her, kiss her on the cheek, and say, “Night, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Y/N, sweetie,” she says back. As you head up the stairs to your bedroom, you hear her turn off the TV and shake your father awake, telling him it’s time to go to bed.
That’s one of the perks of being the normal, trustworthy teenager of two overworked parents. When you really wanted to break the rules, they wouldn’t even bat an eye.
You’d always been a good kid, but that’s not to say you havent been involved in your fair share of teenage mischief. You’d simply gotten highly skilled at evading the less-than-watchful eyes of your workaholic parents. It had been all the usual, harmless milestones of teenagehood; underage drinking, going to parties, hooking up in cars. Nothing really out of the ordinary or truly egregious. For a while, the craziest thing you had ever done was sneak onto the roof of the high school gymnasium at midnight to smoke weed with Carol and her rowdy friends during your sophomore year.
Now, a new deed takes the cake; hooking up with Steve Harrington in the Hall of Mirrors at the Fourth of July fair.
It had been reckless, certainly. And illegal. But the thrill of getting caught, combined with the added tension between you and Steve from your prior argument, had made it all the more exciting.
You and Steve are now more than just friends.
You could have stayed in that Hall of Mirrors with Steve forever, just holding him and kissing him among the endless reflections, blissfully poking fun at each other for the mess you’d made in between your thighs and on his hands. But the sound of the security guards nearby had spooked you, and you and Steve hastily exited the attraction and booked it to the parking lot, giggling even more uncontrollably as you ran.
Neither of you had wanted to go home. But while Steve’s parents couldn’t have cared less about what their son was up to, you knew you had to at least make an appearance at home so your parents wouldn’t worry. And that was where the plan was hatched; you would tell them goodnight, convince them you were going to bed, and then sneak out your bedroom window. Admittedly, you’ve never snuck out of the house before, but there was a first time for everything.
You make haste in showering and shaving, keeping a close eye on the clock; Steve had promised to pick you up at 10:30. Every time you think of him, your heart gives a little flip. His doe brown eyes, his playful smile, his stupidly perfect hair. Now that your feelings for each other are more or less out in the open air, you’re bristling with new and exciting feelings for him.
Before going to your room, you wrap a towel around your chest and pad downstairs to check on your parents again. Their bedroom door is closed with the lights off, and your father’s snoring continues. Perfect . You tiptoe back up to your room and scour your closet; what is one supposed to wear when sneaking out of the house to meet up with her no-longer-just-friends friend? You consider another sundress, but you settle on a pair of jeans, a tee shirt with the logo of your favorite band, and your trusty white sneakers—the ones you remember Steve complimented once, a few months ago. Back when you had been just friends.
What are you now? Will he want to talk about it tonight? Or will tonight just be for… well …?
You don’t know what to expect from Steve tonight. He had been hesitant yet enthusiastic to help you sneak out of the house— “You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, but fuck, Y/N, I’d love to see you later,” he’d said. And of course, how could you have said no?
And for you, you’re eager to continue where you’d left off from your earlier escapades in the Hall of Mirrors… but you’re also itching to talk about what’s going on between the two of you.
It’s nearly 10:30. You stuff a few pillows haphazardly under your comforter in the shape of a sleeping body, on the off-chance that one of your parents would check on you during the night. You turn off your lamp, and with a breath of courage, you heave open your bedroom window and creep onto the roof over the back porch. The summer night’s air had become slightly brisk, rife with adventure and youth and the residual smell of gunpowder from the fireworks at the fair. You carefully meander down the lattice wall above the garden and land with a gentle thud. Smiling to yourself, you make your way out the side gate, squinting down the quiet, suburban Hawkins street.
Right on time, a car pulls around the bend, flooding the street with its headlights. Steve’s BMW. You smile a bit nervously and saunter over to it.
As you approach, Steve steps out and leans on the driver’s side door, looking you over with excitement. And then, as if he’s come to some realization about your approach, he rushes over to the passenger door and opens it grandly. “Your chariot awaits,” he says with mock formality.
“Ah, so now it’s your ‘chariot’?” you call out. “Robin told me you always call it it your ‘Babe Mobile.’”
“Hey, watch your mouth,” Steve jests back, rubbing the burgundy exterior. “She’s a she, not an it. She’s sensitive. And besides, is Robin wrong? I mean, you’re a girl, and you’re about to get in the car, sooo…I’d say the Babe Mobile’s living up to her title.”
You laugh. Steve’s smile grows with yours. Witty banter, just like old times, back to normal. It’s as if the whole argument from earlier never happened.
“You’re such an idiot,” you giggle as you hop into his car. You’ve ridden in it a few times before, mostly during hangs with Robin to and from work or each other’s houses. You could never forget the first time you ever heard Steve’s god awful singing voice; it was at the beginning of the summer, and he had taken you and Robin out to pick up pizza and VHS movies after a long work week, and he had turned the radio on and started belting along with Don’t Stop Believin’ in a manner that more closely resembled a dying cow than a human voice. You remember the way you and Robin had groaned and laughed at him before joining in with your own voices. It was one of those summer memories that would last forever.
And looking over at him now, as he hops into the driver’s seat and gives you an easy smile, you wonder if this will be one of those forever summer memories, too.
“So you managed to sneak out without them noticing?” Steve asks as he shifts the car into drive and accelerates down the empty street.
You nod. “Not that they care enough about me to notice, anyway,” you replied lightly.
But Steve’s brow furrows a bit. “Oh, come on, I know your parents care about you.”
Knowing Steve’s rocky relationship with his parents, you realize you probably shouldn’t have exaggerated like that. “They do,” you amend, “but they’ve both been so busy lately that I’m probably the last thing on their mind. All that to say, we’re in the clear tonight.”
“Good,” he smiles as he drives. You notice he’d showered too, his hair still slightly wet, no longer perfectly styled in his usual way, although you decided you almost preferred seeing it damp and slicked back so casually like this. And he’d changed clothes from the attire he’d been wearing at the park. He’s wearing a new pair of jeans and a yellow crewneck sweatshirt that fits his torso perfectly. He smells like soap and linen and spice.
The radio’s on, softly playing Drive by The Cars—what a perfect song for this moment—and Steve’s got the windows rolled down so the summer breeze ripples through the car, bringing a slight chill to your arms.
“Where are we going?” you ask, realizing then that you hadn’t discussed a plan for where or what, just when he’d pick you up.
“You’ll see. I’ve got something fun we can do together.”
“Oh?” you ask with a suggestive tone.
Steve glances over at you and grins before drawing his eyes back to the road. And then he bites his bottom lip, and you can’t tell if it’s from excitement or nervousness. “Do you like surprises?” he asks.
“Sure,” you say apprehensively.
Steve chuckles at your tone. “Wow, what didn’t sound convincing at all.”
“I kind of hate surprises,” you admit.
“I figured,” he laughs. “Alright. Well, in that case, we’re going out into the woods. There’s this field I know—”
“The woods?” you interrupt him. “A field?”
“Don’t freak out,” he says. “I’m not going to, like, murder you or anything.”
“Oh, whew, that’s a relief,” you say sarcastically.
“It’ll be fun. I’ve got a buddy who works at the fireworks tent off of Randolph,” Steve explains. He gestures to a medium sized box in the backseat. You twist around in your seat to peer inside; it contains about a dozen assorted fireworks.
“I guess it is still the Fourth of July,” you muse. Setting off fireworks with Steve in the middle of the woods did, actually, kind of sound like fun.
“We gotta be pretty smart about it, though,” Steve admits as he pulls onto Cornwalis—one of Hawkins’ main road—and starts driving north. “The cops in this town are like hawks about fireworks this year. But I know a place where we won’t get caught.”
Won’t get caught… You wonder if his words have a double meaning.
“Alright, alright,” you drawl, deflecting from the sudden wave of awkwardness that washes over you. ”But if we get mauled by a bear in the middle of the woods and there’s no one around to hear us scream, I’ll kick your ass in the afterlife.”
Steve laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll fight it off any bears for you.”
You give him a level look. “You? Fighting off bears?”
He gives you a face like it’s obvious. “Uh, yeah. Easy peasy.”
“Oh, really? With what weapon?”
“Well…I’ve got a baseball bat spiked with nails in my trunk, so I think I’d probably use that,” he says.
You stare blankly. It had obviously been a joke up until now, but this didn’t sound made up. He’d answered too quickly. “You have a baseball bat spiked with nails in your trunk?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Why?”
“...You don’t wanna know.”
You let it go. “Alright, I guess that makes me feel a tad bit safer.”
“Good.” Steve’s hand that was resting on the gearshift inch has now inched across toward you. You notice now that his pinky is barely brushing against the denim on your thigh. You feel butterflies in your stomach. “You changed clothes,” he notes.
“I did.”
“Looks good,” he compliments.
You smile shyly, letting his compliment wash over your senses. “You changed, too,” you said. “I like it.”
He looked pretty good a few hours ago with his hair all messed up and his cum all over his hands, too, you think to yourself. But you suppose the yellow sweatshirt look would do, too.
“We were kind of a mess back there,” he says with a sheepish grin, almost as though he had read your mind.
“We were,” you agreed—both in the literal and the metaphorical sense. His acknowledgment of the incident brings back vivid memories of it. You crossed your legs and squeezed your thighs together absently.
There’s a lot more that you want to say, but you don’t really know how to say it or where to start, so you and Steve drive in a comfortable quietness down the road. Eventually, he passes all the establishments in the central part of town—the schools, the arcade, the library—and continues on into the woodsy north neighborhoods.
When I Wanna Know What Love Is by Foreigner comes on the radio, Steve shifts his hand from the gearshift so it’s next to yours on the passenger seat. You flip your palm over in a silent invitation, and he takes it in his own, squeezing his fingers. The action feels overwhelmingly intimate and romantic. You realize you’d be content just holding his hand like this forever. His touch brings you a strange feeling of reassurance, despite the uncertainty of your relationship thus far.
Hawkins looks strange tonight, the trees taking on a carefree sort of quality beyond Steve’s headlights. Maybe it’s the excitement from the earlier festivities still resonating through the town. Maybe it’s the thrill of sneaking out, despite the fact that you’re an adult and graduated from high school. Or maybe it’s just your imagination, overactive from the adrenaline of being with Steve again. You stick your other hand out the open passenger window and flatten your palm against the wind, riding the wind with your hand like a surfer on a wave, just like you used to as a kid.
“Hey, Y/N?” Steve asks after a while.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to say… I’m, uh, I’m really sorry.”
You turn to observe his expression; his brows are furrowed as he glances between you and the road. “Why?”
“I’m just sorry for, uh, what happened back…there. I wish it hadn’t happened.”
Your heart thuds, and you fight to mask it. Did he mean the argument, or the hookup? When he hesitates to continue, you struggle to think of a response suitable for either meaning. “Things did get a bit, uh, heated, didn’t they…”
He squeezes your hand again. “I really shouldn’t have raised my voice at you,” he says. “Or said, like, half the things I said. I really wasn’t saying what I was meaning, like, at all.”
So he is talking about the argument. You squeeze his hand back before releasing it, and then you’re wringing your hands together in your lap. “You and me both, bud…but I’m sorry, too. I took things way out of proportion.”
“Well…” He combs his newly freed fingers through his hair. “I could see why you were mad at me.”
“I wasn’t mad at you—I’m not mad at all,” you reassure him. “It was just…the whole situation.”
The whole Steve-going-down-on-you-but-then-weirding-out-when-you-offer-him-a-blowjob situation. And the Steve-kissing-you-in-the-hallway-and-then-completely-avoiding-you thing. And then the Steve-never-got-over-Nancy-Wheeler bombshell that Robin had dropped. And then there was the whole Lisa-R-coming-onto-Steve-in-front-of-you ordeal.
Jesus, no wonder you had snapped back there.
“A lot had happened,” you continue, “and I was just…overwhelmed, I think. But I’m not mad at you, Steve.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay,” he says with relief.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask in turn.
“No, not at all.”
“Okay.”
There’s a lot more you want to say but you can’t find the words to express your thoughts. Looking over at Steve, you imagine he’s feeling the same way. It means a lot to you that he apologized about the argument, but the whole thing still doesn’t sit right with you. You know a solid, honest conversation is in order for tonight…but it might take a few fireworks before either of you will be able to find the right words.
“I’m in the mood to light some shit on fire,” you say, segueing into a lighter topic.
“Oh, yeah, well, you know what they say,” Steve remarks. “When the goings get tough, the tough…light shit on fire.”
“Yeah, that’s definitely the saying,” you say sarcastically.
“I think we should get that printed on a shirt and everything.”
“ You’d definitely wear that shirt,” you jest.
“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “Unironically. That’d be a dope ass shirt.”
“Yeah, maybe for pyromaniacs.”
“Hey, you’re the one that said you’re in the mood to light shit on fire. So you started it.”
“It was your idea to bring fireworks in the first place, dingus.”
“Don’t call me that,” he groans. “I already hear ‘dingus’ enough from Robin. She’s rubbing off on you too much.”
“What else am I supposed to call you when you’re being a dingus, then?”
“Uh…how about, just ‘Steve’?”
“Okay, Just Steve, but I think we’re gonna need to get you a better nickname.”
“Oh, yeah?” he says with a mocking tone.
You pretend to ponder. “Hmmm…maybe doofus?”
“That’s literally the same thing as dingus,” he complains.
“No, it’s different.” You gaze at him with mock seriousness. “Doofus. Yeah. That works perfect.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling under his guise of annoyance. “You women and your nicknames.”
“Well, I can’t always call you baby, I gotta have some variety,” you giggle.
You’re referring, obviously, to the way you and Steve had called each other baby —at first, in your basement last week, and then most recently in the Hall of Mirrors. In both instances, the term of endearment had kind of just…slipped out. But it felt right, in those moments. But baby was just one of those nicknames reserved for cringey couples in love. And, on occasion, for the casual hookup. But only in that context and never outside the bedroom.
Or basement. Or Hall of Mirrors. Whatever.
Point is, you’re wondering when you and Steve would call each other baby again. And under which context…cringey couple, or casual hookup?
Right on cue, Steve’s expression changes, and he admits quietly, “I like it when you call me that.”
“Really? You do?”
“Yeah. Don’t get all weird about it, though” he says defensively. The pout on his face is so irresistible.
“Don’t worry, I won’t, baby,” you tease. He groans. You laugh at him. “Sorry, sorry.”
“No, I like it… Maybe a little too much.”
You can’t fathom the meaning of his words, but he doesn’t elaborate. You deflect the awkwardness again, shifting back to your teasing tone of voice. “I’ll use it sparingly, I promise. But doofus?” You shove his arm playfully. “I’ll be using that one a lot.”
“I really thought you were more original than that,” he taunts. “I mean, c’mon, stealing Robin’s M.O.? What a copout.”
“I’m sure Robin would be honored.”
Your conversation is halted by a police cruiser driving past in the other lane. Steve straightens behind the wheel, although the cruiser passes without a hitch. You snicker at him.
“Right here, he’s right here, cops!” you jeer. “The pyromaniac with the high-maintenance hair!”
He runs his hand through it self-consciously. “You love the hair,” he says conclusively.
You couldn’t lie. “Yeah, I do,” you sigh, taking a chance and running your own hand through it. His face softens and he leans into your touch. It’s becoming far too addicting to touch him. “Why do you think the police will care about us setting off fireworks, anyway? They set off a bunch at the fair.”
“Noise ordinance, I think,” he responds. “You know how the cops in this town are. They got nothing better to do. They’ll impose any rule to keep the ‘meddling kids’ off the streets,” he adds with air quotes.
“Well, if we’re gonna have to drive out the middle of nowhere, where no one can hear…I guess we’ll should just make the most of it, then, yeah?”
You didn’t intend to sound suggestive, but as the double meaning of your words settles between you, Steve fights a grin. You can’t help but smile, too, knowing full well that you and he are thinking of the same thing.
Steve pulls off the main road and onto a short residential street that ends in a col-de-sac, beyond which extends a dense-looking patch of woods. He parks along the curb at the end of the street and moves to get out until he sees that you’re frozen in your seat.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Are we…hiking?”
“Just for a bit.”
“We’re hiking…through the woods…in the pitch black…at 10 pm…?”
“Don’t worry, I came prepared,” he grins, pulling out a flashlight and clicking it on. Even then, you still feel apprehensive. Steve touches your hand softly. “It’s not very far, I promise.”
“What is ‘it’, exactly?” you ask as you hesitantly exit the car. And then it hits you. “Oh my god,” you realize. “Please don’t tell me you’re taking me to Skull Rock.”
Skull Rock is this infamous makeout spot in the woods. In fact, rumor has it that Steve practically invented it. Gross. The idea that he would take you where he’d taken countless other girls makes you scowl at him.
But Steve just laughs. “No, no, we’re not going to Skull Rock. That’s in the other direction.”
“Wouldn’t you know,” you mutter.
He just gazes at you endearingly like he finds your anger adorable. “C’mon, trust me. There’s a huge clearing, just north of Lover’s Lake. It’s just a few minutes walk from here. Just follow me, okay? It’s really cool. You’ll see.”
He gives you a warm smile before locking the car. As soon as the car’s headlights go off, the scene around you and Steve becomes engulfed in darkness, save for the dim yellow streetlamp and the moon on the horizon. Steve hands you the flashlight since he’s holding the box of fireworks. You try to keep it steady as he leads the way into the woods, where the cacophony of summer insects and birds swells like a nocturnal symphony.
After a few moments—and at the sudden hoot of an owl that makes you jump—you finally say, “Steve, not to be dramatic, but who do you think will be speaking at our funerals when we inevitably die tonight from an angry bear?”
“We’re not going to die,” he reassures you with a laugh. “But…I guess if we did, Robin would probably do a pretty decent job at a commemorative speech. And Dustin. Probably your parents—”
“I didn’t need to hear that,” you groan, tightening your grip on the flashlight.
“You asked!”
“I’m just saying, it’s not too late for us to turn around and grab that spiked baseball bat you were talking about.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “If anything comes for us, I’ll just show them my super slick ninja moves, and they’ll get scared and run away.” He attempts a really bad roundhouse kick on a nearby tree, muttering, “Ow.”
“Loser.”
“Hey, there’s a new nickname.” He straightens and adjusts his grip on the box. “Wasn’t that hard being creative with it, huh?”
You know he’s trying to soothe your nerves about being in the forest at night, and it’s working, but only a little bit. “This better be worth it,” you mumble.
“You know me, would I ever take you somewhere that’s not guaranteed to be super cool?”
“There was that one time you made me and Robin meet you behind the mall to look at a satellite in the sky because you thought it was a UFO.”
“It was totally a UFO!” he retorts.
“Satellite.”
“...Fine, whatever, but what if it was a real UFO, and you and Robin missed out on it? Then you would have really been pissed off at yourselves.”
“Ooh, yeah, and maybe then the aliens would have abducted you and we would never have to hear you mope about working at Scoops Ahoy ever again.”
“Oh, come on, if I got abducted by aliens, you’d miss me and you know it.”
“Don’t flatter yourself too hard, Harrington.”
“Just stating the facts.”
At last, you can see a break in the trees ahead. Once you and Steve emerge, you realize you’ve reached the town’s power lines, a series of tall metal poles connected by soaring wires. The trees have been cut back width-wise from the power lines, leaving a huge clearing in the woods as far as the eyes can see in either direction. Above the huge poles, the moon is bright and almost full, washing everything below it in a pale blue light.
“This way,” Steve says as he leads you under the lines and across the clearing. You keep right behind him for another few minutes as he follows the path of the power lines. After a few minutes, you see a large divet of clearing out to the right, where the trees have been cut back even further. As you near, you realize it’s a wide field, perhaps an old patch of farmland, beyond the horizon of electrical wiring. The field is about a football field across in length and width, with no poles or trees to obstruct it. Peculiarly, at the other end of the field is an old flatbed truck.
“Wow,” you note, looking around with your flashlight. “How did you know this field was here?”
“Tommy and I found it a few summers ago,” Steve replies. “We used to skip school and come out here to smoke, drink, hit golf balls in the woods, do stupid shit like that.” He leads you across the field to the old pickup truck.
“Do I even want to know how this got here?” you laughed.
“It’s Tommy’s uncle’s,” he explains, slapping the roof of the truck with a metallic thud. “Basically just scrap metal at this point. It doesn’t run anymore. But” —he grins at you as he sets his box on the truck’s bed— “This is where we’ll sit to watch the show. Best seat in the house.”
You try once and fail to hoist yourself up onto the open truck bed, which just gives Steve an excuse to help you up onto it with his hands on your waist. His close proximity means that you can smell the cologne on his neck. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes as he lifts your hips onto the truck, and you think to yourself that it should be illegal for a boy to make you feel this delirious.
Steve doesn’t remove his hands from your waist right away when you’re finally sat on the truck bed. He keeps his hands there, his fingers pressing curiously into your skin through your shirt as he situates himself between your legs, which are now dangling on either side of his body. He looks so good from below you, his body outlined by the dim flashlight, his teeth glistening, the slightly nervous expression on his face. Oh my god , you think as he suddenly leans in, and you fear—fear?—he’s going to kiss your lips. But he’s much too far down for that, so instead he kisses the top of your thigh. First the right one, then the left. And then, casual as ever, he backs away, grabs a firework and a lighter from the box, and says, “Time to light shit on fire, baby.”
Your mind still spinning, you just choke out, “Okay.”
He trots out into the open field with his supplies. You follow his path with the flashlight, and when he realizes where you’re shining the light, he turns to you with a playful expression and places his hands on his backside. “Don’t look at my ass!”
“How could I not? It’s right there.”
He tries covering it with the firework in his hand and you snicker. Once he reaches about fifteen paces away from the truck, he turns toward you, gives you a cheeky grin, and sets the firework in the ground. Once he has it lit, he sprints back and launches himself like an energetic child onto the truck bed beside you. You giggle even more.
The firework launches into the air and bursts into golden stars. The whish-boom is so loud that the birds and crickets stop for a second.
“Cool,” you whisper.
“Another one!” Steve announces. He repeats the process, trotting out to the field with a firework, lighting it, and then speeding back to the truck to propel himself onto it beside you. You and he both look up to watch it in the sky.
“You know,” you say after the boom of the firework—red and green this time— “you don’t have to sprint back over here every time.”
“But I wanna sit next to you to watch them go off,” Steve says.
Your heart swells, and because you don’t know what else to say, you respond, “Okay, fine, doofus.”
He nudges your shoulder with his before hopping down to repeat the process again. He lights firework after firework, coming back each time to sit right next to you to watch it explode in the sky together. It’s really quite endearing of him, even though he’s starting to pant with the exertion of running back and forth. You’ve not seen this side of Steve before tonight—so silly, free-natured, smiley, with almost a boyish sort of energy. But you love it.
Some of the fireworks are the typical ones that launch into the air like a rocket and explode in a circle; some crackle like a massive sparkler, illuminating the field in rivulets of golden light. One firework even launches a multitude of glowing stars that spiral into the air and dissolve. You and Steve make conversation about them, commenting on your favorite colors and patterns, making jokes with each other. Before you know it, he’s down to the last two fireworks in the box.
“Okay, so this one’s me… And this one’s you,” he says, designating one of the cylinders for each of you—red for him, blue for you.
“Are you gonna light them both at the same time?” you guess.
“Yeah, and whoever’s goes higher, wins.”
You scoff. “Oh, it’s on.”
“That’s exactly what a loser would say.”
“Wait,” you say, scowling at him. “How will I know you’re not cheating by lighting mine after yours?”
“Because…” —he pulls out a second lighter from his picket and waggles his brows— “You’re gonna light it yourself, at the same time as me.”
“Hmm. Seems fair. And what does the winner get to do?”
“Oh, by winner, you must be referring to me.”
“Don’t get so cocky, Harrington. You’ll regret it.”
“When I win,” he says, leaning in threateningly toward your face, “I get free chocolate chip cookies for a month from you at work.”
“I already give you free chocolate chip cookies,” you complain. “And you already give me free ice cream. That’s a stupid reward.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Steve admits, tapping his chin. “…How about…” His gaze grows devilish. “Loser has to take off their shirt.”
You look around wildly. “In the middle of the woods?!”
He shrugs. “Not like there’s anyone out here to see.”
“That’s so not fair. You’re a guy . It’s completely different when you take off your shirt.”
“Hmm, sounds to me like something someone who’s scared of losing would say. Are you scared? Is that it?”
“No,” you huff with a competitive smile, rubbing your arms. You think but don’t say aloud that you’d tear your shirt off for him right here right now if it means you’d continue where you’d left off in the Hall of Mirrors…but now you’re determined not to lose this game. “I’m not scared. You’re going down, Harrington.”
He looked smug. “Hmm, we’ll just have to see about that, you dork…”
You follow Steve out to the middle of the field, the two of you shoving each other with playful competitiveness. You crouch down side by side, and Steve counts down from three. When he reaches one, you hold the lighter up to the fuse at the exact same time as Steve, and the two of you fall back, wringing your hands with anticipation.
The fireworks shoot off together, in two broad arcs that at first seem to repel each other before arching back and crossing paths. The red explodes first, followed by the blue, which soars high into the air before bursting.
“Ha!” you cheer, jumping up and down. “You lose!”
Steve clenches his fist and sighs, “Shit.”
“You know what that means, Stevie boy…”
You mime taking off your shirt with a suggestive face. Steve huffs a dejected sigh and pulls off his yellow sweatshirt and the white tee he’s wearing underneath in one swift movement. He looks good, of course, but mostly he looks absolutely pitiful with his bare shoulders sagging and the look of sheer defeat on his face. You can’t help but giggle at the way his plan had backfired.
You jump up on the truck bed again, this time helping Steve up by giving him a hand for leverage. The fireworks show had served their purpose at dissolving whatever residual awkwardness had still remained from your argument with Steve earlier at the fair. You feel elated, now, even as the echo from the thunderous fireworks has subsided and the quiet stillness of the night has returned in full force. And as Steve situates himself beside you—even as he balls his sweatshirt up in petulance and throws it at your face like a child—you wish you could bottle this feeling up forever.
“Gotta say, ‘Loser’ looks pretty good on you,” you jest, giving him a once-over with your eyes. The light from the flashlight, which you had propped against the side of the truck bed, was enough to illuminate the details of his torso. His chest hair, the hollow of his throat, the trail on his tummy, his lean shoulders.
“That was actually my plan all along, so joke’s on you,” he pretends to boast.
But the bravado of your earlier banter seems to fade like the smoke from the fireworks in the evening breeze. What is left between the two of you is a strange, mutual sort of buzzing…the hyper-awareness of his body next to yours, his familiar clean fragrance, the way his leg dangles off the truck bed so close that you can feel it brush against your skin. He’s utterly alluring. And something in his eyes indicates that he feels the same about you.
You switch off the flashlight and sit in comfortable silence beside Steve for a few moments. The sounds of the forest resume their serenade, and the afterimages of light in your eyes from the fireworks start to fade. As you adjust to the dark, a new source of light catches your attention.
“The stars,” you exclaim quietly, gazing up.
Steve follows your gaze, and the two of you watch in awe for a long time. There seems to be a million times more stars out tonight than any other old night in Hawkins, despite the moon on the horizon. Perhaps it was just that you’ve finally become aware of the stars again long enough to sit and observe them. Perhaps it was a message from the universe or something cheesy like that. But for whatever reason, the sky is truly dazzling tonight.
“Do you wanna know a secret?” Steve says after a while. You nod your head, and he continues. “I…used to be a Boy Scout.”
“No way.”
“Yeah. For a few years.”
“Why’d you quit?” you wondered.
Steve shrugged. “My parents got busy, so they couldn’t take me to meetings anymore.”
“That sucks.”
“It’s whatever.” Steve lies on his back on the truck bed, heaving a sigh. “I didn’t really like it much anyway. But I did get my Astronomy Badge before I quit.”
“Steve.”
“What?”
“Please tell me you’re not about to point out the constellations right now for me like we’re in some cheesy John Hughes movie.”
“What? No.” He smiles. “Ew. No. I would never do something that sappy.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
A breath of silence. “But, let’s just say,” he says, “for the sake of the argument…that we actually are in a John Hughes movie…”
“Oh no.”
“And if we were… I’d probably lean in close, like this…” He leans his head closer to yours and points to the sky. “And I would show you the star Vega…and there’s Altair…”
“Oh my god, Stevie, so romantic,” you say in a mocking voice.
“Here—” he takes your hand in his and manipulates your fingers so you’re pointing now. And he shuffles himself closer to your head so you could share his line of view. “So there’s the Big Dipper…and if you follow the star right here on the corner and draw a line…you’ll find the North Star.” He tilts his head towards you and smiles. “But it would all just be a ploy, a plot device.”
“A plot device for what?”
“For the boy to get close enough to the girl so he could kiss her.”
Out of nowhere, he leans in toward you, still smiling, and plants a single kiss on your lips. Although your mind reels, you manage to keep your composure at the feel of his warm lips.
“Or something like that,” he whispers. “I dunno. John Hughes movies are kinda cheesy, aren’t they.”
“Kinda?” you echo, giggling. “That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever done.”
“You loved it though, didn’t you.”
You did love it. “Steve Harrington, you are such a cliché,” you joke.
But the joke doesn’t go over very well, it seems. He hesitates, and then the energy changes a bit. He lets his hand fall with yours but doesn’t let go of it. “Do you think that, for real?”
“What?”
“That I’m a cliché.”
You blink at him in the darkness. “I was just joking, I promise,” you reassure him.
“I know, it’s just… Someone told me that before, a long time ago. And I’ve thought about it ever since.”
“Someone told you that you’re a cliche?”
“Well, granted, I kinda was , back then.” He scratches his head.
You ponder that. “Was it…was it Nancy?” you guess.
Steve nods. “Yeah—how’d you know?”
“Just a guess,” you say. Steve and Nancy had been an unlikely pair when they had first gotten together. Nancy was always quiet and kind, smart, never dreamed of stepping out of line. Steve was always loud, brazen, handsome, dripping with charm and wealth, too cool for school—and too cool to give most people the time of day. Of course, though, they both seem to have changed drastically since those days.
You’re curious to know more, but you decide against asking him. It isn’t your place. Instead, you say, “I don’t think you’re a cliché, Steve. Anything but, really. I think you’re pretty…extraordinary, to be honest.” You squeeze his hand and look over at him, before gesturing up to the sky. “And I actually really like hearing about the stars from you, jokes aside. Every girl secretly loves the cheesy romantic stuff, deep down.”
It’s probably the most candid you’ve ever been about your feelings toward him. And it felt good to say it aloud, but you feel shaky with adrenaline now.
“I knew you couldn’t resist a good ol’ romantic stargazing moment,” Steve grins.
“You got me.”
Steve sighs deeply again. “I don’t really wanna be that person anymore…the person Nance said was a cliché. I’m…” —he shifts uncomfortably— “...I’m not proud of a lot of things I did back then.”
You wonder what he meant by that. “That was a while ago,” you reassure him. “You can get a fresh start now that high school’s over.”
“Yeah, there’s just a lot of things I wish I had done differently, though.”
“With…Nancy?” you ask softly.
You can’t see it, but you can tell by his voice that he’s frowning. “Yeah, but just…overall. I was kind of a dickhead… And with Nance, I felt like a better man when I was with her. But I was still… I guess I get why she broke up with me, is all. She definitely deserved better than me.”
“I feel like you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” you respond with genuineness. “I mean, there was a reason you stayed together for almost a whole year, right? Relationships are…they’re two-way streets. And I’m willing to bet you were probably a really good boyfriend to her.”
“I got better, I think…” Steve seems to come to his senses, then, as if he realizes who he’s talking to and what he’s been talking about. “God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up. That was really shitty of me—”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise.”
He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You’d almost forgotten he still isn’t wearing a shirt; his bare skin feels warm against your hand. There’s a reinstated moment of silence between you two, and yet, a thousand thoughts swim around in your brain.
Carefully, you break the silence again. “I’m glad we’re talking about it.”
“Yeah, but I just know how it feels when you have to listen to someone complain to you about their ex.” He laughs humorlessly. “I mean, at this point, I’m just being pitiful. It was six months ago, and she’s moved on, and I’ve moved on, too. I mean…” He rubs your hand with his thumb. “I mean, I wanna move on.”
“Listen,” you say. “I can tell you really cared about her, Steve. And that you still do. And…I can tell it still hurts. And that you’re still grieving it.” You roll over so you’re on your stomach, propping yourself up with your elbows so you can look at him in the moonlight. “And I want to be here for you. But I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“But Y/N…” Steve brushes your hair out of your face. “I like you. A lot. I really, really like you.”
It’s the first time you’ve heard him say anything so definitive. Your face heats and you smile to yourself. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“For a while I really wasn’t sure that you did,” you admit.
“You’re a doofus. Of course I fucking like you.”
“Well, I don’t know! I mean…god, I was so confused, Steve. I thought that you did, but then you, like, ignored me for a whole week.”
“Yeah, I’m an idiot.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Things just got really… real for me all the sudden, last week.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if you knew this or not, but I…hadn’t really been with anyone since Nancy. Not seriously. Not until…you.”
So Robin had been right. Of course she had. Was Robin ever really wrong about anything? You need to start giving your mutual friend some more credit, you realize.
“You haven’t?” you ask.
“Nope. That’s why I freaked out in your basement last week…and ignored you for a week…and then blamed it on you. Wow. I really fucked this up already, and it hasn’t even started yet.”
You lean down to kiss his arm gently. “You didn’t fuck anything up.” Steve shivers at your touch; you realize then that the temperature has dropped. “You can put your shirt back on if you want,” you giggle.
“Thanks,” he whispers and sits upright to pull his tee shirt back on. Not the sweatshirt, though. “Do you wanna wear this?” He offers it to you.
“That’s okay,” you decline, although the night air has brought goosebumps to your arms.
“Don’t be silly, your hands are freezing.” He nudges you with the sweatshirt until you give in and pull it on over your head. It smells so deliciously good. “It looks good on you,” he compliments.
“Thank you, Steve.” You shimmy next to him again; he stretches out his arm like a pillow for your head. Being this close to him feels like heaven.
“I should be the one thanking you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been nothing but patient and forgiving to me, even if I don’t deserve it.”
“You deserve it, dummy. And for the record, I really like you too.”
He shivers again, and you snuggle closer to him. With the arm that’s nestled under your neck, he plays with your hair absently. “I don’t want you to think that the stuff with Nancy changes anything between us.”
You don’t say anything at first.
He stirs beside you. “Y/N?” he prompts.
“What…exactly… is between us?” you ask him.
You’re thinking back to the stupid rules you and Steve had set for each other back in the basement last week. Rule Number Two, stay friends no matter what. There’s nothing you fear more than losing Steve as a friend. Which is why the idea of being more than friends terrifies you as much as it excites you.
“I don’t know,” Steve replies with a smirk, “but I’m down to play it by ear if you are.”
Play it by ear. “That doesn’t sound half bad. But…Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“I get the feeling that it’s not really just about Nancy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean… All summer, you always joked about how you’re a washed-up version of the Steve Harrington you used to be. I don’t think you’re washed up… I think you’re pretty amazing as is. But I don’t think you really think you’re washed up either. I think you’ve come a long way from who you used to be. And you should be proud of that. But I also get the sense you feel a little lost…like you don’t know who you are if you’re not the same Steve Harrington you used to be.”
There’s a breath of silence as Steve shifts beside you. “Damn, alright, Sigmund Freud.”
Yikes. You probably shouldn’t have said that much. “I’m sorry… That was really out of line for me to say, wasn’t it.”
“No, I mean…you’re not wrong. I guess I don’t really know who I am anymore.”
“There’s no rush to figure out who you are.”
“But, like, I don’t even know what I like, or what I’m good at.”
“I could tell you one thing that you like and that you’re good at,” you say suggestively. “...Sorry, bad joke.”
But he laughs and kisses you again, out of the blue. It’s a shallow, almost chaste kiss that still manages to steal your breath away, but before you know it, he’s trying to roll on top of you, planting kiss after sweet kiss on your parted lips.
“Hey,” you laugh. “We were…having…a conversation.”
“It can wait.” Steve pins you against the truck bed with his body, attacking you over and over again with his lips. Oh, how you’ve longed to feel his body weight atop yours like this. Each kiss brings a feeling of indescribable lightness, like the feeling of a giggle bubbling up from your belly, like the drop of a roller coaster, like gravity has gone away.
As much as his pecks bring you joy, you long for that heavy feeling you got in the back hallway of the mall when he kissed you as if his entire life depended on it. So, right when he’s no longer expecting it, you push Steve’s shoulders off of you and roll on top of him, trading places. His eyes are wide in the moonlight, and you plan a kiss above each one, on each of his eyelids.
“Kiss me like you mean it,” you command.
“I do mean it.”
“Then prove it.”
Steve snakes his arms around your back and holds you securely as he pulls you down to kiss him deeply. Fireworks, just like the ones from earlier, seem to pop off between your bodies, and you’ve never felt so irrevocably his until this very moment.
“See, I told you, you are good at something,” you murmur when he finally breaks away.
“How can I make a career out of this?” Steve feels up and down your body with open palms and an expression of sheer reverence.
You laugh and brush his hair from his face. “There are plenty of careers you could have,” you say seriously.
The conversation from earlier resumes. “Yeah, but…” Steve’s lips purse in thought. “It just feels like, while everyone else was figuring out who they were in high school, I was stuck trying to be what everyone else thought I should be, and I didn’t let myself explore who I wanted to be.”
“Well…What were some things you were good at in high school?”
“Nothing,” he insists. “I sucked at every subject.”
“Did you suck, or did you just not try?”
“...Okay, fine. I didn’t try. But I didn’t really care about school anyway. It never interested me. Still doesn’t, really. Like, I am not looking forward to community college.”
“Okay, well, what were some things that you did find interesting?”
“...Sports…parties…”
“I mean, we can work with that. You’re a people person, Steve. You like people. And you’re good with them. And from what Robin told me, you’re good with the kids, too,” you add with a jab to his side. He twists away and scowls.
“Yeah, I know, my only friends for the last part of high school were a gang of middle schoolers. Tell me that’s not the most uncool thing you’ve ever heard.”
“Actually, it’s not. You’ve got a heart for the youngins; so what?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay, I’ve got a good direction for you.”
“What is it?”
“...Little league coach.”
“Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It was either that, or ‘Stay-At-Home Dad.’”
“...That doesn’t sound too bad, either.”
You laugh and kiss both corners of his mouth. “I don’t really know what I want to do either, for the record.”
“Yeah, but you were at least good at school. Like, weren’t you telling me that you got into Purdue?”
You did get into Purdue, but there was a distinct reason why you weren’t going in the fall…that reason being money, primarily. “I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life, though,” you insist.
“Is it bad if I say I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving for college in August?” he smiles shyly. “We get to spend more time together.”
“No. Not bad. I’m glad, too.” You had deferred your acceptance to community college so you could work full-time for half a year. And the idea of spending as much time as possible with Steve during that time was more than a little exciting. You kiss his lips once more before rolling off of him, resuming your position in the crook of his arm. “I’m just saying, you and I have time. There’s no rush.”
“To figure out what we’re doing with our lives, or to figure out what we are?” Steve asks.
“...Both.”
“You’re right.” Steve kisses your head beside him. “Hey.”
“Hey what?”
“...I know what happened back there at the fair was kind of a lot… Really sexy, don’t get me wrong...”
“Really sexy,” you agree with a giggle.
“But is it okay if we take things a bit…slow?” he asks. “Maybe, like…warm up to the rest?”
You nod understandingly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “Good. Maybe in the meantime…we could go on a date. Like a real date.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Steve Harrington?”
“Hell yeah I am,” he says. “We’ll do the whole shebang. The fancy dinner, the movie. I’ll get you some roses and shit.”
“Now that’s cliché,” you laugh. “But I kinda love the idea.”
“Friday night?”
“Pick me up at 7?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gazes down at you. “But…is it okay if I kiss you again?”
“I’d be upset if you didn’t.”
And so he does The novelty of the feeling of his kisses is starting to fade, but the bubbly feeling inside your stomach remains. You could kiss Steve Harrington like this all night long—nothing more, just kisses, laughing with each other, and the stars. Simple as that.
And that’s exactly what you do.
✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷✷
A/N: Helloooo! Yayyy, they finally had an honest conversation LMFAO. I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!
Much love ❤︎ from Juniper
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