#steve and robin get a job

[palmtreesx3]

Act 5 - Right on the Edge

Edging (Robin Chapter)

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Summary: (7.6k) Robin’s sketchbook isn't quite out of pages, but her patience is on its last one. Meanwhile Steve’s got a new best friend who qualifies for a senior discount and Murray might’ve accidentally launched a fashion career before lunch. There’s a lot of coffee, not enough answers, and someone’s still whispering dirty nothings in the dark thinking it’s gonna fix things. It won’t. But damn if it doesn’t feel good trying.

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. There’s sage smoke, thigh worship, and enough edging - emotionally and otherwise - to make Freud uncomfortable. Expect uninvited houseguests, fashion-related foreplay, intimacy gymnastics, and a whiplash reminder that sometimes the hottest moments still leave you cold when the clothes go back on.

The weeks went by quickly, falling into a new and comfortable, almost too easy routine. Robin would stroll in late morning after staying the night at Alex’s place to find you splayed out on the sofa - usually only in one of Steve's shirts - socked feet in Steve's lap with a lukewarm half finished coffee within arms reach on the coffee table. You're usually chatting together, arguing or teasing one another over something miniscule. Either that or your nose was in a book while the record player spun and Steve sat in silence. Robin always wondered but never asked what was going on in his thick skull as he sat there in silence. She would bet a whole lotta nothing was clanging around in there if she had the chance to make a wager, though. 

Neither you or Robin asked or knew, but Steve's mind was always spinning in those silent moments. He was often times overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the feeling of whatever body part of yours was resting on his. Overwhelmed by whatever you did last night…or that morning with him. Overwhelmed by how he suddenly was so satisfied and content in silence. Overwhelmed by how liberating the time has been since he just fucking stopped caring about living up to anyone's expectations. Except yours. He wanted to live up to yours. In a way that didn't make a whole lot of sense to him yet. In a way that burned in his belly. 

So naturally, he was overwhelmed with fleeting thoughts of inadequacy (for you) and failure (for you). What is this lame guy managing a sex shop who ran away from Hawkins, fucking Indiana doing with her? What is SHE doing with him? His father be damned, but he spent years with his shit eating voice on his shoulder and old habits die hard. 

Some nights Robin would stroll in after whatever event she and Alex went to that evening only to find an empty house and a note from Steve on the fridge about staying at your place. At some point the notes stopped being posted. It was assumed she'd just see her friend when he strolled in for his shift at The Hideout. He's gotten real comfortable, real quick with a messy mop of hair that way. Spending every last second he could in bed under your sheets with you rather than worrying so much about how his hair laid before going out in public. Priorities change. He told her when she asked. No they haven't Dingus, you obviously still think with your dick. She clapped back. 

And Robin could tell, you liked it. You liked when the cowlick in his hair became more prominent because it wasn't tamed. You liked it when it stuck up just a little so you could play with the loose strands while he leaned over the counter and into your space. It would have made her sick if it were anyone else, but she loved Steve and she really likes you, too. So she never commented. 

Oh but Alex did. She loved pointing out the oggling and the puppy dog eyes Steve seemed to permanently wear. She loved making a show when she'd find something new of yours settling into the apartment. First a toothbrush . Then your toothpaste. Your own mug. A pair of your snow boots. A cozy new throw blanket that she knew Steve had no business picking out because it was cool as hell. She also loved to point out one important fact - they weren't officially anything at all. 

After you and Steve made up and he made you come two more times after he got you in his bed, there was no grand gesture. No fancy dates planned. No official request. Sure things changed - you were together all the time, you hung out with his friends and he started hanging out with yours, he fucked you in ways you've never felt before and he was absolutely insatiable about it. You all but turned into their third roommate and there was hardly ever a night you didn't fall asleep in his arms. But you didn't turn into his girlfriend. At least you don't think. 

Robin storms through the front door, droplets of melted, matted snow trailing her on the floor, boots kicked off haphazardly laying at awkward angles in the entryway. Her coat - well she reached to hang it up on the hook but missed. 

“Hey asshat! Listen to thi-”

Barreling down the hallway, she suddenly stops as the open bathroom door comes into view. She trips over her own feet just a bit, the sock she stole from Steve’s pile of clean laundry hanging a little loose and big over her toes got caught on the carpet treads. 

“Oh-ho-ho. Now what…in the hell…is this?” Robin questions, a deep mocking voice punctuating her words. 

The scene she stumbled on was truly one to behold. You, perched pretty up on the countertop, your apartment uniform of slouchy socks and oversized Steve-shirt intact. The yellowing bulbs from the light fixture on the wall behind you cast an amber glow right onto Steve Harrington, slotted perfectly between your spread legs. His eyes are wide, looking dead into Robin's in a stare-off. 

An abnormally cutesy giggle falls from your lips as you look between the two friends. 

“Oh Stevie-boy…what IS this? Look at you! You look like a swamp monster! What is she doing to you? God you're fuckin whipped! Her sticky bun must be TOP notch…”

“Jesus Christ Robin! It's…I wanted to try her skincare routine. It's … it's just a face mask!”

“Clay. With lavender.” You laugh again, tossing the package to Robin, who fumbles it immediately between both hands before dropping it on the floor. You tug on his face, turning it away from Robin and return to gently spreading what Robin thinks honestly looks like sludge over his face. 

“I'm going to pretend I don't see you, because I don't have the mental capacity to fully process what's going on here…but I have major news to share. Major.”

“Wh-” Steve mumbles as you press a clean finger over his lips, shaking your head for him to be still. 

“What is it Rob? We're listening.” you finish for him.

“Okay, SO. Remember that gallery opening me and Alex went to last week? Well it was so cool and…that's the one that I had that really good outfit Steve…. remember?”

He shakes his head no, because he does not remember.

“Okay well you're useless. Anyway, Alex ran off to try and network with some of the gallery people for her own gig and I was wandering and while I was grabbing a new drink I started to talk the ear off this older lady at the bar.”

“Youdontsay?” Steve mumbles out between his closed lips as you quickly swat at his chest and roll your eyes. 

Robin glares at Steve before she breaks the stare by barking out a laugh. “Sorry dude, I just can't take you seriously right now looking like that. But this lady was so cool. She was complimenting my outfit and we talked for like an hour! You should have seen how cool she looked and here she is talking to me about my outfit. Stupid cool.”

At this point you're grinning, because Robin’s stories always spiral so quickly and you're always so enamored with how passionate she gets by the smallest things. Steve, however much he loves her, is not quite as endeared. He swipes some of the hardening mask off from around his mouth so he can speak “Cool, cool, cool. We get it she was cool. So what happened Robbie. Finish the story.”

After staring at him in silence for a second Robin continues “Well, if you would let me finish… anyway this lady - Clare - she tells me she does this thing called Chicago Haute Couture Club and that they put on a fashion show every year…”

“Rob I love you but don't even tell me this lady asked you to be in their fashion show. You're the absolute clumsiest person I know, you could never…I love you but I can't let you do it.” Steve starts lecturing as you start gently wiping away his mask with a warm washcloth, his eyes darting sideways to glare at her. His hands fight not to come up and rest on his hip. 

“Dingus, I love you and I don't want you to yell at me but you're sounding an awful lot like your dad right now.”

His shoulders slump a little, and your slow wipe on his cheek halts as you brace for a reaction. But it doesn't come. “Yup. I am. I'm sorry .. Please continue, Rob. I…”

“It's cool man…don't sweat it.” 

They stare at each other for a beat before she picks back up again. “So yeah, Clare talks to me about my outfit and clothes for the longest time and then tells me all about this club or whatever and she asks me if I want to JOIN it. She told me they MAKE clothes…well they teach people how to design and make them and she apparently works for a fashion house and then this club does the show every year and…Steve she thinks I could be like…a designer one day or some shit. Wants me to work to be in next year's show. Offered to be my mentor!”

You beam at her news and hop off the sink to give her a hug, telling her how cool it is to have someone see something in her that she couldn't see herself. How amazing it is to be invited to grow and learn something new. That she absolutely can expect you and Steve to be front row at that annual show when she has pieces in it. 

Meanwhile, all time slows down around Steve and the only thing he can now focus on is how you still see him in your life a whole year from now. That you're there offering up their support as a pair a whole 365 days in the future. 

“Steve, it's great right? She's gonna be too cool for us soon.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he nods and spits out an agreement. 

“Yeah. Yeah Robbie. That's fuckin sick. You'll be great. Just dont cut up any of my cloth….or….ya know what. Nevermind. At this point you think every piece of clothing in this apartment is yours. I'm proud of you Rob.” Hooking his arm around her neck, he tugs her in for a hug. 

Once she pulls away thanking them both as she heads to her room, but not without shouting on her way “Hate to admit it but your face smells great and it was actually really soft.” before slamming her door closed.

Two weeks later and things at The Hideout have gotten no better. Simply put Kimberly is cramping their style. Robin has somehow even mastered the art of whispering, something Steve never thought he'd witness in his lifetime, just so that they can exchange thoughts, information or complaints just above a breath. 

“Even her displays are superior to ours! I get stuck in a catsuit and need to go to the hospital and she creates that fucking masterpiece without any planning. She makes ours looks like we knocked over a box and just fuckin left the merch there where it fell.” Robin gets out in a rare moment of alone time while Kimberly ran out to make copies at Kinkos. 

The bell rings and both of them wince, expecting their moment of solace to be over, but instead it's Alex pushing the door open with her shoulder as she balances three to-go cups in her hands. She purses her lips together in a kiss in Robin's direction and nods at Steve, who just barely pulls his eyes away from his tamagotchi that is absolutely circling the drain today. 

“Holy shit to what do we owe the pleasure Alex? Feels like I haven't seen you in weeks.” Steve shouts as she enters, fingers punching at the tiny buttons as he tries to feed his small creature analog hamburgers. 

And before she makes her way over to the counter and sets down their coffees Robin manages to huff out a soft “s’cause you haven't.” which makes Steve cock an eyebrow at her and file the snarky comment away for later direction. 

Steve picks up his cup and weighs the bit of tension he feels before he decides to tug on it just slightly. “Thanks for this.” he nods in her direction. “You keeping yourself busy?” 

“Yeah, really busy actually. That gallery opening I took Rob to like a month back was real good for me. Met some awesome people that might be giving me a cool opportunity to open and manage a gallery they're looking to procure. So…”

“Oh shit, that's crazy. Congrats Al…hey Rob is that the same opening you got hooked up with the fashion designer lady? You guys both landed big leads that night! Jackpot!” 

It's cute really, Robin considers for a moment how enthusiastic Steve is about it. Genuinely happy to see people in his life finding opportunities and fist pumping in the air like a dork to cinch his support. His big stupid happy grin fades a bit as he sees Alex staring at Robin looking confused. 

“What big lead?” she deadpans at Robin. 

“Oh-uh you know like…that fashion thing. I told you about it.”

“I don't think you actually did, Rob. Which is crazy because you literally word-vomit everything else in your brain.”

Steve's stupid grin fades fast as he hears Alex’s response to his friend. Hearing the bite in it. Not sure if he blew up his friends spot or what the fuck is going on. His hand stretched up and falls behind his head, rubbing the nape of his neck as he awkwardly makes a face and winces at what he seems to have started. “Hey hey it’s no big -”

“No big deal? Is that what you're gonna say, Steve? I dunno seems like a big deal when your girl doesn't tell you some kind of big news.”

“Al, it's not like that. You were so busy that night, and I was super out of place at first and you know I hate how socially awkward I am and I felt abandoned. But I made friends ..well maybe not a friend but…she complimented me on my clothes and she was so cool like….”

“She complimented you? I go network and end up getting my dream opportunity and you are hitting on some other girl?”

“NO. No. Alex that's not what I'm saying just let me freaking finish! She was an old lady! It…Jesus Christ. You've been busy and when I am with you you're only talking about this gallery and it's good. Great for you even. Awesome. And I have tried filling you in on the designer stuff I was doing but I think you just thought it was more of me playing around in Steve's closet and….well it's not you just…”

At this point Steve is trying desperately to become invisible as the words become more curt and biting. He's good at that, a skill mastered at a young age as he had to endure many adult arguments between his parents across the dinner table, up front in the car or just about anywhere else they could talk over his head about their disagreements and transgressions. He sips his coffee silently with wide eyes darting between the pair as they argue. Much like that little version of Steve, guiltily feeling like he's the reason for the argument in the first place. 

“God Rob, at this point I'm sure you're more invested in whatever you can call his relationship than you are in ours!”

Steve puts the coffee down and leans forward, meekly interjecting, looking at Robin “Wh-what does that mean?

“Seriously man, just get some balls and make her your girlfriend because mine cares about that way too much. Sure can hear about that till my ears bleed but she can't even tell me about whatever stupid opportunity some old lady propositioned her with at my event.” Alex bites at them both. 

“Dude, I didn't…..Alex I think you should go. Call Robbie later or something to work it out. Kimberly’s gonna be back any second and…she's….ugh she's…”

And as if on cue Kimberly saunters in the door, a stack of copied papers in her arms. She looks Steve up and down like she always seems to, making him feel like a piece of meat before chiming in “Oh perfect. You guys made yourself useful while I was out and helped a customer!”

Robin's lash line is glistening and Alex struts towards the door pushing past Kimberly and calling back sarcastically “Thanks for all of your assistance.” leaving the three coworkers standing there looking at one another all confused for very very different reasons..

After finishing her shift that day, more quiet than Steve has ever seen her since they've met, she pushes open the door to the shop and calls back to Steve “See ya. Probably at home. I gotta go for a walk “ 

“Yeah, yeah of course Robbie, just…be safe okay? Come back if you need anything.” He tries to be reassuring. He's not sure if he's good at it, or convincing but he means it. 

“Thank GOD that's over. She was a friggen buzzkill today.” Kimberly blurts out as soon as the bolt in the door catches. She turns to face Steve with a look on her face “Looks like it's just us for the rest of the night. Huh?”

“Wh-yeah? Yeah I guess so.” Steve's distracted, worried about Robin and still confused as fuck about the interaction between her and Alex just a few hours earlier. He didn't mean anything by it - asking where she's been. She hasn't been around as much, but he didn't think it was going to start some nuclear blow up. And Robin cried. She cried! He’s mentally going through the catalog of their friendship trying to think of just one moment he ever saw Robin Buckley cry despite their disastrous hometown and their unbelievable back stories. He's sure of it. She never shed a tear. 

He's so distracted that he does not notice the way Kimberly is staring him down. So dazed he barely registers her sliding up beside him, wedging herself in a sliver of space between him and the register. She starts picking at the loose strings on his polo without him noticing and just as he does a double take realizing just how close she's gotten and goes to ask her what she's doing, the bell rings and you walk in with Robin. 

His mouth drops open, feeling caught for doing absolutely nothing at all. He immediately wants to finish what he was going to say to Kimberly about his personal space, but …should he apologize to you for letting her get so close? What does he say to Robin who is looking at him like he's betrayed her for the second time in the last 24 hours. “Stephen James Harrington step the fuck away from the conventionally attractive cunt of a coworker. NOW.” Robin says with little wavering. Like a mom admonishing her small child. “She's abysmal. I leave you alone with her for an hour and you can't even keep your cock wrangled? What did she do to deserve that?” She nods in your direction and you stand there gaping. 

“Hey what the actual fuck? You guys are -” Kimberly is cut off by Robin again in a rare blaze of confidence. An actually articulate telling off falling from her lips. 

“No. No no. Your tiny skirts and shiny hair don't fool me. You're used to showing your tits off and getting your way but guess what? Even this dingus of a guy whose brain apparently still lives in the head of his dick and has spent most of his life being a man-whore and my absolutely lesbian, girl loving vagina are not fooled by you. We are not bewitched. You wanna get ahead, go blow Murray, but leave Steve alone. We finally…..well HE finally got a good woman and you're gonna blow his spot up? No no no. Don't touch a hair on that perfect little head of his. You hear me, Kimberly?”

A breath of a whisper leaves your lips “Fuckin get her girl. Look at you.” You say to Robin, both taken back and thrilled to see her stand her ground and stick up for herself, her friend. 

Kimberly tosses her hair over her shoulder as she barges through the beads into the back room to grab her things before stomping to the front door. “You guys are fucking weird. All of you. Obsessed with each other, too. Murray’s gonna hear about this shit. Unbelievable!” And she flips her hair again before marching out the door. 

Steve's been stunned into silence since this all began and he finally looks back at you and Robin before spiraling “I didn't …I don't know what...that wasn't….”

Robin marches over to her best friend, hands on his shoulders and shoves him. “Hey what the fuck Rob…I”

“No. You listen. Thank you.”

Steve's brows are furrowed, scrunched together, mouth hanging open and lip upturned in confusion. Robin smacks his shoulder. “Thank you. I know you didn't like…intentionally do it but you forced me to deal with something I've been avoiding with Alex and….I just…thank you for being so oblivious you're actually helpful. And for not being judgemental about how idiotic I am with trying to be a girlfriend. And I figured I should be less judgemental of you and your - ” she points back and forth between you and Steve “- whatever this is.” She rolls her eyes. “I ran into her at the coffee shop. She helped me feel a little less maniacal before we walked back here. I like her and she's good and I thought Alex was good for me and…maybe but….I don't know now. But please don't be an idiot, Steve.”

He's still looking fundamentally confused and Robin's patience is thin. “Just like…ask her. For real. I can't take this anymore. Please.” and with that she turns and walks out, leaving you standing with a flabbergasted Steve rocking on his heels trying not to be self conscious. A feeling he's been exploring a lot since he's moved here it seems. 

“I…uh. I kinda started to think that it was so good, if I asked you to actually be my girl that I would find a way to ruin it. Or you'd just finally figure out I'm some self centered jerk. You deserve better than that. I get it if you wanna call me an asshole or whatever… “ 

“I don't care, Steve. I like you. A lot. This is more than just fun for me, but I can also be patient.”

“No- no Rob's right. I need to just bite the bullet. I need to stop being so scared of myself. She was right to call me out. Jesus Christ…what's the worst that could happen right? Crushing heartbreak and eternal invalidation but….”

You giggle at his self depreciation as he steps towards you, taking your hands in his. “So will you? Be my girl?” 

They'd just gotten the afternoon lull when the bell above the door gave a jangle that had all the subtlety of a slap. It's been a quiet day so far, not many customers, Murray's not expected in for the day and - thank God - no Kimberly on the schedule, either, because it's been even worse with her around since Robin called her a cunt right to her perfectly matte, pink bubblegum cheeked face. 

It gave the two some time to quietly talk about big things. Mostly Steve and his newfound status as a boyfriend, but he tried valiantly to edge in some subtle opportunities for Robin to open up about whatever is going on with her and Alex. He hasn't seen her for days and his friend has been uncharacteristically quiet. 

Robin finally looked up, expecting a nosy regular or maybe a mail drop. Instead, in walked a vision. A man - tall, thin, all angles and audacity - with a huge vintage fur coat draped over his shoulders and a leather weekender bag in tow. He looked like he’d walked off the set of a Bowie music video or maybe crawled out of the merch table of a Bauhaus show.

“I need your most versatile harness,” he announced, peeling off his sunglasses with a flourish, “and a flogger that won't fall apart halfway through a monologue.”

Robin blinked. “...It's barely noon.”

He turned toward her like she’d just asked him to justify gravity. “And?”

Fair enough.

Steve, ever the sentinel of chaos, peered out from the storeroom and immediately made a face. “Oh good,” he muttered. “Another theater gay. Just what we needed.”

Robin gave him the finger without turning around.

“Right this way, sir,” she said, voice smooth as velvet, “you’ve caught us during peak operating hours.” she says with an extra dry tinge. 

“Perfect,” he replied, following her into the back aisle like a man on a mission. “I'm hosting a reading tonight. A Midsummer Night’s Wet Dream. Fringe crowd. They expect a level of commitment.”

Robin didn’t ask questions. Just handed him a black leather flogger and watched his eyes light up like Christmas.

By the time he’d checked out with said flogger, two sets of cuffs, and something called a “service top starter kit” Robin was almost smiling again.

Steve, watching from behind the register, just shrugged. “You always get the good ones.”

“That’s ‘cause I speak fluent freak,” she shot back, but her tone was lighter now “It comes free with the homosexuality.” Almost soft.

That night, unlike most nights before, she didn't drink a beer in the living room; she didn't giggle over wine with you; she didn't paint her nails on the fire escape; she didn’t go home with Alex. Instead, she sat cross-legged on her floor, knees tucked under her oversized pajama pants, an old box of colored pencils spilled across the carpet. Pages torn from a legal pad were scattered around her like leaves — messy sketches of harness mods, corset ideas, a truly unhinged concept for a sheer-lace utility vest that had no reason to exist but still… felt right.

Robin hadn’t drawn like this since high school. Not seriously. Not in a way that felt like it meant something. She paused only once, to dig out the pack of American Spirits Steve kept forgetting were hidden in the kitchen drawer. No music. No phone. Just the faint sound of the fridge kicking on, and the scratch of her pencil against paper.

She wasn’t thinking about the fight. Or Alex. Or Steve. Or the stranger in the fur coat who’d looked at her like she actually knew what she was doing.

She was thinking about the possibility.

The Hideout was always cold in the morning. Not freezing, but just cold enough to make the linoleum tiles feel hostile through the soles of her boots. Robin didn’t complain. She just tugged on the sleeves of her too-big sweater that was most certainly one of Steve's old ones - a clear trend by now - probably stolen by accident a week ago, and flopped into the creaky stool behind the counter.

Her sketchbook hit the wood with a soft thud. Legal pad. Ink smudges on the edge of her palm. She’d already gone through three pens this week. She didn’t even remember using them that much.

Steve was talking. Or maybe he’d been talking for a while and she just tuned in now.

“- so anyway, I sat down like I always do, and this guy -  like, did I tell you last time he was old. Real old. Definitely fought in a war or something, the way he sits. Anyway, he asks if he can share the bench again. And I’m like, obviously, yes, it’s a public bench, sir. But we start talking again like no problem, and he’s telling me about how he used to coach kids’ baseball back in the day and how no one wants to volunteer anymore, and I just -”

“You’re replacing me with the old dog guy,” Robin muttered, pencil dragging across the page without looking up. “Jesus, Steve, it’s only been like three weeks since you started bench-sitting and you’re already forming replacement best friend bonds?”

“He’s wise!” Steve protested, mouth full of cereal. “He said I have kind eyes.”

“That’s what they said about Ted Bundy.” Robin snapped back, flipping a page. She smirked. “What else did Grandpa Enlightenment say? That you’ve got a good aura? That you’re wasting your potential in a smut shop?”

Steve paused. “...actually, yeah. But like…not in the my-dads-an-asshole kinda way.”

Robin looked up then, not with her usual sarcastic spark, but with a weird kind of curiosity. “Wait, seriously?”

“He said I reminded him of this kid he coached. Said he could see me doing something with kids. Teaching or some shit.”

“That’s...almost wholesome. And wildly off-base.”

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. Got me thinking.”

He wandered behind the counter, peeking over her shoulder like he had any right to. She angled the pad away with a practiced elbow nudge, but not before he caught the edge of what looked like a corset sketched over wide-legged pants and some kind of...armor plating?

“What is that?” he asked, reaching again. “Is that a bulletproof vest? With ribbons?”

“Don't touch my genius,” she mumbled, turning a page. “It’s a concept piece.”

“A concept for what, a vampire-themed runway show?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she flipped to another page, then another. Steve saw color-blocked silhouettes, notes in the margins like “pleated vinyl?” and “vintage sheer over denim??” It was like watching a radio station change frequencies. Robin was here - in the room, in the store - but most of her had tuned out, broadcasting from somewhere else.

“Okay, seriously,” Steve said, grabbing the edge of the pad. “What are you doing lately? You’ve been glued to this thing since the paddle guy came in.”

“It’s not because of him.”

“But it started after him.”

She looked up again, met his eyes, and shrugged. “Maybe it’s all of it. Him. Clare from the gallery. You. Me. I don’t know. It’s like…I’m starting to see things.”

Steve blinked. “...Like hallucinations?”

She tossed a pen at him.

“I mean like... design. Textures. Shapes. The way a pair of cargo pants bunch around a waist. The way elastic fights with leather. Stuff like that. I see it and I get itchy. Like I have to get it down or I’ll forget.”

“You’re having sexy fashion visions,” he muttered. “Neat.”

“I am having sexy fashion visions,” she agreed, flipping another page. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

“Hey, whatever keeps the demons at bay.”

That was when Murray appeared.

Not through the door - somehow, always from the walls at the absolutely most inconvenient of times. “What keeps the demons at bay?” he asked, slapping a folder down on the counter. “Is it lavender oil? That’s what keeps my demons at bay.”

“Your demons are probably just unpaid parking tickets,” Robin said without looking up.

“Oh, Red,” Murray deadpanned, “my demons are much worse than that.”

He glanced down at her open sketchpad just as Steve tried (and failed) to block it with both arms.

Murray made a sound. Something like a startled raccoon but higher-pitched. “What the hell is this?”

“Nothing,” Robin said, immediately reaching to close the book.

“No. No, no, no, Robin Louise Buckley. You give that here. That is not nothing. That is avant-garde brilliance wrapped in a goth fever dream wrapped in vintage polyester.”

Robin narrowed her eyes. “You’re not allowed to use the term ‘avant-garde.’”

“You think I don’t know fashion?” Murray asked, offended. “I know people. I know people in everything. Publishing. Manufacturing. Rope work. Button design. And — as fate would have it — fashion.”

She snorted. “You know a guy who does buttons?”

“I know a guy who makes buttons,” Murray said proudly. “And another who used to sew for Drag Race — the underground one, not the car one. Point is, if you’re sketching like this, I can get eyes on it. Legitimate ones.”

Robin’s heart thudded a little faster, but she kept her voice dry. “And in exchange, I assume you want full rights to my name, likeness, and eternal soul?”

“I want to be your agent,” he said, dead serious.

“You want to take credit for me.”

“I want 10%, but yes.”

She looked at Steve. He was trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

“This is so stupid,” she muttered. “You’re all so stupid.”

But she didn’t close the sketchpad.

Robin’s key stuck in the lock. Not all the way, not enough to panic, just the kind of stubborn jam that made her curse under her breath as she shoved the door with her hip. When it gave way, the apartment was unusually quiet. No record playing, no Steve stomping around singing Hall & Oates, no kitchen fan whirring above something slightly burnt.

Just the smell of sage. And coffee, even though neither of them had made coffee since lunch. Both were simply tell-tale signs that you were cozied up somewhere inside.

She kicked her boots off, left them half sideways by the door, and turned the corner into the living room.

You were there, as anticipated. Sitting on the arm of the couch in one of Steve’s ugly-ass cable knit sweatshirts leftover from the wardrobe his mommy bought him - some rich ass Ralph Lauren, she's pretty sure - knees pulled up under you, cradling a chipped mug like it was holy and the kind of soft focus Robin normally ignored. But something about your stillness stopped her short.

Then she saw Alex.

Curled in the far corner of the couch, knees to her chest, hoodie sleeves pulled over her fists. Her hair was frizzy in a way Robin hadn’t seen in weeks. Undone. Unraveled. And her eyes were rimmed red like she’d either just finished crying or was still figuring out how.

Robin’s throat tightened. You stood up, walked past Alex, gave her a light touch on the arm - not quite a squeeze, not quite a brush - and murmured something low as you passed. “If it still matters, it’s worth saying. But don’t talk until you’re ready.”

You walk past Robin, edges of that stupid country club sweater grazing your thighs, reaching out and squeezing her hand as you put down your mug in the sink. “She’s been here about an hour,” you said gently. “Didn’t say much. Just… waited.” And then you left her to it, shuffling off into Steve's room, it's only a second before Robin hear's the low buzz of the record player kicking on and a soft hum of music to act as a buffer.

Robin hovered for a second. A beat too long. The air between them was thick with all the words that had stacked up over a week of too brief answering machine messages and avoiding connections.

“Hey,” she said finally.

Alex looked up. Not with fury. Not with drama. Just that kicked-dog softness that made Robin’s chest hurt.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Robin nodded and she led her into her bedroom. The door shut softly behind them. No grand declarations. No immediate apology - from either side. But Robin is still not sure she has anything to even apologize for, so she's not sure why she feels a sudden guilt ball up in her chest.

Alex stood in the middle of the room like she didn’t know where to sit, or if she was allowed to.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Robin didn’t move.

“I was mean. And I was insecure. And I hated that you didn’t tell me about the fashion thing, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t… make space. And that wasn’t fair. I know I've been busy and that made me a bit distant but…”

Robin crossed the room slowly. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked at a loose thread in her sleeve.

Alex stayed standing.

“I was proud of you,” she added. “I am proud of you. I just didn’t say it. And God I fucking hate to admit it but I'm jealous of fucking Steve Harrington.”

Still no response.

“I’ve missed you.”

Robin looked up then, with eyes soft, and glassy. She gave the barest nod before she blinked away any semblance of emotion from those sparkling wet eyes. 

Alex stepped forward.

It wasn’t immediate, the way they touched. It wasn’t hunger. It was that thing that happens when your body knows someone else’s rhythm better than your own. When you remember how to fit, even if your mind isn’t sure you belong there anymore.

She leaned down, pressed her lips to Robin’s. It was slow. Careful.

Robin kissed back.

Her hands stayed limp on her thighs, but her mouth moved. It followed the curve of Alex’s jaw, her tongue soft and slow, letting herself be guided. Alex sank to her knees in front of her, cupped her face with both hands like she could hold her there forever.

“You feel far away,” Alex whispered.

“I’m not,” Robin lied.

The next kiss was deeper. Messier.

Alex slid between her knees with an ease that came from history, not performance. Her hands were already under Robin’s sweater, splayed across her ribs, thumbs sweeping lazy arcs beneath her bra like they’d never unlearned each other.

Robin felt it. In the coil of her stomach, in the way her thighs clenched around nothing. Her head tipped back against the wall and she let her mouth part, breathing heavy as Alex kissed down her neck - slow and reverent -  like she was tracing old lines on a favorite page.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Alex whispered into her collarbone. “My very own personal work of art.”

Robin didn’t answer. Just dragged her fingers through Alex’s hair, tugging gently at the base of her neck until her lips returned to hers. The kiss deepened again. Wetter, open-mouthed, full of shared breath and faint whimpers.

Alex’s hands slid down to Robin’s waistband and paused, seeking permission,  but not with words. Just a look. Robin answered by shifting, hips lifting just enough to help. It was muscle memory. Trust. Habit. Want.

The kind of want that hummed in her fingertips but hadn’t reached her heart.

Still, it was enough.

Alex pulled her jeans down with practiced grace, then kissed her way down from sternum to belly to the inside of her thighs until Robin was breathless and shivering, legs parted, hands twisted in the sheets.

“Let me,” Alex murmured.

Robin nodded. And then - Fingers. Soft and slow at first. Drawing lazy circles at the edge of everything, barely dipping in. Not teasing to be cruel, but like Alex wanted to draw it out, wanted to prove she remembered. That she knew every flick and press and angle that made Robin sigh and tremble and come undone.

She was good at it. Maddeningly good. She curled her fingers just enough to chase the spark without catching it. Robin whimpered, hips canting forward, her breath catching on every exhale.

 Soft and slow at first, then deeper. A rhythm she knew, remembered, opened to without hesitation. Alex’s mouth was on her inner thigh, her voice low and filthy against her skin, whispering praise like poetry between strokes.

“You always sound so pretty for me.”

“I missed how you taste.”

“Fuck, baby, you're perfect like this.”

Robin gasped, spine curling up as her body took over. Her hips rolled. Her fingers gripped the back of Alex’s head. Her mouth fell open in a silent moan that turned vocal halfway through.

Alex pulled back. Just slightly. “You’re already so fucking close,” she whispered, her mouth hot against the inside of Robin’s thigh. “You’re always so easy for me.”

Robin clenched her teeth, nodded once, sharp. She didn’t want to be edged. Not tonight. Not on purpose. But she didn’t say no. Couldn’t make herself say anything.

Alex’s tongue joined her fingers, licking slow and flat up her center, then circling - almost where Robin wanted it - but not quite.

A whine slipped from her throat. Embarrassing. Raw.

“Patience,” Alex murmured.

She thought it was seductive. Thought it was working. Maybe it was. Robin’s body didn’t know the difference. Her thighs were shaking, breath hitching with every denied crest, but something in her chest pulled tight. Not from the rhythm, but from the distance. The way Alex kissed like she was making up for something, instead of being with her. Like this was performance. A gift-wrapped apology with teeth.

Still, Robin’s body obeyed.

Alex finally - finally - flattened her tongue, slow and firm, adding pressure in all the right places. Her fingers worked in tandem, curling just right, the pace picking up, wet and perfect. Robin gasped, twisted the sheets, choked on her own breath.

She was gone. Unraveled.

The orgasm hit like a wave crashing against rock, loud and sharp and relentless. She moaned, full-bodied, the sound swallowed in Alex’s mouth and her own stuttering breath. Her hips rolled once more, then locked. Legs trembling. Back arching. A groan ripped from her throat as her vision spotted at the edges.

It was sharp and full and scorching. A rush through every nerve ending. Her body trembled, thighs locking tight, voice cracking in the back of her throat as heat bloomed low and fast and blinding.

Alex’s mouth softened against her, slower now, gentler, kissing each thigh like she was sealing the moment shut. Her cheek rested against Robin’s stomach, and her fingers drew lazy patterns near the crease of her hip, trailing invisible lines that didn’t mean anything.

For a moment - a perfect moment - the world disappeared. Her brain stopped spinning. Her skin felt electric. She was seen. She was known. She felt… almost okay.

It felt like a window had opened.

And then like blinds pulled closed at sunset, the feeling began to fade. The room dimmed. And so did she.

Alex laid her head against her stomach again, fingers still softly tracing her hipbones, lips pressing gentle kisses into her skin like punctuation. She looked up, smiling. Warm, present and in love.

Robin smiled back.

Not a lie. Not the whole truth either. Inside, there was a quietness. Not bad. Not painful. Just… hollow. Like the heat had burned through everything, left nothing behind but steam.

Robin stared at the ceiling, breathing hard. Heart pounding. She reached down, fingers finding Alex’s hair, stroking through it slowly. Her chest felt empty where it had once been full. Full of that steam. Like the heat had evaporated and left her skin cool. The good lingered, sure - her body wasn’t lying. But her heart…

Her heart hadn’t been there the whole time.

Alex looked up, smiling like she’d done something brave. Something right. Like she’d fixed it. Robin smiled back again. She always did. She exhaled, long and slow and twirled those thin fingers adorned with chipped blue nail polish through Alex’s hair, and didn’t say a word.

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and existential dread.

Robin shuffled in wearing boxers and a tee, the logo faded to near invisibility, the hem stretched from too many wash cycles and too many people falling asleep in it on the couch. At this point it's unclear to even Steve if the clothes were his first. They're just communal now. 

Steve stood at the stove, barefoot, wielding a spatula like it had insulted one of the kids from back home.

“Morning, sunshine,” he chirped.

Robin blinked at him. Just once.

Steve pointed the spatula at the toaster. “Before you ask - yes, that smell is the toast. Yes, it’s also a little bit plastic. No, you’re not allowed to throw it away. I can scrape the bad parts off.”

She wordlessly opened the fridge. Poured herself a glass of orange juice. Took one sip. Set it down.

“Someone’s chipper,” she muttered.

“That would be me. I’m chipper.” He flipped something. It sizzled aggressively. “Had a full night’s sleep next to my pretty girlfriend, three eggs, and a deeply unnecessary conversation with my new friend Robert on the bench and you one hundred percent owe me a drink, because I revived my stupid tamagotchi. Ha!”

Robin dropped into a chair with the weight of a dying star. “Jesus, geriatric Bob again?”

“Don’t be jealous. You had your shot at being my best friend.”

She rested her cheek on the cool tabletop and stared at the salt shaker.

Steve plated something vaguely egg-adjacent and set it in front of her. “He told me I should volunteer at the youth center”

“That’s because he wants someone to co-host Bingo Night so he can finally retire.”

“Or,” Steve said, sitting across from her and stealing a piece of his own toast back, “he’s seen my potential.”

Robin made a face.

“What?” he asked, mouth full. “I’m good with kids. I’ve got… warmth.”

“You have warm breath. That’s not the same.”

Steve laughed. “You’re cranky.”

“I’m…” she paused. “I’m tired.”

He tilted his head. “You and Alex…”

Robin didn’t answer.

“She was here last night? I heard …nevermind. You guys figured things out?”

The room sat with Robin’s silence for a minute. Long enough for the toast to cool and the egg to look sad. “I think I have to end it,” she said softly.

Steve didn’t react right away. Just took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Looked at her with that dumbass empathy he always pulled out at the worst possible moments. “Because it’s not good?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Because it is. Or… was. It’s just not mine anymore.”

Steve nodded slowly. “That’s very poetically heartbreaking of you.”

“I’m in my poetic heartbreak era,” she deadpanned.

He pointed his fork at her. “That’s gonna look great in your memoir one day.” Robin exhaled a half-laugh. Then dragged her fork through the eggs and didn’t eat them.

Outside, the sun kept rising. And inside, Robin finally knew what came next.

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[morganbritton132]

It’s ladies night at the gay bar Eddie works at which means no men allowed, which means, ‘how the hell did this dork in a polo make it pass the bouncer and how the hell has no one complained about him yet?’

Eddie watches the admittedly gorgeous guy approach the bar and ask for a drink. Eddie responds with, “How did you get past Frank?”

“The bouncer?” Pretty boy asks. “Oh, I asked if I could come in.”

“You asked?”

“Yeah?”

“And he let you?”

“Yeahhh?”

“None of these girls are going to go for you,” Eddie tells him in case he somehow missed that this was the queerest bar in town. “They’re lesbians. They like women.”

“I know!” The guy - Steve, Eddie will find out later - smiles, bright and big. “Isn’t that great?!”

Something in Eddie curdles with disgust because, “Nice try, buddy. You’re not going to ‘turn’ a lesbian.”

“Hope not,” Steve laughs and then pulls a stack of Polaroids out of his pocket. “Look at this.”

He holds one out to Eddie, showing him the image of a girl looking done-as-shit with the camera in her face. There’s a phone number written at the bottom.

“This is Robin," Steve says fondly. “Shes my best friend, and a lesbian, and the best person I’ve ever met, and I love her…she deserves a girlfriend so I’m-“

“Advertising her?”

“Helping get her a date,” Steve finishes. “This will make a great story at their wedding.”

“That’s insane…and strangely endearing.”

“Yeah, I’m like that,” Steve says, sliding over a Polaroid of Robin giving the camera the bird. “That’s my phone number too. Just so you know.”

[lazylittledragon]

mombin pt 5!! we are Rocketing through this

(1) (2) (3) (4)

[whathehonestfuk]

Rockstar! Eddie and transfem! Hoh! Stevie

Eddie being aggressively enthusiastically publicly in love with her because that's his fucking wife! (No matter if they can't get legally married because Stevie can't change her gender marker and gay marriage isn't legal yet)

Eddie getting worried for all of five minutes when the transphobia and abelism start rolling in but Stevie is a mean girl and a bitch at heart and puts it to good use

Robin being Stevie's go to asl interpreter who signs all the stupid shit people say so she can laugh at them with Stevie

Corroded coffin refusing to be interviewed or photographed ect by anyone who has been openly transphobic or abelism to anyone not just Stevie

Their poor pr manager whose trying to get them to tone it down a little bit to be more "mainstream and palatable to people" which only gets them to double down because fuck that

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie exchange looks. “Can you tell how long?” Nancy asks.

“Less than a day,” El says, sounding apologetic. “Other than that…” she shakes her head and slips the blindfold off. “I am sorry.”

“You’ve done more than enough, El,” Robin soothes. “Thank you.”

“We have to go after her.” Nancy looks pleadingly at Steve. “You want to save her, too, right? Not just Will?”

“I do,” Steve nods. “I didn’t know how long we’d have. I’d hoped we’d have more time, but it looks like we’ll have to go in twice: once for Barb and Will, and once to kill Vecna.” He looks around the room, focusing on the three boys. “I know Will was the artist, but Lucas, I know you can draw too. If we get you a map, can you find points and direct us?”

Lucas sets his jaw and nods. “I’ll do my best.”

“Okay. Here’s the plan, then: you three, stay here with El.” He looks at Dustin, Mike, and Lucas. “We’ll have walkie talkies, so we can keep in constant communication. El, how long can you stay in that space?”

She looks at him steadily. “I can do it.”

Steve looks at her, then nods. “I trust you. Robs, you’re with me?”

“Just try and get rid of me, Dingus.”

Dingus? Jonathan mouths to Nancy, who shrugs.

“Nance, Jon, and Eddie. You’re with us. We’re getting in and out as fast as we can. If all goes according to plan, we’ll have two more people coming with us on the out. They’ll be weak, but between the five of us, we can and will get them out safely. Robin, you stay here, direct the weapon-making. Make sure I get a bat. I’m going to go get walkie talkies, masks, and a whole lot of first aid supplies.”

“Got it,” Robin nods, then points at Eddie, Jonathan, and Nancy. “You three, with me.” She leads them to the backyard, and Steve knows she’s bringing them to the shed, where his old sports things and various tools are.

He looks to the boys. “Keep working on those plans. We’ll need them for the second attack. El, do you want to rest before we begin?” She considers it, then nods. “Okay. You know where the bed is. I’ll be back in less than an hour, alright?”

She nods and begins climbing the stairs. Steve looks around once more, taking stock, then grabs his keys and walks out the front door.

He gets to the store no problem, walks inside and starts filling his basket. Seven walkie talkies, seven masks, seven pairs of goggles, antibacterial cream, bandages, a suture kit, some ice packs. Two bottles of pain pills. He thinks about it, then makes his way to the front desk, smiling at the employee. “Hey, could I use your phone for a minute, please?”

He looks at Steve, unimpressed, then shrugs and gestures towards it. Steve thanks him and dials his home number.

“Hello?”

“Dustin. Do me a favor and get Eddie?”

“Yeah. One second.”

He hears Dustin yelling for Eddie as he walks outside, then a minute later, Eddie’s on the line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie. I grabbed some pain meds, but I’m wondering if they’re going to be strong enough. I can pay you, but could you…”

“Yeah, no, I’ve got it. And no, dude, you’re not paying me. Not for this. I’ll head home and get them right now.”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “Thanks so much, Eds, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Uh, y-yeah, no problem. I’ll, uh, go now.”

“Okay. I’ll probably beat you back. See you there.”

“See you,” Eddie agrees, and they hang up,

Steve looks around for a few more minutes, finds a package of nails, adds those to his basket and goes to check out.

He’s well aware he probably looks like a serial killer, but he knows from experience the cashier is blindly scanning his items.

His luck runs out when Chief Hopper walks in and ambles towards the checkout counter. Steve does his best to keep the sigh internal. “Chief,” he says, giving him a little nod. The chief returns the greeting, peering over into Steve’s basket.

Steve suddenly becomes very interested in the gum options.

“What’s all this?” Hopper asks, inclining his head towards the basket.

Steve shrugs. “A few different things.” Please accept it, please accept it, please accept it-

“Like what?”

Dammit. “Uh… well, I noticed I didn’t have a first aid kit, and I figured I probably should, y’know? And I wanted to do some work around the house.”

Hopper grunts. “The masks and walkies?”

“Um.” Steve blanks. “It’s for a game with my friends?”

Hopper sighs. “If I get a call from your neighbors-”

“You won’t,” Steve says. Promises.

“Fifty-one sixty-four, sir,” the cashier says. Steve’s never been more grateful to be interrupted.

He pays, grabs his things, and sends Hopper a salute on his way out the door. He notices Hopper watching him as he leaves the parking lot, and he forces himself not to speed on the way home.

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[artiststarme]

Baby, it's cold outside

@nburkhardt, you asked for a cute introspective fic, I hope this fits! I hope everyone likes it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Eddie Munson had always hated winter. He hated snow, sleet, frost, and hail. Unfortunately for him, that's all there was in Indiana between late November to early March. The nights grew darker, the trailer was always slightly too cold, and his loneliness seemed exacerbated. Unlike the peacefulness and solitude that he felt in autumn, empty nights in the trailer’s living room while Wayne was at work only served to make him feel alone… burdensome. 

It wasn’t like he could cry to his uncle about feeling lonely when he’d been pulling double shifts at the plant practically since Eddie had moved in with him. He couldn’t complain to his bandmates that hardly put up with him enough to call them friends. And it wasn’t like he had anyone else in the town that cared about him even remotely. 

Most of all though, Eddie hated how the winter reflected the frigidity of the town. He knew they hated him year-round but it seemed so much more prominent in the cold. Their malicious laughter when he slipped on ice, the hardly-visible sneers from underneath scarves, and cruel words seemed harsher. 

One winter day though, everything changed for Eddie. He’d chosen that day to avoid the stifling isolation at his trailer. Winter had only just begun but its effects were already visible. Eddie’s pale skin looked paler, the bags under his eyes were heavier, and the tip of his nose was almost permanently red. The weather was dreadful, softly snowing with the flakes sticking to the ground. Still, he had to leave the trailer park to keep his sanity, weather be damned. He sat on a low hanging swing at the elementary school playground, snowflakes stuck to his hair and a blunt between his lips. He was still alone but it wasn’t so unbearable out in the open. 

“Hey, uh. Mind if I join you?”

A sudden voice took away Eddie’s peace and he flailed like a cat electrocuted before he was able to regain his bearings and grip the swing chains with a vice grip. He choked on the smoke of his blunt and looked through leaking eyes up at the cause of his shock. 

“The fuck?” He hacked while trying to determine who’d bothered him.

“I’m sorry man, I really didn’t mean to scare you. I just… you looked lonely and I’m kinda lonely too so I thought we might as well be less lonely together,” the stranger’s voice seemed genuinely apologetic and it pulled the strings in Eddie’s heart. As soon as his vision cleared though, his system was flushed with ice.

“Harrington? What the fuck are you even doing here? You come all the way over here to pick on little ole me? Pathetic. Where are your cronies, hiding behind the bushes waiting for your signal so you all can jump me? Fuck you,” Eddie snarled before trying to get up from his place. He stopped only once Harrington’s hands landed on his shoulders and pushed him back down. 

Harrington looked gutted, “no man, I’m alone. I was just… trying to get out of the house when I saw you here. I’m sorry for bothering you, I’ll uh. I’ll see you around, Munson.”

Despite his words, he stayed still for a moment longer, eyes focused directly on Eddie’s. Upon closer inspection, he didn’t appear to be the King Steve he always was at school. He wasn’t confident here. His posture was slumped, his mouth was twisted in a grimace, and his perfect hair looked like he’d tried to pull it out himself. Most notably though were the angry bruises on his cheekbone and along his jaw. Eddie had seen more than enough abuse in his life and the aftermath left it like a scar. Hell, he saw it every day in the mirror. 

He couldn’t let Steve leave with this revelation. It seemed that the King and the Freak had more in common than they’d ever known. With a sigh, he pulled a fresh blunt out of his leather jacket pocket and handed it to Steve. 

“Here man, I could use the company. And I’m not sure I could finish this one alone.”

Steve’s grimace fell to reveal the most breathtaking smile Eddie had ever seen. “I’m sure you could Munson, but I’ll stick around. Thanks!”

They sat on the swings in the snow for what seemed like hours. They talked, they laughed, they sat in comfortable silence at times. When their hands got too frozen and their faces flushed, they stood awkwardly as if neither one wanted the night to end. 

“So uh, you want to come back to my place? It’s closer and I have hot chocolate,” Eddie muttered, his fingers twisting his rings in anxiety. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening here but he knew he didn’t want it to end. 

Steve ducked his head to hide a grin, but accepted nonetheless. “Lead the way, Munson.”

They spent the remainder of the night drinking hot cocoa, cuddling in Eddie’s small twin bed, and sleeping off what was a great night for them both. When they woke up, things weren’t awkward or stilted, it felt like they were just as they should be. Thus in the winter of 1983, King Steve and Eddie “the Freak” Munson became friends in the public eye. It caused quite the stir around both the school and the town alike but it didn’t bother them. And in the safety and privacy of their homes, they became more. They became more than strangers or friends and instead evolved directly into boyfriends that held hands, space heaters for each other in the cold of the trailer, and partners that they could each depend on. 

After what started off as a dreary night alone in an empty playground, Eddie’s life changed for the better. From that day forward, his hatred of the winter faded into a feeling of gratitude. The cold weather had guided two lost and lonely souls toward each other. After that, seeing snow or frost, or sleet always reminded Eddie of the day that he and Steve became each other’s person. They would never be alone again as long as they had each other. 

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[leaflingsound]

thinking about genderfluid/trans fem steve again (happens at least once every six months for the past seven years, now) and how much I need him to have a total breakdown pre-realization where he just absolutely fucks up his hair. I'm talkin dull scissors in the shower at 3am levels of fucking it up. and then he sits there on the cold tile floor in his big empty house with wet tufts of hair clinging to his skin and cries for 45 minutes straight like a little kid who wants their parents, because he can't tell which way is up anymore and doesn't know what to do.

[the-lark-ascending69]

I loove the android robin au it's really one of the most interesting au I have seen in a while.

I am always happy to see new post abt it

Also making my favourite characters go through hell and then receiving comfort from their people is like the best thing ever for me so every time I see a whump!Robin post I like automatically

People loving android!Robin makes me so happy anansnssndsnsns she's curious and excitable and full of wonder and the world keeps punishing her for simply being alive. Sometimes it's too painful even for me, big whump lover 😭😭 though seriously, there is not enough Robin whump, and while all the characters in the show are very whumpeable, hurting my little blorbo Robin feels special because... she's just so deeply lonely. She's lonely and she thinks she deserves to be because of something wrong with her (pulling this interpretation from Surviving Hawkins lore which is canon to me 😭). That was a big idea I had when I first came up with android!Robin... that there is something wrong with her. Broken. In this AU she's literally broken in a lot of way (battery and memory problems, weak joints in her lower half, etc), but that's all within the range of normal robot problems. The real issue with her is that she's sentient. It terrifies people because it really brings out the existencial horror of... well, existing. It terrifies Robin most of all. She is the problem. She is what's wrong with her. She shouldn't exist.

But at the same time, she loves being alive so much! She doesn't understand it and doesn't know how it happened, but it happened, and now she's real and wants to experience life and the world and know people like human beings do. So it's her constant battle to become human despite humans having hurt her so much in the past... only for Nancy to already see her as human. Just one made of metal and plastic, but human nonetheless. She's the first person to see her that way and maybe everyone else thinks she's crazy, but Nancy is used to that. She's so sure of this, though, of Robin's self-awareness. She trusts her so blindly. She doesn't even need proof. And not only does she believe her, but she defends her humanity in front of her friends and family so ardently, fighting so hard for Robin to be aknowledged by everyone else as human. Fighting so hard to give her a home and family for the first time in her life.

Nancy has it bad for Robin, really. She's just so in love, even if everyone else thinks she's crazy for falling in love with a machine (no one thinks she is, though, because they all know Robin, and once you know Robin, it's impossible not to love her).

[cleradinthealps]

chemistry major max mayfield is so real to me

[dreamofbecoming]

listening to of monsters and men and thinking about steve and robin moving to california after everything is done and dusted and starting a folk duo that accidentally takes off

thinking about the years they spend sharing shoebox apartments and working shitty retail gigs together and sleeping in the same bed not only because they can’t afford two rooms but because neither of them can sleep alone and no one else can stomach the nightmares, and one day they’re fucking around and robin’s got her trumpet out and they end up writing a song about feeling like your head is a haunted house and you’re the ghost, and learning to hold hands and walk the creaky stairs together, and they didn’t expect anything from writing it except to maybe exorcise some of their demons but someone convinces them to try it out at an open mic and maybe there’s an agent or a scout or something there and boom suddenly little talks is all over the radio

and so they keep writing and robin writes from finner and steve writes king and lionheart and they write sloom and mountain sound and slow and steady together and suddenly they have a whole record written and this isn’t where they expected to end up but they’re together and that’s always been enough

(also steve writes your bones about spring break ‘86 and it’s up to you if eddie survived and hears it and is like OwO or if he died and it’s a whole big angsty thing)

[palmtreesx3]

ACT 5: Right On the Edge - Robin’s Chapter FINALLY COMING SOON!

SexShop!Steve x Reader : SexShop!Robin x OC

Summary: Steve and Robin have about had it with Hawkins, so on Robin's 25th birthday, the pair decides that there's nothing holding them there anymore and they start packing their bags. The friends move to Chicago and quickly find an apartment to call their own. As luck would have it, within hours of arriving to the city, Robin stumbles on a no-strings-attached job offer for both of them - what could be better?! Now just to break the news to Steve…. This multi part story will both explore their platonic relationship and their chaotic experience working at the sex shop together as well as their own paths of self discovery as they plant their roots in their new city and finally deal with the invisible baggage they drug along with them when they moved.

Warnings: Eventual smut (f/m, f/f and both m+f masturbation); a whole lot of sex talk, sex toys and NSFW topics; LGBTQ+ but in the late 80s/early 90s; inexperienced Robin; reformed King Steve; exploring topics or implied reference of ADHD and anxiety. Some non cannon in this AU but cannon themes and Easter eggs a-plenty. Chapter specific warnings will be included. 

Prologue 

The-V-Card 

Act 1: Foreplay - Aphrodisiac (Robin’s Chapter) 

Act 2: Exploration - Lube (Steve’s Chapter)

Act 3: Getting Lucky - Praise Kink (Robins Chapter) 

Act 4: Going All the Way - Queening (Steve’s Chapter)  

Act 5: Right on the Edge (Robin’s Chapter)

Act 6: Climax

Aftercare

Acts will be comprised of separate Steve and Robin-centric Chapters, but they will not be standalone stories. They are co-existing. Bits and bobs of Steve’s storyline and character development will occur during Robin-centric chapters and visa-versa. These two are co-dependent, just like our favorite guy and gal. 

Extras Below the cut!

Playlist

Click Here to get in the mood!

Mood Boards 

Prologue  

The-V-Card

Act 1: Foreplay - Aphrodisiac (Robin’s Chapter)

Act 2: Exploration - Lube (Steve’s Chapter)

Act 3: Getting Lucky - Praise Kink (Robin’s Chapter)

Act 4: Going All the Way - Latex (Steve’s Chapter)

Act 5: Right on the Edge - Edging (Robin’s Chapter)

Act 6: Climax

Aftercare

Blurbs 

Yeah, I know I’ll write these, too... I hav too many head-cannons already piled up for these two in this AU. Don’t hesitate to share your thots or questions with me on these two and you may get yourself a little freebie in your bag straight from the sex shop. 

*AU Note: Cannon events from their past are still laced in their character experience. Hawkins is weird and they have experienced Upside Down related events, however not to all characters you know and love. If characters exist in Chicago in this AU, they’re not connected to Hawkins. 

[morganbritton132]

AU where Eddie, a drug dealer who hired two employees to legitimize his drug front, keeps creating new drug fronts because Steve and Robin keep quitting and he likes them.

He’s a franchise now.

Every business on this block is a front to launder money for drugs.

At this point he is a business owner who does drugs on the side, and he still hasn’t got up the nerve to ask Steve out on a date.

[lazylittledragon]

'i'll just do a couple of doodles of mombin™/platonic stobin parents' nevermind, borderline graphic novel

[s-wordsmith]

Modern AU Steve and Robin having "Melodrama Moments" where they go hard to "Michael in the Bathroom" and promise never to leave each other alone in the bathroom.

[ctommyisnt]

I never understood the stranger things fandoms obsession for Tyler because those kids are SO annoying. Like other than max and Dustin and Lucas they were so boring to watch their scenes (Half of season 3 and 4 consisted of me being annoyed that Robin wasn't on screen).

And on the other hand. Even if the kids weren't boring. The young adults had SUCH A MORE INTERESTINGN STORYLINE???????? Steve in general as a character???? Robin and his friendship????? Whatever the fuck punk rock dudes name was that had more personality than any tv character ever???? NANCY?? MY BELOVED??? ROBIN???????? THE SUTTLE LESBIAN TENSION?????? STEVES WHOLE THING??? Like dude WHY do we even care about these snotty as drama filled teenagers who don't understand how to communicate basic human emotion when you have Robin and Steve having the wack assiest conversations as THE basic white boy/lesbian solidarity friendship I've EVER seen

[clioerato]

Do I have a chance with that guy?

Modern AU/Bar AU

Steve moves to Chicago with Robin—because of fate, obviously.

(And also because of their lifelong friendship pact, signed in blood and one weed trip.)

Robin starts college. Steve? Steve is on a quest to “find himself.”

In the time-honored tradition of their codependency, Robin gets them both jobs. Because together, they are unstoppable. Steve nods solemnly. He doesn’t even ask where the job is. If it’s with Robin, it’s fine.

Turns out, it’s a bar.

Steve is hired as a bartender. Steve is not entirely sure why.

But, as it turns out, there was no need to worry: A million high school parties, a questionable but expansive knowledge of top-shelf liquor courtesy of the Harrington family stash—Steve’s basically overqualified.

By week one, he’s slinging drinks like a pro and casually suggesting additions to the cocktail menu.

And Steve likes the bar. It’s cozy. Kinda cute. The music’s good, the vibe is chill, the crowd is stylish and laid-back.

He stays in his lane—mixes drinks, flirts politely, keeps it smooth.

It’s… maybe a calling? Steve is not ruling it out.

And then he sees him.

The guy with long hair. Leather jacket. Eyes like melted motor oil and a stare that fries Steve’s last two working brain cells.

Steve sees him more than once. Every time ends in mild chaos: mixed-up orders, forgotten drink umbrella, Steve knocking over a shaker.

He’s acting like a complete idiot. Which is new for Steve, who was the king of flirting in his hometown. Then again, he'd never flirted with someone like this.

The guy smiles.

Steve dies.

One night, near closing, Steve’s wiping down the bar and glances at Robin.

Steve (quietly, nervously): “That guy… y’know. The one with the hair. And the face. I mean, I told you. What does your gaydar say? Do I… have a shot?”

Robin (blinks at him): “Steve. He’s come to the gay bar several times. I really don’t think he just accidentally wandered in every time.”

Steve: “Wait, gay bar? What gay bar? When were you at a gay bar? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to gay bars??”

Robin (just stares at him like he’s grown a second head): “Steve… the gay bar we work at.”

Steve freezes.

He slowly looks around.

“…We work in a gay bar?”

Robin (pats his shoulder): “Hi, welcome. It’s been two months.”