#godlynott

-

the air smells like popcorn, asphalt, and whatever cheap cologne steve sprayed on in the car because robin told him he “reeked of family video.” the sun’s halfway down, orange and lazy, heat still clinging to everything like it doesn’t want to leave.

somewhere behind you, a radio crackles with static and an off-key song no one bothers to change. cicadas are screaming like they’ve got something to prove.

steve is mid-story. arms moving, voice loud, fully committed, acting it out like there’s a full audience instead of six exhausted teenagers and one lawn chair with a broken leg.

“—and i swear to god, dustin let go of the firework too early and it just—” he makes an explosion noise with his mouth, big and dramatic, “—shot straight into the air like it had a death wish.”

“that is not what happened,” dustin says from the ground, already defensive, hands flailing. “it slipped.”

“you slipped,” steve fires back instantly. “on account of having baby hands.”

“oh my god,” max groans. “why are we still talking about this.”

“because,” steve says, pointing at dustin, “i almost died.”

“you almost die every week,” robin says. “that’s not special.”

you don’t say anything. you just step between his knees and drop down without warning, landing sideways across his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like gravity pulled you there on purpose.

steve’s sentence cuts off mid-word.

his hands catch you automatically (muscle memory) one at your hip, the other sliding to your thigh to steady you. he looks down at you, blinks once, like he’s recalibrating.

“..hey,” he says.

“hi,” you mumble, already shifting, turning until your back fits against his chest. his legs adjust instantly, spreading a little wider to make room, knees bracketing you in. you tuck your feet under the chair, shoulder relaxing into him like you’ve done this a thousand times.

because you have.

he smells warm. sunscreen and soap and something unmistakably steve.

“you good?” he asks quietly, voice dropping just for you, head dipping closer.

“mmh,” you hum. “just tired.”

robin squints at you from across the driveway. “you literally slept until noon.”

steve’s arm tightens around your waist, possessive without even trying, like his body decided before his brain could interfere. his chin drops to the top of your head, lips brushing your hair absentmindedly, not even a kiss — just contact.

“you could’ve warned me,” he murmurs. “nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“you love it,” you say, mouth curling.

he exhales a laugh straight into your scalp. “yeah. unfortunately.”

you feel it when it happens — the exact moment his body settles. shoulders dropping. chest softening behind you. the kind of comfort that sneaks up on you and then refuses to let go.

“don’t,” you warn, already smiling.

“don’t what.”

“fall asleep.”

he scoffs, like that’s ridiculous. “i’m not falling asleep.”

he says this while resting his cheek against your head, eyes visibly heavier, thumb starting slow, lazy circles against your side, tracing nothing and everything.

you tilt your head back just enough to look at him. “steve.”

“what,” he says, eyes closed.

“you’re doing it.”

“doing what.”

“the thing where you pretend you’re listening but you’re actually gone.”

“i am listening,” he argues weakly. “m'just comfy.”

“that’s not an excuse.”

“it should be.”

from somewhere nearby, lucas snorts. “he’s out in five.”

“shut up,” steve says immediately, eyes still closed. “i can stay awake.”

“prove it,” robin challenges, grinning.

steve straightens a little, like he’s gearing up for battle. his hands stay on you though. “okay. uh. what was i talking about?”

there’s a beat.

“…the firework?” you offer.

“right,” he says, relieved. “so then—”

he yawns. huge. unashamed. the kind that makes his eyes water and his jaw crack, head tipping back dramatically.

everyone groans.

“jesus christ,” robin says. “you’re embarrassing.”

“i worked a double,” he complains, blinking slowly. “and she keeps sitting on me like this.”

you elbow him lightly. “you’re the one clinging.”

as if to prove your point, his arms tighten, pulling you closer until your back is fully pressed to his chest, no space left at all.

“because you keep trying to leave,” he says. “and i don’t like that.”

something in his voice — quiet, honest, unguarded — makes your chest soften in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“you can nap at home,” you say gently. “we’re surrounded by people.”

“they’ve seen worse,” he mutters.

“have they?”

“remember when i passed out on the floor at mike’s and woke up with dustin’s blanket and a permanent kink in my neck.”

“you drooled,” robin adds.

“that was one time.”

“it soaked throoooough,” dustin says proudly.

you laugh, quiet and breathy, fingers finding the hem of steve’s shirt, fidgeting there like you always do. he doesn’t stop you. if anything, he shifts closer.

steve’s breathing evens out almost immediately.

there it is.

“you stayed up until three with the kids last night,” you murmur. “but ten minutes with me and you’re done.”

he hums, half-asleep, thumb still moving. “because i don’t have to try with you.”

your chest tightens, sharp and warm all at once.

“that’s not fair,” you whisper.

“is too,” he mumbles. “you make everything quiet.”

his nose nudges into your hair, breath warm. his hand slides from your waist to your stomach, palm flat like it belongs there. like it always has. like it always will if he has any say in it.

you should move.

you don’t.

max watches for a second, then smirks. “do we leave? or is this like a wildlife moment.”

“don’t scare him,” robin whispers. “he’s fragile.”

“i’m not fragile,” steve mutters, barely awake.

“you’re literally asleep,” you say softly.

“resting my eyes.”

“you’re snoring.”

he smiles against your head, barely there. “lies.”

you sink back into him fully now, letting his warmth surround you, legs heavy, thoughts slowing. the world narrows to the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his breathing, the way his arm stays locked around you like he might drift off the planet if he lets go.

behind you, his breathing deepens. steady. calm. gone.

robin watches for a long moment, something fond and gentle slipping past her usual sarcasm. then she shakes her head. you smile to yourself, eyes finally closing.

maybe you’ll just stay a while.

enjoy!

a/n: hiii hihihi!! this is a little comfort piece i couldn’t get out of my head. clingy steve will always win. thank you so much for reading and for all the support the last days!!! — likes, reblogs, and comments mean the world to me <3 aaaalso, if y'all have anything else you want to see on here (characters, a certain topic, a request in general) is really really welcome by me! . . i was also thinking on writing a jonathan fluff soon.. lmk your thoughts 🩷

—

“steve.”

nothing.

“steven.”

nothing.

“steven harrington.”

his cheek is smushed against your shoulder, warm breath ghosting the side of your neck. one arm is slung fully around your middle, hand splayed over your stomach like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

you nudge him with your elbow. “hey.”

“mmh,” he hums, eyes still closed.

“don’t mmh me. we’re in public.”

that gets a reaction. barely. he shifts, tightening his grip instead of loosening it, chin tucking closer to your collarbone.

“that’s dramatic,” he mumbles. “we’re at the video store. it’s basically my house.”

you scoff. “robin is literally three aisles over.”

“robin has seen worse,” he says. “remember when she caught me crying over that dog commercial.”

“that was a lot of crying.”

“he was reunited with his owner,” steve says, affronted. “after years.”

you poke his side again, harder this time. “you’re falling asleep.”

“no i wasn’t,” he says, then yawns so wide his jaw pops. “i was resting my eyes.”

you pull back enough to look at him. his lashes are heavy, pupils blown, posture completely slack like his bones have given up on him. he looks peaceful. smug, even.

“i called you to help me pick a movie,” you say. “not to become a human backpack.”

“you’re warm,” he says simply. then, like an afterthought, “and you smell nice.”

“steve.”

“and you keep standing still,” he adds. “which feels like encouragement.”

you roll your eyes, but your hand comes up anyway, fingers brushing through his hair. it’s unconscious. automatic. you don’t even realize you’re doing it until his entire body melts.

there it is.

“you are so predictable,” you mutter.

“mm,” he agrees, already halfway gone. “say that again.”

you stop touching his hair. immediately, he whines.

actually whines.

“why’d you stop,” he complains, voice thick with sleep.

“because you’re dozing off.”

you sigh despite yourself. “you always do this.”

“do what.”

“fall asleep on me,” you say. “you can stay up until three in the morning with the kids or robin or whoever, but the second it’s just us, you’re out.”

“they needed me,” he says defensively. “dustin was explaining d&d lore.”

“for five hours.”

“it’s a complex narrative.”

you step sideways, trying to untangle yourself. steve tightens his arms instantly, clinging like a lifeline.

you push at his chest halfheartedly, but your hand lingers there. his heartbeat is steady. calm. annoyingly soothing.

“am i boring you?” you ask, mostly teasing.

he huffs a laugh, eyes still closed. “yeah. terribly.”

you pinch his side. he yelps, jerking back awake. “okay—okay, i’m kidding, jesus.”

his hand slides back to your waist before you can pull away, thumb rubbing slow circles like he’s not even thinking about it.

“don’t move,” he murmurs.

“steve.”

“five more minutes.”

“you said that ten minutes ago.”

you sigh, giving in just a little, leaning your weight back into him. his chin settles more securely on your shoulder, like he’s won something.

“how is it,” you ask quietly, “that you can be awake for everything else… but the second it’s just us, you’re out.”

he thinks about that. you can tell because his thumb starts tracing slow, absent shapes against your side.

“because i don’t have to be this hyperactive, incredibly gorgeous, funny steve everyone knows. when we are together i just feel.. dunno. safer, i guess?” he says. “even though i am all those things.”

your chest tightens.

you clear your throat. “you’re still supposed to stay awake.”

“i am awake.”

he punctuates this by immediately yawning, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“unbelievable,” you say fondly.

“you looooove me,” he mumbles.

you do. unfortunately.

you shift again, just to see if he’ll let you go.

he doesn’t.

“just hold me,” he says, barely audible now. “please.”

robin’s laughter echoes faintly from the next aisle. you can already imagine the look she’d give you if she saw this. the commentary. the teasing.

you should shove him awake.

you don’t.

instead, you rest your cheek against his temple, hand sliding back into his hair.

“five minutes,” you whisper.

he smiles against your skin.

enjoy!

— rory <3

— hihiihiihihihihi im watching fargo as we speak.. i think only tw is use of cuss words! gator x reader fluff <3 not very proofread.. but i tried my best! i hope u all enjoy and love my vision of gator as much as i do !.!.!.!.!.!.!!.!!!!!! kisses kisses

—

the door slammed so hard it shook something loose in the frame.

“fucking hell—” gator’s voice tore through the house before you even saw him. “goddamn piece a’ shit day—”

his boots hit the floor heavy, uneven, like he was ready to fight the ground itself. keys got tossed somewhere— not placed, not dropped— thrown.

“whole town’s full a’ idiots,” he kept going, louder now, pacing already. “can't do one damn thing right, swear to god— jus’ a bitch and a half from sunup to now—”

you leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching him work himself up like a storm with nowhere to go.

“hi, baby.”

“ain't nothin’ hi about it,” he snapped back instantly, dragging a hand through his hair. “got people lyin’ straight to my face, actin’ like i'm stupid— paperwork all fucked, nothin’ lines up—” he kicked at the leg of a chair on his way past, “—and don’t even get me started on that—”

he stopped.

mid-rant. mid-pace. because he finally looked at you.

“…what,” you said, raising a brow.

“nothin’,” he muttered, but he was already walking over, slower now, jaw still tight but not clenched for a fight anymore.

for you.

you didn’t move.

he got close enough to crowd your space, hands landing on your hips like he needed something solid to grab onto before he lost it again.

“still pissed?” you asked, voice light.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i am. ‘cause it was a bitch and a half out there, and i ain’t even halfway done dealin’ with it.”

“mm.”

“and—” he exhaled sharp through his nose, thumbs digging into your sides a little harder than necessary, “—ain’t nobody listens. whole day’s jus’ people talkin’ over me, actin’ like they know better—”

you let him go, didn't interrupt. just watched the way his grip shifted— less angry, more grounding.

his forehead dipped, almost touching yours before he stopped himself.

“…jus’ wanted to come home,” he finished, quieter now.

you softened a little. “yeah?”

he shrugged like it didn’t matter. like he hadn’t just said that.

“…jus’ wanted to feel my woman’s touch,” he muttered, like it was obvious. Like it didn’t mean anything at all.

your hands slid up his arms, slow, steady. “you're unbelievable.”

“yeeah, well,” he huffed, pulling you closer anyway, stubborn about it. “ain't hearin’ you complain.”

“i am. constantly.”

“mm. not enough to stop me, though.”

theeere it was— that flicker of something smug, something softer, breaking through the pissed-off edges.

he pressed his face into your neck then, breathing heavy, like he’d been holding it in all day. still muttering under his breath—

“fuckin’ idiots… whole damn town…” —but quieter now, words getting lost against your skin.

your fingers threaded into his hair, gentle.

“better?” you asked.

he didn’t answer right away.

just tightened his hold on you, like if he let go he’d have to go back out there and deal with it all over again.

“…yeah,” he said finally, voice low, almost begrudging.

then, after a second:

“…don’t move.”

you huffed a quiet laugh against his shoulder. “wasnt planning on it.”

“good.” his grip tightened like he meant it, arms locked around you, face still buried in your neck. “stay right there.”

“gator— i have food on the stove.”

“it’ll live.”

“it wont. t'will burn.”

“yeaah, well.” he shifted just enough to drag you with him a half-step, like letting go wasn’t even an option. “then, we eat somethin’ burnt.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him. “you are unbelievable.”

“been told,” he muttered, but his hands didn’t move. not an inch.

you studied him for a second— the way his jaw had finally unclenched, the way his shoulders had dropped, how he was still holding onto you like the world might try to take you if he didn’t.

“…you’re clingy,” you said.

his head snapped up immediately. “i ain’t—” he scoffed, pulling back just enough to look offended, “—i ain’t clingy.”

“you are literally attached to me right now.”

“aint attached,” he shot back, even as his fingers flexed against your hips, keeping you exactly where you were. “jus’ standin’ here.”

“mm. against me.”

“coincidence.”

you stared at him.

he stared right back, stubborn as hell.

“…you missed me,” you said simply.

his eyes narrowed, like you’d just accused him of something serious. “i said that already.”

“aaand you meant it.”

“—i didn’t say all that.”

you tilted your head, soft smile tugging at your mouth. “you didn’t have to.”

he squinted at you harder, suspicious now. “…really?”

you paused, like you had to think about it.

“huh,” you hummed, glancing off to the side. “i dunno. let me ask my other husbands.”

silence.

dead. immediate. silence.

“…your what?” his voice dropped, slow and sharp, grip on you tightening in a way that was definitely not casual anymore.

you shrugged, way too innocent. “my other husbands. y'know, firgured they might have some insight—”

“the fuck they do,” he cut in, jaw clenching all over again, but for a very different reason now. “ain't no ‘other husbands.’”

“oh? could’ve sworn—”

“yeah? swore wrong.” his hands slid from your hips to your waist, pulling you in flush against him, like he needed to physically correct the statement. “you got one. me.”

you bit back a smile. “you sure about that?”

“yes, i'm fuckin’ sure about that,” he snapped, leaning down, eyes locked on yours like this was suddenly a matter of life and death. “who the hell else you think—”

“i mean, i don’t know,” you cut in lightly. “there’s options.”

“—there ain’t no options.” his voice dropped lower, more dangerous, but there was something else tangled in it too, something almost.. desperate. “ain't nobody else puttin’ their hands on you. ain’t nobody else comin’ in this house, eatin’ this food, lookin’ at you like—” he stopped himself, exhaling sharp.

you watched him, softer now.

“like what?” you asked gently.

“…like i do,” he muttered finally, quieter, like it slipped out before he could stop it. "..duh,"

you reached up, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “good. ‘cause i don’t want them to.”

he blinked at you. “…yeah?”

“yeah.”

Another pause.

then— “really?”

you let the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm.

then you smiled, soft and easy. “yeah, gator. really.”

he held your gaze for a second, searching your face like he didn’t fully trust it— like he needed to be sure.

“…good,” he muttered, almost to himself.

he huffed, pressing his face back into your neck, all stubborn and warm and very much not letting go.

“…ain’t funny,” he added after a second.

you smiled.

“little bit.”

he huffed at that, all annoyed again on the surface, but he didn’t let go. if anything, his arms tightened, chin hooking over your shoulder like he was settlin’ in.

“you’re startin’ shit on purpose,” he muttered.

“maybe,” you said easily.

“mm.” he shifted, nosing along your neck, quieter now. “don’t like it.”

“dont like what?”

“you talkin’ like that,” he grumbled. “like there’s—” his hand gestured vaguely behind you, frustrated, “—options.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at your lips. “you got real worked up about that.”

“yeah, well.” he pulled back just enough to look at you, brows pinched. “ain’t funny.”

“it was a little funny.”

“wasn’t.”

“you got all jealous—”

“i didn’t get jealous,” he cut in quick, immediate. “ain’t nothin’ to be jealous about.”

you just looked at him.

he stared right back, stubborn, jaw set.

“…you’re holdin’ me tighter,” you pointed out.

“…that don’t mean nothin’.”

“mmhmm.”

“don’t,” he warned, but there was no real heat behind it anymore.

you softened, hands sliding up his chest, smoothing over the fabric like you were calmmin’ something down in him that never really settled on its own.

“gator,” you said, quieter now.

he blinked at you, attention snapping right back. “what.”

“i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

he held your gaze for a second, searching, like before.

“…yeah?” he asked, softer this time.

it was always like this with gator. he made you swear down on everything you said.. in my language, that's called trust issues.

you nodded. “yeah.”

another beat.

“…really?”

“oh my god, gator,” you let out a small laugh, reaching up to cup his cheek. “really.”

something in him gave— not all at once, not obvious, but enough.

his shoulders dropped again, tension leavin’ in pieces instead of all at once. his hand came up to cover yours where it rested on his face, rough thumb dragging over your knuckles like he needed to feel it.

“good,” he murmured.

then, after a second—

“‘cause i ain’t sharin’.”

you smiled, stepping closer, if that was even possible. “i gathered.”

“yeah.” his forehead bumped yours, gentle this time, not rushed, not angry. “you’re mine.”

there was that tone again— a little rough, a little possessive— but softer underneath it. careful, almost.

you didn’t pull away, just leaned in, brushing your nose against his. “and you’re a big softie.”

he scoffed immediately. “i ain’t— i ain't soft.” he insisted, even as his hand slid to the back of your neck, keepin’ you close. “don’t know where you get that from.”

“the way you’re lookin’ at me right now?” you said.

he froze for half a second.

“…i ain’t lookin’ at you no type a’ way.”

“sure.”

“i ain’t.”

you tilted your head, smiling just a little. “gator.”

“what.”

“you’re doin’ it again.”

“doin’ what.”

“that thing.”

“there ain’t a thing,” he muttered, but his voice had gone quieter, less bite, more something he couldn’t quite cover up.

you leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his mouth.

it shut him up instantly.

for a second, he just stood there.

then his hand tightened at your neck, pulling you back in like he needed another one just to make sure that first one was real.

“—yeah,” he breathed, low, almost surprised.

you smiled against him. “softiiiieeeeee.”

“i ain’t soft,” he said again, but it came out quieter this time, less convincing. “y'so annoying— y'piss me off. badly. you don't wanna see me pissed off.”

“mm.”

he exhaled, long and slow, forehead dropping back to yours when you pulled away just enough to look at him.

“…don’t go anywhere,” he muttered.

“i’m not.”

“good.”

he stayed there a second.

“food’s probably burnt.”

you laughed. “yeah. probably.”

he didn’t move.

didn’t make any move to go check, either.

just stood there, holdin’ onto you like he’d rather deal with a burnt dinner than let go too soon.

“…we can fix it,” you said.

“yeah,” he replied, not even soundin’ worried about it.

his thumb brushed along your jaw, slow, absentminded.

“…later.”

enjoy <3

⌁ thinking about... steve harrington losing his absolute mind over you in a modified scoops uniform ꒱

part two! part three!

— hihihi!!! or should i say.. ahoy? no tw's at all! steve x reader fluff inspired by a tweet from my twitter oomf! thank you so much mak! i tried my absolute best and i hope u all enjoy and love my vision of flustered steve as much as i do ! this trope made me go crazy at just the thought of it. steve's such a loser in this!!!! i love him ugh

—

steve was usually good with girls. at least, that’s what he liked telling himself.

but every ounce of confidence seemed to evaporate the second she walked into scoops ahoy wearing that modified uniform for the first time.

the skirt barely brushed the middle of her thighs, pleated neatly like something out of a magazine catalog, and the oversized sailor top had been tailored into something softer; fitted at the waist with no sleeves, showing off stacked bracelets the manager definitely wouldn’t approve of.

steve stared for exactly three seconds too long.

robin looked up from the register.

“oh, you are screwed.”

steve snapped his eyes away. “what? no, i’m not.”

“she’s pretty and you’re already acting weird.”

“i’m not acting weird.”

“you looked at her like a dying victorian man seeing heaven for the first time.”

steve rolled his eyes, reaching for a stack of cups before robin could see the way his face had gone warm, which was ridiculous for steve ‘the hair’ harrington.

because it wasn’t like he’d never seen a pretty girl before. it wasn’t even entirely about the outfit.

okay, maybe it was a little about the outfit. just a little bit, though.

it was mostly the way she carried herself like the entire mall belonged to her. like the sailor uniform wasn’t embarrassing at all. like she’d taken one look at it and decided she was too pretty to let a uniform win.

steve hated how much he noticed.

the bracelets clinking softly every time she reached for something. the perfume that lingered in the tiny back room after she walked out. the way she leaned over the counter while talking to customers, smiling easily like she’d been working there for years instead of three days.

and the worst part? she didn’t seem to realize what she was doing to him at all.

“do i seriously look okay?” she asked suddenly, smoothing down the skirt as she stopped in front of the counter.

steve was just staring at her. intensely staring.

robin looked between them once, already fighting a smile.

she frowned slightly. “because i know i’m probably going to get yelled at.”

steve opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and she noticed how his expression shifted into visible panic.

robin sighed dramatically. “he means yes.”

steve blinked. “what?”

“you’re staring, stevie boy,” robin said mockingly, giving him that typical look. the one that told him he sucked.

“i’m literally not.”

“you literally are.”

steve harrington, former king of hawkins high, professional flirt, allegedly charming human being — suddenly felt like a complete idiot every time she looked at him.

she laughed softly, still looking confused as robin rounded the counter toward her.

“well,” robin said casually, leaning against the counter beside her, “personally, i think the skirt is a public service.”

she laughed again, brighter this time, ducking her head a little as she adjusted some bracelets.

robin continued smoothly, completely unbothered by the death glare steve was trying to burn into the side of her face.

“the bracelets? cute. the lipstick? cute. the little sailor thing? gorgeous.” she pointed vaguely at the tied front of the shirt. “for the record, i support the skirt. the original shorts make us look like patriotic toddlers.”

she grinned. “oh, god— i know, right? it’s just so… ugh.”

“oh, no, i get it,” robin continued. “if i looked like that in the uniform, i’d alter mine too.”

she blinked, caught off guard for a second before laughing again. “you’re insane.”

robin shrugged casually. “i’m also right.”

she laughed under her breath before answering, and steve hated how easily robin got her to smile.

because robin was relaxed. effortless. she could flirt with basically anyone without combusting into nervous sweat.

meanwhile steve couldn’t even compliment a skirt without sounding like he was confessing his last words.

robin reached over to fix the edge of her scarf dramatically. “see? gorgeous.”

“robin,” steve said flatly.

“what, steven?”

“we’re working.”

“so am i.”

“you’re harassing her.”

she smiled innocently. “i don’t feel harassed.”

“see?” robin pointed at her triumphantly. “she likes me more than you already.”

something ugly and stupid twisted in steve’s chest before he could stop it.

and robin noticed instantly.

“oh my god,” she whispered.

steve’s expression immediately hardened. “don’t.”

robin looked delighted. absolutely delighted.

“nooo way.”

“robin.”

“you actually—”

steve grabbed her by the wrist before she could finish.

“backroom. now.”

robin burst into laughter as he dragged her behind the swinging door, her sneakers squeaking against the tile.

the second they were alone, steve dropped her wrist and hissed, “what is wrong with you?”

robin leaned against a shelf, barely holding herself together. “you are jealous!”

“i am not jealous.”

“you looked two seconds away from climbing over the counter and fighting me.”

“that’s not—”

“oh my god,” she gasped. “you like her.”

steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “would you shut up?”

robin stared at him for a beat before dissolving into another fit of laughter.

“it’s not funny.”

“it is a little funny.”

“she’s new, okay? don’t make it weird.”

robin’s grin turned downright evil.

then, in the most offended voice imaginable, she crossed her arms and went, “excuse me? i saw her first.”

robin stared back innocently.

and steve suddenly became very aware of the fact that robin buckley was created specifically to ruin his life.

outside the back room, she ducked behind the counter to grab napkins, still smiling to herself, completely oblivious to the psychic warfare happening three feet away.

she straightened back up. “what are you guys whispering about?”

“nothing,” steve answered way too quickly.

robin’s grin widened and laughter got louder. “you absolute loser.”

“i’m serious!”

“you sound twelve years old!”

“i’m gonna kill you.”

the back room door swung open a second later.

robin walked out first looking entirely too pleased with herself, while steve followed behind her with the expression of a man being led to his execution.

she looked up from the napkins she was restocking. “you guys done fighting?”

“he’s sensitive,” robin answered for him.

“i’m not sensitive.”

“you dragged me into the back room because i called a girl pretty.”

steve pointed at her immediately. “see? you’re making it sound weird on purpose.”

“because it is weird.”

she bit back another smile, clearly trying not to laugh at him again.

that somehow made it worse.

steve leaned over the counter, pretending to reorganize straws so he didn’t have to look directly at her while his dignity actively disintegrated.

robin watched him for a moment.

then her eyes lit up with the kind of evil that usually meant steve’s day was about to get significantly worse.

“hey,” robin said casually, nudging him with her elbow. “why don’t you compliment her outfit?”

steve nearly inhaled a paper straw. “what are you talking about?”

“compliment. her. outfit. use your words.”

“i know what compliment means.”

“do you?”

steve could feel his pulse in his throat. this was so ridiculous. he used to flirt with girls all the time!

he was steve harrington.

somehow, under the lights of scoops ahoy, with robin staring at him like she was waiting for a live comedy show to begin, he suddenly forgot how speaking worked.

she looked between them again, confused but amused. “you really don’t have to—”

“i like your skirt.”

the words came out so fast they practically crashed into each other. robin turned away because she was trying not to laugh.

“uh.. thanks.”

steve looked back up. she was smiling at him. not laughing or teasing like robin would've, she was just smiling, fingers absentmindedly playing with the bracelets on her wrist.

“i kinda ruined the original uniform,” she admitted. “so i’m glad at least one person here doesn’t hate it.”

steve’s choked on his own spit as he felt his ears go red. because suddenly she looked nervous too.

..which made absolutely no sense!

robin looked back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match.

the silence lasted exactly three seconds before steve panicked and grabbed the nearest ice cream scoop.

“so, uh…” he cleared his throat. “you like fashion?”

steve swore that the sound of her laugh alone was enough to permanently damage his nervous system.

he tightened his grip on the ice cream scoop. why was he holding this thing so aggressively?

she tilted her head slightly, clearly trying not to smile at how painfully awkward he’d become.

“fashion?” she repeated.

“yeah. i just mean—” he rambled quickly, “you seem, y’know, into it. obviously. because of the whole…” he gestured vaguely at her outfit. “…everything.”

she looked down at herself for a second before glancing back up at him through her lashes.

“everything?”

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he said immediately.

“how did you mean it, then?”

because she was looking at him now. really looking at him. steve exhaled slowly before forcing himself to recover.

“i just meant,” he said, quieter this time, “you make the uniform look cool.”

there it was again. that smile. like she hadn’t expected him to say something genuine.

“thanks, steve.”

it was the way his ears had gone pink for the past five minutes straight and the way he physically could not maintain eye contact with her for longer than a few seconds.

but suddenly, things started making a little more sense. he was nervous because of her. the realization nearly made her laugh. instead, she leaned forward onto the counter slightly, resting her chin in her hand.

“you know,” she said sweetly, “you’re a lot quieter than i expected.”

steve blinked. “what?”

“i mean, steve harrington?” she shrugged innocently. “i thought you’d be smoother.”

steve looked genuinely stunned.

“i— what does that mean?”

she smiled lazily. “nothing.”

it absolutely did not mean nothing.

steve couldn't figure out whether she was flirting with him or making fun of him.

“i can be smooth,” he defended weakly.

she raised an eyebrow. “really?”

“yeah.”

“mkay.”

steve straightened slightly, suddenly determined to prove himself.

“i am smooth.”

she glanced down briefly before looking back up at him. “you’re holding the ice cream scoop hard enough to bend metal.”

he was, in fact, gripping the scoop like his life depended on it.

steve stared at her for a second, completely distracted. because now she was laughing at him. and somehow that was worse.

what the hell was happening to steve? it was humiliating. and even worse, she was definitely starting to notice.

he could tell by the look in her eyes. that amused little glint every time he stumbled over his words. the way her smile would twitch like she was holding back laughter whenever he got flustered.

she knew. and apparently, instead of letting him live peacefully, she’d decided to make it infinitely worse.

“your hat’s crooked,” she said casually.

steve looked up too fast. “what?”

she stepped closer before he could react, reaching up toward him.

her fingers brushed the edge of the sailor hat, fixing it gently against his hair, and steve completely forgot how breathing worked.

“there,” she murmured.

she was standing way too close, he could smell her perfume again. something sweet. his brain was melting out of his ears.

“thanks,” he managed weakly.

she looked entertained now. her fingers lingered for a second against the collar of his uniform before she tugged lightly on the fabric.

“you should customize yours too,” she said. “it’s kinda cute.”

cute???

his brain latched onto the word like it was life or death.

“cute?” he repeated stupidly.

“mhm.” she smoothed the front of his uniform absentmindedly. “the colors work for you.”

she was touching him so casually, like she had no idea what she was doing to him. except now he was beginning to suspect she absolutely did know.

she tilted her head slightly while looking at him, eyes flickering over his face for a moment before she smiled again.

“you’ve got pretty moles.”

steve stopped breathing.

“…what?”

“the ones on your cheek.” she pointed lightly near her own face. “they’re cute.”

nobody had ever complimented his moles before. nobody.

steve just stared at her like she’d started speaking another language. and she looked absolutely delighted about it.

“this is insane,” she muttered, watching steve visibly malfunction in real time. “i’ve never seen him this pathetic before.”

“i’m not pathetic,” steve shot back automatically, finally tearing his eyes away from her.

she laughed softly beside him, still leaning against the counter like she didn’t realize she was actively ruining his ability to function.

steve groaned under his breath before suddenly yanking the sailor hat off his head.

“screw this fucking hat,” he moped, throwing it somewhere behind the counter. “this is what ruins my charm. it’s— it’s the hair.”

“wow,” she said teasingly. “couldn’t have recognized you if i didn’t know it was you.”

steve looked at her suspiciously. “are you making fun of me right now?”

“maybe. a little.”

“wow. cool.” but he was already trying not to smile.

“there it is,” she said triumphantly, pointing at him. “you were pouting.”

“i was not pouting.”

“you threw your hat like a princess having a breakdown!”

“okay, first of all, that doesn’t even make sense—”

“second of all,” she continued smoothly, stepping closer again, “the hair’s kinda important.”

steve blinked.

“…yeah?”

“mhm.”

she reached up without warning, lightly fixing a strand that had fallen onto his forehead.

“definitely your best feature,” she said softly. “even though your eyes are incredibly pretty. and your nose, also.” her gaze flickered lower for a second, lips twitching slightly. “and you’ve got great lips too, steve.”

steve's eyes widened slightly as he stared at her, completely frozen, his hands locked up on the counter and he felt a chill run down his spine.

“…what?” he said weakly.

she blinked innocently. “what?”

steve’s face was burning. his ears were burning, and he was pretty sure his soul was burning. because she was looking at him so casually while saying things no girl had ever said to him before.

usually girls flirted with steve because he was charming, or popular. or just because they thought he looked good. but this felt way too specific.

he swallowed hard, trying desperately to recover some dignity.

“you—” he cleared his throat immediately. “you think my nose is pretty?”

“that’s the compliment you focused on?”

she smiled instantly, like she’d been waiting for him to latch onto the weirdest possible part of that sentence.

robin had fully given up pretending not to listen. “steve,” she breathed. “please stand up.”

“i am standing up.”

“not mentally.”

then she tilted her head slightly.

“you get nervous really easily for a guy who was apparently the king of hawkins high.”

“i’m not nervous.”

“you sure?”

steve looked up at her and immediately regretted it. because she was standing too close again, smiling at him like she already knew the answer. his throat suddenly felt dry.

“yeah,” he said anyway, trying for confidence and failing miserably. “totally sure.”

she hummed thoughtfully, eyes flickering down his face again.

“mkay.”

that stupid little response should not have affected him as much as it did. robin watched the entire thing unfold with the expression of somebody witnessing psychological warfare in real time.

“steve,” she said carefully, “buddy. she’s flirting with you.”

“i know that,” he snapped instantly. because wow. okay. maybe that came out a little too fast.

“oh,” she said softly. “so you noticed?”

“you’re enjoying this way too much,” steve accused weakly.

“maybe.”

she leaned against the counter a little more, bracelets clinking softly as she rested her chin in her hand.

“you’re cute when you get all flustered.”

steve stared at her.

then at robin.

then back at her again like he was genuinely trying to figure out if this was some kind of elaborate prank designed specifically to kill him.

“okay,” he said slowly. “now you’re just messing with me.”

“am i?”

oh, absolutely. but the problem was she looked so sincere saying it that steve genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

she looked genuinely curious asking it, which somehow made it infinitely worse. steve stared at her for a second before exhaling sharply through his nose.

if she wanted to flirt, he could flirt too.

he straightened slightly, trying to gather whatever remained of his dignity while robin watched with open fascination from the register.

“y’know,” steve started, attempting a smoother tone this time, “you’re pretty cocky for someone wearing a sailor costume.”

“there he is.”

“i mean it,” he continued, leaning against the counter now. “you spend, like, ten minutes complimenting me and suddenly think you run the place.”

“maybe i do.”

“it’s been three days.”

“and?”

that smug little smile that made him feel simultaneously annoyed and completely obsessed with her.

he shook his head. “unbelievable.”

“you like unbelievable.”

the words slipped out so casually that steve almost missed them. but he didn’t. so instead, he leaned a little closer over the counter. close enough to notice the way her expression shifted slightly.

“careful,” he said quietly. “you keep looking at me like that, people are gonna think you have a crush on me.”

steve noticed the way she looked away first this time. some of his confidence came rushing back.

oh, he could work with that.

“you think i’m cute?” he asked.

she smiled slowly. “i think you’re nervous.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

she tilted her head. “maybe i do.”

steve nodded once like that answer hadn’t just nearly killed him.

“cool,” he said.

“cool?” she repeated, trying not to laugh.

“yeah.” he nodded again. “cool.”

robin covered her face with both hands.

“steve,” she groaned through her fingers. “you’re flirting like a substitute teacher. and before you say anything, that does make sense.”

“shut up.”

“i, uh—” he pointed vaguely toward her bracelets. “those are nice.”

that finally made her break into full laughter, shoulders shaking as she leaned against the counter. and steve completely forgot to be embarrassed for a second because holy shit, she looked pretty laughing like that.

really pretty.

her laughter softened after a moment, and she looked back at him with a smile he was definitely going to think about later when he was trying to sleep.

steve stared at her for a full second. then immediately looked down at the counter because he could physically feel himself blushing again.

before steve could attempt another disastrous response, the clock above the counter clicked loudly toward closing.

she glanced up.

“finally,” she sighed dramatically. “my shift’s over, i'm out early today,” she stepped around the counter, grabbing her bag from one of the hooks in the back. the bracelets on her wrist clinked softly while she adjusted the strap over her shoulder.

then she looked back at him.

“bye, steve. oh— bye rob!”

“bye,” he answered too quickly. “drive safe!”

“i walked here!”

“right! uh,” he winced immediately. “right. okay. uh.. don't trip..?”

she laughed quietly again before heading toward the employee exit, pushing the door open with her hip. right before disappearing, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“see you tomorrow, sailor boy.”

the door shut behind her, and steve stood there staring at the closed door for a solid five seconds.

“sailor boy?” robin repeated incredulously.

steve slowly leaned forward until his forehead hit the counter. “jesus fucking christ..”

a/n: hi angels ♡ this is just a tiny piece to start things off — i promise proper introductions are coming!! thank you so much for reading!!!! your thoughts, comments, and ideas are always welcome and so appreciated (also i've tried using ” instead of " because i think it looks more aesthetically pleasing but first and last time hhehehhe)

who's excited for harry's new album???

—

steve always let his desire for a family be known.

not in a big, dramatic way. he never sat you down and said i want kids and a dog and a house with a porch.

well—actually, yeah. yes, he did.

but now that he was older, he knew there was a future. not that he’d stopped talking about his dream of six little nuggets— he just did it differently now. smaller than that. sneakier.

it lived in the details.

it was the way he insisted on buying too much food at the grocery store, like someone else might show up hungry. the way he kept extra toothbrushes under the sink. the way he said we when he meant me, without even realizing it.

right now, he’s standing in the kitchen in socked feet, staring into the fridge like it personally offended him.

“okay,” he says, hands on his hips. “be honest with me.”

you look up from the counter. “about what?”

“do we… have food,” he asks carefully. “or do we just have ingredients.”

you squint into the fridge. there’s leftovers. there’s vegetables. there’s something in tupperware neither of you can identify anymore.

“we have food.”

he hums, unconvinced. “interesting. because i don’t see pizza.”

you laugh. he smiles like that was the entire goal.

steve cooks like someone who means well. he tries. he reads the instructions out loud. he dramatically announces every step like he’s hosting a cooking show no one asked for.

“okay,” he says, holding up the pan. “it says medium heat.”

“that is definitely not medium heat,” you tell him.

“neh. i'll make it work,” he replies.

you watch him anyway. the way his brow furrows when he concentrates. the way he glances over at you like he needs approval. the way he relaxes when you don’t leave.

something sizzles too loudly.

“is it supposed to do that?” he asks.

“i don't think so.”

he turns off the stove immediately. “great. cool. love learning.”

later, when the food is edible but suspicious, you sit on the floor because steve says the couch feels “too formal for this meal.” he passes you a plate like it’s precious.

“i’m proud of us,” he says, serious.

“for?”

“surviving,” he says. then, quieter, “together.”

you don’t say anything. you just bump your shoulder into his. he leans back, lets his head fall against the cabinet.

this is the part he never says out loud.

how he likes when you’re here for the boring stuff. the errands. the nothing days. the way you fold laundry wrong but still help. the way you leave your shoes by the door like they belong there.

later, he’s folding clothes on the couch, very focused, tongue between his teeth.

“sweetheart, why are you folding my shirts like that?” you ask.

“because that’s how they fit,” he says. “this is a system.”

“that’s a mess.”

“it’s our mess,” he corrects.

he finds one of your shirts and holds it for a second too long. then he smiles to himself and folds it extra carefully.

“you know,” he says casually, “if we ever get a place with more rooms, i call dibs on the guest room.”

“i mean, sure.. but why?”

“because i’d turn it into something useful,” he says. “like a playroom. or an office. or—”

he stops. clears his throat.

“or whatever.”

you look at him. really look at him. the way he pretends this isn’t something he thinks about. the way he keeps it light, like you could laugh it off.

you don’t.

instead, you say, “you’d be good at that.”

his ears go red.

later, in bed, he reaches for you in his sleep. like he’s checking. like he needs to know you’re still there. his arm settles around your waist, warm and sure.

“hey,” he murmurs, half-asleep.

“hey.”

“we’re good, right?”

you smile into the dark. “yeah, baby. we’re good.”

he exhales, content. like that was all he needed.

steve always let his desire for a family be known.

he just let it look like love.

— enjoy!

a/n: hiiihhiiihihihi i will introduce them later, scouts honor!!! but this just to kickstart bc im trying to rebrand.. tell me how you guys like it!!! suggestions are so soossooso very welcome

───

one ✮ voice message — 2:36 a.m. / do you remember when i worked at scoops. or— wait. no. before that. *chuckle* when— when we were in high school. because sometimes i think about that and i’m like wow. *sigh* i was genuinely so stupid. *short laugh* like not in a charming way. in a medically concerning way. and then scoops happened. and suddenly i'm wearing a sailor outfit. getting yelled at by children.

*pause* do you know how humbling it is to be seventeen.. and have a six-year-old look you dead in the eyes and say “you scooped it wrong.” *looong sigh that ended up a chuckle.* because that changes you. fundamentally. *clears throat* anyway.

two ✮ voice message / i just realized.. *pause* i get to kiss you. like. whenever you let me. that's insane to me.

three ✮ voice message — 3:21 p.m. / do you think dogs know they're dogs. or do they think they’re just… little guys.

*soft laugh* because if i were a dog i think i'd be really confident. like yeah. i live here. this is my couch. *pause* sorry. i’m tired.

four ✮ voice message / why does everyone from high school look either insanely hot or deeply unwell. *sigh* there is no in between.

five ✮ voice message / hey.. just reminding you i'm your boyfriend.. in case you forgot. *giggle* which would be weird. but yeah.

six ✮ voice message / i'm at the store.. *sigh* do you want snacks or do you want me. *laughs at his own joke* because i can do both.

eight (hm) ✮ voice message / i love you. okay. bye.. *deep breath* love you.

⟢ enjoy <3

— ‎ꫂ᭪ ݁⋆˙ you’re just like a dream .ᐟ

( just like heaven )

summer romance • coworkers to lovers

what happens when the former king of hawkins high falls headfirst for his new scoops ahoy coworker?

steve harrington was supposed to survive the summer serving ice cream, getting bullied by robin buckley, and pretending the sailor uniform didn’t destroy his dignity. easy enough.

then she walked into starcourt mall wearing a customized scoops ahoy uniform, stacked bracelets, and a smile. that was enough to make steve forget how to flirt entirely.

unfortunately for him, she notices immediately.

now steve’s stuck spiraling over pretty smiles, late-night shifts, and the fact that his terrifyingly attractive coworker seems to enjoy making him nervous on purpose

between robin’s constant teasing, awkward flirting disasters, and the neon glow of starcourt mall, this might become the best — or worst — summer of his life.

chapter list

01. see you tomorrow, sailor boy

02. spinning on that dizzy edge