lucky star
Steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: In the summer of 1985, Steve Harrington is stuck working at Scoops Ahoy, juggling melting ice cream, teasing coworkers, and bruised pride at Starcourt Mall. Everything shifts when he realizes the new aerobics instructor across the way is impossible to ignore.
It was the summer of 1985. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears played softly in the background, and Starcourt Mall shone like the newest jewel in Hawkins.
The air conditioning blasting at full power made the unbearable Indiana heat easier to tolerate. The polished floors squeaked under the sneakers of teenagers flooding the mall, neon lights from the storefronts made everything feel electric, and the constant smell of sweet pretzels and freshly scooped ice cream clung to the skin whether you wanted it to or not.
“Enjoy your ice cream,” Steve repeated for what felt like the thousandth time that week, flashing a smile so forced it cost him the tip from a cute girl—and any chance of getting her number.
For him, working at Scoops Ahoy was a strange mix of social humiliation and resignation: the ridiculous uniform, the sailor hat that made every girl who walked in look at him like he was a joke, and the occasional teasing from former classmates—along with Robin’s relentless commentary on how pathetic his flirting attempts were.
“Why the hell is it so crowded today?” Robin complained, dropping her head onto the counter. “I’ve rung up over a hundred sprinkle cones since our shift started.”
“The pool’s closed today,” Steve explained flatly, eyes fixed on the door as if silently begging no one else to come in.
“That explains a lot,” Robin said, her voice drowned out by the laughter of a group of women walking into the shop.
Steve recognized them immediately and knew that if there was a god, he was absolutely laughing at him right now.
“Mrs. Smith, it’s so nice to see you,” he said, putting on the best good-boy smile he had.
“Oh, Stevie—” Robin choked on her laughter, covering it with an exaggerated cough that made Steve glare at her.
Mrs. Smith was his mother’s friend; they’d been in the same book club for as long as he could remember—which meant she’d spent plenty of afternoons sitting in his living room, wine glass in hand, not a book in sight.
“We just wanted to say hello,” she explained, her companions nodding along. They were all dressed in outrageously colored tights, leg warmers, and headbands, making Steve suppress a look of confusion and mild horror. “Your mother told us you work here, so we had to come see you.”
Steve laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, we’ll be going,” Mrs. Smith said, dropping a twenty into the tip jar before smiling her way out with the others. “If you see your mother, tell her not to be late. Class starts in fifteen minutes.”
Robin’s laughter broke the brief silence that followed. Steve could only nod, unsure what to say—he had no idea what class they were talking about, or why anyone would willingly dress like that in public. Which, admittedly, was ironic considering what he was wearing.
“Your mommy’s friends came to check on you, Stevie?” Robin teased, far too pleased with herself.
“Shut up.”
That only made Robin laugh louder.
“Why the hell would my mom be here?” Steve muttered, ignoring Robin as he stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward the door.
When he peeked outside, like it was fate playing a cruel joke, he saw his mother walking toward him—dressed exactly like Mrs. Smith and the rest of her friends.
“Mom?” he asked, visibly confused.
“Steve!” Mrs. Harrington said brightly, arms full of shopping bags, which she immediately handed to him. “Perfect timing. Take these home for me. I’ve got my aerobics class.”
…What?
Robin followed him out, taking advantage of the lack of customers, and found Steve standing there, arms full of bags, watching his mother walk away with a deep frown.
Confused and curious, they followed her—and when they saw where she went, everything clicked: a brightly lit aerobics studio that caught the attention of everyone passing by.
The town’s mothers were already there, wearing shiny leotards and headbands, ready to sweat and gossip. But they weren’t the ones drawing the attention of the teenage boys conveniently seated near the large glass window—certainly not Steve’s, who felt like the ground shifted beneath him.
It was you.
The instructor.
Steve’s former classmate, once the star cheerleader, with a confident smile and perfect posture that had never captivated him—until now. You were exactly the kind of girl mothers adored: future sorority president at some outrageously expensive college your family could easily afford, future perfect wife to some rich finance guy, future queen of something—what, didn’t really matter.
Steve completely forgot he was supposed to be working. Your high, perfectly styled hair made you impossible to ignore, and the precise way you moved toward the group only drew more attention to your outfit—something straight out of Cosmopolitan: a tight gray cotton sports top that left your stomach bare, unapologetic, layered beneath a navy blue leotard with wide straps that hugged your body with near-military precision. The high-cut hips made your legs look endlessly long.
And those legs, covered in taut gray tights that hid absolutely nothing, completely short-circuited Steve’s brain.
“Hey!” Robin’s voice and a sharp shove to his shoulder snapped him back to reality.
“We have work. Stop drooling.”
Steve walked back to Scoops Ahoy as if nothing had happened, though his mind was still glued to the other side of the glass. The sailor hat suddenly itched, and the uniform felt ridiculously childish compared to… well, that.
“I’m putting a mirror on the counter,” Robin said as she went back to work. “That way you can drool over yourself instead of your mom’s aerobics instructor.”
“I wasn’t drooling,” Steve muttered, dropping his mom’s bags behind the counter and scooping ice cream with unnecessary force.
“Steve,” Robin said, rolling her eyes, “you were three seconds away from face-planting into the glass like a kid at a toy store.”
He didn’t answer. His traitorous eyes drifted to the clock. Time crawled by cruelly, like it knew exactly how to torture him. Outside, the music still filtered in—muted, but steady, like a heartbeat.
Reflected in the metal counter, Steve saw you again.
You moved with absolute confidence, counting steps, clapping sharply to set the rhythm. The mothers followed you with varying degrees of grace, including Mrs. Harrington, who was far too focused on not tripping to notice her son standing just feet away, questioning every life choice he’d ever made.
“I can’t believe my mom does this,” Steve whispered.
“Aerobics?” Robin said, nudging him aside to serve ice cream herself. “Trust me, that’s the least traumatic thing moms do when they think no one’s watching.”
Steve laughed softly, nervous and distracted, glancing at the clock again. Five twelve. His shift ended at six, and if he played his cards right, he could casually wait outside the studio when class ended—maybe talk to you, or at least see you up close.
And then it happened.
Mid-turn, mid-count, your eyes flicked to the side for just a second. The glass reflected lights, movement, people passing—but still, you saw him. The boy in the blue-and-white uniform pretending to be very busy serving ice cream.
Steve felt the hit straight to his chest and would’ve smiled like a lovesick schoolgirl if Robin hadn’t noticed and started laughing, pointing at him.
He immediately looked away, clearing his throat, fixing a cone that didn’t need fixing, yanking off the stupid sailor hat and tossing it at Robin just to make her stop.
“Oh, she saw you,” Robin whispered, amused. “She definitely caught you staring like a weirdo.”
“Shut up,” Steve said, though this time without much conviction, unconsciously fixing his hair.
“She saw you, Steve. And she didn’t make the ‘wow, the former popular guy now sells ice cream’ face. That’s a good sign.”
He swallowed.
“So what am I supposed to do with that?”
Robin shrugged.
“No idea, Harrington. You’re the expert with girls—not me.”
The studio kept pulsing with music, Steve’s eyes locked on the fogging glass. Boys stopped pretending to check their watches just to look at you, which made perfect sense to him.
[…]
At six o’clock sharp, Steve nearly sighed with relief, tossing the cleaning rag aside.
“Free,” he breathed, like he’d just run a marathon.
Robin watched him from the counter, that familiar knowing smile on her face.
“You leaving, or are you gonna spend another fifteen minutes pretending to clean just to see her again?”
Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing his mom’s bags.
“My shift’s over. No need to pretend when I can go do it directly,” he said smugly, already walking off with the plan he’d been building for the past hour.
He left Scoops Ahoy before Robin could add anything else, running a hand through his hair—messy enough to look effortless, neat enough to look intentional.
Hair mattered. A lot
He leaned against the wall outside the studio, holding his mom’s bags like he’d been there all along.
The music slowed. The mothers stretched, laughing, panting. You moved among them, correcting posture, lowering a shoulder here, adjusting a hip there, always patient.
Steve waited.
Not because he’d planned it meticulously—admitting that would mean admitting he cared too much—but he stayed, pretending to read a crooked electronics ad. The sailor hat was gone, but the uniform wasn’t.
He’d have to make it work.
The music stopped. The glass door opened. Mothers poured out, sweaty and cheerful.
Steve spotted his mom immediately, laughing with Mrs. Smith.
“See you at home, sweetheart,” she said, kissing his cheek and snatching the bags away. “Don’t be late.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Steve swallowed, resisting the urge to scream—his devoted-son act had completely fallen apart.
Then you stepped out.
Gym bag on your shoulder, water bottle in hand. Your hair was less styled now, damp strands clinging to your skin, making you dangerously attractive. Less poster, more real. More… sexy.
Steve straightened.
Now or never.
“Great workout,” he said smoothly, hands in his pockets, pushing off the wall.
You turned, surprised, then smiled when you recognized him.
“Thanks,” you said, brushing your hair back, eyes flicking over him. “Survive your shift?”
“Barely,” he smiled. “You’d be shocked how many sprinkles people ask for.”
You laughed—short, genuine—and Steve knew he’d passed the first test.
Everyone knew: make a girl laugh, and your chances skyrocket.
“I didn’t know you taught here,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I knew you were a cheerleader, a great dancer and all—but this is different.”
“It is,” you nodded. “I like it. It’s temporary, but I really like it.”
“Temporary?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you laughed, adjusting your bag. “Just something to keep me busy over the summer.”
Steve nodded.
“I don’t think the studio’s gonna want to lose its best instructor once summer’s over.”
“Best instructor?” you raised an eyebrow, sipping your water. “That sounds dangerously like a compliment.”
He smiled, leaning into his well-practiced charm.
“It is.”
Your cheeks flushed, a soft giggle slipping out.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—just charged.
Steve noticed.
And used it.
“My mom adores you,” he added casually, though it was a calculated move. “She hasn’t stopped talking about the class.”
“Really?” you asked, surprised and proud.
“I swear,” he laughed. “She keeps mentioning the beautiful instructor—and now I get why.”
Your heart raced. You looked down, escaping his brown eyes. Steve Harrington was good at this. He knew it.
“Stop,” you said, embarrassed.
You walked toward the exit, Steve falling into step beside you, careful not to crowd your space. Neon lights reflected off the glass, bathing everything in pinks and blues.
“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “You working Scoops Ahoy all summer?”
“That’s the plan,” he chuckled. “Ice cream, ridiculous hat, sailor suit.”
“The hat’s mandatory?” you asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing.
“Unfortunately,” he sighed. “Part of the punishment.”
“Well, if it helps… you look pretty good in it.”
Steve knew then—he had a shot.
Outside, the heat lingered as the sky turned orange.
He stopped.
This was it.
“Hey…” he started, scratching his neck. “This might sound abrupt, but… would you go out with me Saturday?”
“What?” you asked, making sure you’d heard right.
“Saturday,” he repeated, more confident now. “No uniform, no hat. Just you and me.”
You raised an eyebrow, smiling.
“Is that a formal invitation, Harrington?”
“As formal as I get,” he grinned.
You laughed.
“So what does one do on a Saturday with Steve Harrington?”
“Depends,” he shrugged, pretending nonchalance while his eyes gave him away. “But it definitely starts with me picking you up for dinner. Maybe a walk through Starcourt when it’s quieter.”
You bit your lip, dramatic on purpose. Steve noticed—and forced himself not to grin too soon.
“Alright,” you finally said. “Saturday sounds good.”
Steve felt something like victory.
“Great,” he nodded once you reached your car. “Six thirty.”
“That early?” you asked.
“Well…” he sighed, leaning against your car. “I’ve got lost time to make up for—not talking to you in high school.”
Your cheeks burned again.
“So it’s a date.”
“It’s a date.”
The silence after was soft. Promising.
“See you Saturday,” you said, getting into your car.
Steve stepped back, smiling—waiting until you drove off before sprinting to his own car like a kid who’d just gotten a brand-new toy.
