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angeldreamsoffanfic · 1 year

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“So how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Y’know, how did you know.”

“Dingus, I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me here, the Russians did a number on how many of my braincells are actually working.”

“How did you know that you liked girls?”

Robin Buckley immediately pushed herself up so she was resting on her elbows, head tilted to catch Steve Harrington’s eyes in the low light of their hospital room.

They weren’t originally even going to go to the hospital, if Robin was being honest. They had just wanted to slip away back to their respective homes, but then Melissa and Richard Buckley caught wind that Robin was hurt. Then the both of them realized that Steve’s parents (if Robin has to use that term to describe them) had less than zero intention of sending anyone to pick up Steve.

Then EMS made the light suggestion of both of them probably needing to go to Hawkins General Hospital�� and well, while Melissa and Richard did tend to lead toward more natural remedies… one couldn’t fix a concussion or a drugging with an unknown substance with essential oils and hope.

“Robbie? Did you OD over there?” Steve had himself up on his elbows, easily mimicking Robin. That’s the thing that makes the inside of Robin ache, that he’s so like her. She knows that she’s an only child, knows that, but sometimes Steve’ll just… do something and it makes her question it. Makes her wonder how she spent so long without him, without another brain and two legs and arms and so much hair. “Robbie?”

“No, I am still alive.” Robin slowly spoke, before she let out a soft sigh. “Why do you ask?”

“Like-” Steve huffed as he shook his head from side to side, before he used the one hand that was free from the pulse monitor and saline drip to card through his hair. It’s sleep ruffled, and if he uses product (Robin is sure he does), it’s for sure gone. Steve looks up though, and his eyes are so earnest that it causes something to hurt inside of Robin. “never mind just ignore- fuck - just ignore me.”

“I couldn’t ignore you if I tried, you idiot.” Robin let out a huff, and she winced as the PICC line in her arm shifted as tilted to be able to fully face Steve on her side. “But I just, dingus, this is out of left field for even you.”

“How so?”

“Did you even know that, that people like me even existed until a couple of hours ago?” Robin kept her voice soft, especially as Steve huffed out an indignant sounding sigh. Robin sighs though, and then she cards her own hand through her hair, and forges onward. “I think I’ve just… always known.”

“Always?”

“Yeah like-” Robin shrugged, a careful movement of her shoulders. “When I was like, eight? My uh, parents sent me to this camp thing- like summer camp kind of like what Dustin went to? But with, y’know, with the swimming and archery and dude I was fucking awful at it.” Steve let out a soft and watery laugh at Robin’s rambling, and that gave Robin enough power to continue. “But we uh, had these like songs we had to learn? And there was this uh, girl counselor there that had to teach me because you know, that was her job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and uh. She couldn’t have been older than I am now but man…” Robin let out a slow whistle, and allowed herself to fully melt into the hospital cot she’s laid up on. “All I could think was that I just wanted to be with her. Like not even kissing because I thought kissing was gross then, still do now kinda but anyway- I wanted to like, hold her hand and shit. Do the cheesy stuff I’d seen in the movies, y’know?”

Steve huffed out his own laugh, and he tilted his head to lean against his pillows instead of facing Robin. Robin watched though, quiet for once, as Steve swallowed once and then twice- before he cleared his throat.

“I knew it existed before you.”

“What?”

“It.”

“Dingus-”

“Girls liking girls.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper, even as Robin can hear him gulp in a lungful of air. “And boys liking boys.”

“You did?” Robin kept her voice quiet, gentle, as coaxing as she could- especially when she could see Steve’s throat bob. “Dingus?”

“I…” Steve doesn’t continue, and that’s enough.

Enough to Robin that she pushed herself up, and ignored the pain that ricocheted down her spine like needles. Ignored Steve’s hurried ‘what are-’, as she stumbled out of her hospital bed and right to Steve’s. She made sure to drag her IV pole and the monitor with her, situating it as best as she could next to Steve’s. Robin huffed quietly as the pain trickled down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile as Steve curled his hand carefully around her wrist and tugged.

Robin got comfortable, let Steve fret over her as best as he could, his fingers only ever-so slightly trembling as he made sure that the line in her arm wasn’t kinked up. They were pressed close, side to side and hip to hip, and Robin tilted her head down until it was rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“Wanna keep going, Stevie?”

“No.”

“But?”

“I…” Steve huffed again, a small indignant noise that Robin mimicked.

They sat like that then, just the two of them for a moment, before Steve continued slowly.

“I’ve never, told anyone this- like I’ve told Tommy H. so much shit about me - but this is… Robin this is different.” Steve speaks in a hurried and stilted way, like he’s stringing together bits and pieces of sentences, and it shouldn’t work.

But it does because he’s Steve and she’s Robin.

And truthfully, Robin likes that. That they’re Steve and Robin. SteveandRobin. RobinandSteve. Likes that the two of them are so in tune that even her own mother didn’t want to separate them.

That had to mean something in the end, didn’t it?

“Tell me, whatever… whenever.” Robin murmured as she turned her head so she could press a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder. The hospital gown is thin enough she can feel the heat of his skin from up under it, and that’s grounding. Grounding even as Steve drew in a shaky breath, audibly swallowing again. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I didn’t uh, notice Tammy in Ms. Click’s class or uh, you for a reason.” Steve slowly spoke, eyes wet, and Robin can hear his sniffle as he tried to reign his emotions back. “Ms. Click made him sit uh, right by her desk at the front of the room.”

And oh.

Oh.

If that doesn’t immediately settle something that just usually writhes around in Robin’s chest.

“Him?” Robin is gentle, gentler than she thinks she’s ever been.

“Uh, yeah… Eddie Munson?” Steve huffed out an almost dry laugh, the only thing that he does that ever remotely reminds her of his time as his high school “King Steve” persona. “He uh, got this bat tattoo right before that year’s Thanksgiving break and all I could do was just… gawk at him.”

“And then what?” Robin knew she was pushing, searching for information, but she can’t help it. Not when Steve is right next to her, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. Not when he’s like her. In all the ways that matter.

“I went home and screamed into my pillow.”

Robin immediately smacked Steve’s thigh with the knuckles of her left hand- grinning in triumph when Steve let out a squawk of laughter.

“Eddie Munson?”

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s a total dud!”

“No he’s not!”

“He stepped in my mashed potatoes once! That is totally total dud material!”

“No way!”

“He wants to be like, like a metal singer!”

“He has a band! Dreams!”

“Do you even know if he can hold a tune?”

“Well, no-”

“Total. Dud.”

Robin grinned wide as Steve launched into a very quick defense about Eddie, and she decides then and there that Steve and her? They’ll be just fine.

Especially if she can get Eddie to come into Steve and her’s orbit just a bit, to see if the crush is still there.

Because while Robin may not have all of the gay knowledge in the world, there is one thing for a complete certainty that she knows.

The black hanky that Eddie kept in his pocket?

Well…

Robin chuffed to herself, before she tilted so she could lay on her side- nose tucked into the place where Steve’s neck and shoulder met.

Right before she falls asleep though, Robin does a very important thing on a mental whiteboard.

You Rule: 1

You Suck: 0

hope you all enjoyed! truthfully think this is one of my favorite things i have written. love platonic stobin. <3

#angeldreamsoffanfic #steve harrington #robin buckley #steve and robin #robin and steve #platonic stobin #stobin friendship #codependent stobin #steve harrington and robin buckley are bffs #eventual steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #richard and melissa buckley saw steve sitting in the ambulance with robin and went oh we have a son now #steve harrington has bad parents #but he has the buckleys now <3 #fleshed out robin buckley’s gay awakening #the counselor was named in my head but it didn’t make sense to fit it in here (her name was maddie)#robin likes girls where there name ends in something that sounds like the letter ‘y’#exhibit a: tammy exhibit b: vickie exhibit c: nancy exhibit d: chrissy #in this essay i will #stobin ficlet #platonic with a capital p #sometimes i tag things and then forget other (see more important) tags #sorry y’all

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lavendercharm · 4 months

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Linger, Chapter 1: She's So Mean

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

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You’ve always been one to go above and beyond. Whether it was because you were truly an ambitious go-getter, or because it was actually rooted in a deep-seated fear of letting others down, who can say? What mattered was you were reliable. You did your best to stay organized and on top of things, despite the fact that you struggled with it. You thrived when it came to creative problem-solving. And you were never, ever late.

At least, that’s the mantra you repeated to yourself as you mentally practiced the apology you’d be giving Abbott Elementary’s principal. Glancing at the watch on your wrist as you burst through the front door, you curse under your breath. Arriving almost a full 45 minutes later than you were supposed to was not the way to make the first impression you wanted. You’d been a bundle of nerves the night before, prepping the following day’s lunch as much as possible. You’d made a concerted effort to get to bed at a decent hour, you’d laid out your “first day subbing at a new school” outfit, and you’d even set a few different alarms in order to prevent this exact situation.

It might have slipped your attention that the alarms you’d set were actually for the PM.

The surge of adrenaline when you’d seen 7:02 AM blinking back at you from the digital clock on your bedside table as you woke was more effective than any cup of coffee. You were barely finished dressing before you were out the front door with your shoulder bag in tow - hair piled in an unkempt mess on your head and makeup, socks, and half-prepped lunch forsaken in your haste.

Mercifully, most subs had pre-planned lessons to follow, so you didn’t have to worry about throwing off your student’s schedules too much today. But seeing as this was your first day at Abbott, you weren’t familiar with the building layout. Even worse, you’d never met the principal, which means you have no idea what kind of reaction to expect in regard to your tardiness.

You knew students started to arrive at Abbott at 7:30 for an 8 o’clock start to the day, and you’d been instructed to arrive no later than 7:15. You looked up from your watch to get your bearings in the unfamiliar environment. Just up the hall from the doors you entered, you saw an office with glass walls and what looked like a check in area where there stood a tall, stunning black woman.

She was dressed stylishly, shockingly so for someone who works in an elementary school. A form-fitting olive green dress hugged her curves, which were emphasized by the large brown belt around her waist. Her hair was long and looked right from a salon, her nails meticulously cared for. She wore red lipstick and her eye makeup could easily be seen on the cover of a magazine. Her face was buried in her phone, so she hadn’t noticed you enter the building. You approached her, your hectic morning creating a distinctly frazzled air around you.

You felt silly and underdressed standing next to her, your normally put-together appearance ditched in favor of time. You silently thanked your past self for having the foresight to lay out your clothes for the day. Even still, your plain black work trousers, white button-down, and sneakers felt distinctly out of place next to this woman. As you stood there, she didn’t look up from her phone.

Unsure what else to do, after a moment you made yourself known by clearing your throat. Without looking up from her phone, a single, sculpted brow raised in question, followed by a short, “What do you want?”

Taken aback, you stuttered, “I-I, uh, I’m the principal- I mean, I’m looking for the principal.” You felt heat rising in your cheeks at your mistake. ‘Good one,’ you thought.

At least your slip-up gained you some ground. The woman lowered her phone and glanced at you, giving you a once-over from head to toe. “What do you want with the principal? If you’re here to complain about something, you’ll have to send it in an email or Instagram DM, she’s on vacation.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach - the principal wasn’t even here? You weren’t sure if Abbott had a vice principal. You were already late, you didn’t know where you were supposed to go, and you weren’t sure if the vaguely-unfriendly woman in front of you would be able to help.

“Oh, actually I’m a sub-” you started.

You were cut off by a loud, “Oh! Well, why didn’t you say so? Why are you dressed like a waiter?”

You frowned. She was right. You did look like a waiter.

You were stunned as the woman’s entire demeanor changed. A large smile graced her features as she held out her hand. “Ava Coleman, principal of Abbott Elementary.” You stared at the outstretched hand before taking it, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait, did you just lie to my face about being on vacation?”

“Usually when someone introduces themself, you’re supposed to do it back. Unless you’re like Leo DiCaprio levels of famous, obviously,” she prompts you, entirely ignoring your question.

You give her your name, overwhelmed by the whirlwind that has been this morning and the whiplash of the woman’s sudden change in attitude. “Nice to meet you,” Ava says with a glowing smile as she releases your hand. “You know you’re late, right?”

You nod, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. All things considered, Ava didn’t seem upset, or even remotely reprimanding, for that matter. She might as well have been asking about the weather she was so nonchalant. Having braced yourself for a lecture or a raised voice, you found yourself feeling just the slightest bit relieved. “I’m sorry about that. This isn’t… it’s not the norm for me, I promise. It won’t happen again.”

“Girl, I am not pressed,” Ava says, brushing off your apology with a wave of her hand. “At least you showed up at all. Trying to get a sub lately has been like trying to get Taylor Swift tickets - a whole lot of waiting just to find out there aren’t any left.” She gives a cheesy grin at her own joke, not waiting for you to react before continuing, “You’ll actually be with another teacher. Her aide has appendicitis, she’s out for at least the next week and a half.”

You were surprised, not unpleasantly so. You’d expected to have your own room, but there were plus sides to subbing in for teaching aides. “Oh, okay. That will be good actually, I can get a feel for things and watch how she runs her class, maybe ask her for pointers,” you state as you start to follow Ava down the hall.

Ava glances back at you, a look you can’t quite discern in her eye. “Uh, yeah,” she said, entirely unconvincing. “I’m sure she’d love to share pointers. She’s been a teacher here for a long time, so she does stuff a certain way.”

Ava’s words reignite some of the anxiety you’d felt starting to dissipate. You thought having another teacher to lead the class and watch would be a good thing, but Ava is making it seem like this teacher would be difficult. You’d had plenty of old, strict, mean teachers as a student. When you first started subbing, you’d met a teacher at another school who went through teaching aides like Duracell batteries. She’d been in the same school for well over 35 years, so it was essentially her way or the highway. She was so strict and particular, most people ended up taking the highway.

Ava stopped at a door on the right side of the hall, and as she pulled the door open, you heard a chorus of tiny voices say, “Good morning Miss Schemmenti!” At least you’d managed to make it before any actual instruction began.

Popping her head in the room, you heard Ava say, “Melissa, you got a sub today.” A ripple of ‘oohs’ and giggles spread throughout the class. Kids were always interested in a new face.

“Oh really?” came a dulcet voice with the strongest Philly accent you’d heard in a minute. It was tinged with incredulity and annoyance. “A sub who can’t be bothered to show up on time?”

Your stomach churned with anxiety and shame, but you felt a slight spike of annoyance as well. You suppose you couldn’t blame her, but you hadn’t even met this woman yet. You pushed these feelings aside as best you could as Ava replied, “You’re lucky you got a sub at all girl. I didn’t have to put her in your class. You’re welcome!” Stepping aside, she gestures you into the room.

The first thing you notice is the sheer amount of kids crammed into one room. There’s a division in the center and one side seems to be slightly older. The confusion must be evident on your face, because Ava chimes in, “We lost a third-grade teacher last minute and we couldn’t afford another one, so we combined a second and third grade class. You get two for one! I love a good deal myself.” Her joke doesn’t land.

Two grades in one room was really unconventional. How could both classes be receiving the right instruction? You couldn’t wrap your brain around it. Either the second graders had to be feeling left behind, or the third graders were learning the same things they’d learned last year. Not to mention the number of kids presented a challenge itself. ‘There have to be close to thirty kids in this room!’ you thought.

The velvety voice from before chimed in, “You could at least try not to look overwhelmed. Jeez, how old are you anyway, kid? I’m not gonna be able to tell the difference between you and the students.” Some small giggles echoed around the room as you turned.

Whatever you had been expecting, this woman was not it. ‘Is everyone working in this school hot?’ you grimaced to yourself as your eyes took in the gorgeous red-headed woman who stood before you. She was older, which in your mind only enhanced her beauty. She was a few inches taller than you, although you noticed the heeled boots she wore. Her deep red hair was luscious, with soft waves begging to have fingers combed through them. A single eyebrow was raised and a decidedly unimpressed expression graced her face, a dusky rose color painting her pursed cupid's bow lips. Her nose was soft yet prominent - it suited her immensely. Her eyes were slightly close-set, a captivating green-hazel color. They were rimmed with a subtle smokey shadow that made them pop.

She had on a long-sleeved black shirt and a few necklaces decorated her collarbones. But what caught your attention most were the leather pants that clung tightly to her soft hips.

You’d always been a sucker for a woman in leather.

“You gonna acknowledge me or not? Do I need to get you a copy of the lesson plan, or a coloring sheet?” She asked, hands on her cocked hips. Another ripple of giggles ricocheted throughout the room. Your cheeks flame with embarrassment. You were used to being teased about your height and young appearance by people you knew, not by strangers using it as a way to question your position at work.

Feeling a surge of indignation and annoyance, you opened your mouth before you could stop yourself and shot back, “I’m 28 years old - how old are you?”

A loud chorus of “Ooooh!” from the class, and in a split-second, you knew you’d fucked up.

A fire ignited behind Melissa’s eyes, her eyebrows coming together and her weight shifting forward. Her posture was rigid, coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike at any moment. Her nostrils flared as she bit out, “I’m none-of-your-business years old.” Her tone was dangerous and sharp. The class waited with bated breath to see what you’d do. Would the new sub start a fight with Miss Schemmenti? The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

You heard, “Neither of you swing before I start recording!” from Ava.

Your heart was rattling inside your chest. ‘And I thought being late would be enough to make the wrong first impression.’ But you didn’t feel sorry for what you said. It wasn’t fair for her to be so critical. If she wanted to play the age card, then you’d meet her where she was at. She had no right to belittle you, even if you were less experienced.

You decided then and there that you didn’t like Melissa Schemmenti.

But you needed to get past this - you both had a class to teach, after all. Standing your ground, you managed to hold her gaze as you said evenly, “If you would be so kind as to point me to my desk? I believe we have a school day to start.” You were immensely proud that your voice didn’t tremble, despite the way your pulse thrummed in your ears.

Glaring at you for a moment longer, you knew you’d live to see another day when Melissa shifted her weight back again, arms folding across her chest. 'Her well-endowed chest,' you thought. You immediately chastised yourself. You needed to get a grip. This was your workplace and you should be keeping things professional, although that had almost gone out the window already. Even if she was alarmingly hot, she’d disrespected you without so much as a “hello.” The woman had been ready to tear you limb from limb a moment ago, and not in a sexy way.

Melissa tilted her head with a pointed look toward the back corner of the room, and you glanced over to see a small desk. You met her gaze once more and muttered a “Thank you.” But as you started to turn, you realized neither she nor the class knew your name. Stopping, you introduced yourself, instinctively holding out a hand.

It occurred to you how incredibly awkward it was to offer to shake the hand of the woman you’d just slighted, and you’re thankful you can write off the heat still lingering on your cheeks as your temper.

For a moment, she stared disdainfully at your proffered hand, but she sent a furtive glance toward the class and a look of realization passed over her face - her students had been watching all of this unfold. Maybe she wanted to set a good example, or maybe she just wanted to move on, but she took your hand begrudgingly. Her grip was a bit too tight. “Miss Schemmenti,” she said, and you noted the lack of a first name. Her teeth were gritted behind a strained smile. The flash in her eyes made the message clear. You are not on my good side.

Ava made a disapproving sound. “Man, I thought I was gonna get something good,” she said, and you caught the light glinting off of what you suspect was her phone camera as she turned and walked away.

You released Melissa's hand and retreated to the back of the room. As you deposited your things on what was now your desk, Melissa began, “Alright my little cannolis, enough dilly-dallying. Shawnte, will you please help me pass out these math sheets?” Her irritation was masked impeccably behind a practiced teacher's voice as she split a stack of papers with a small girl from the third-grade side of the room.

You exhaled deeply. It was only 8:15 and you’d managed to make your first enemy at Abbott. Unpacking your things, you found you couldn’t resist watching Melissa as she made her way around the room. You didn't consider yourself quick to anger, but somehow this woman had managed to piss you off in a matter of minutes. And you were supposed to spend at least the next week and a half with her?

As she passed by you, her eyes shot up and briefly made contact with yours. You felt the heat of her glare piercing into you. It seems she couldn’t resist another pointed comment on your tardiness. “Maybe tomorrow, you could get here on time and do your job, so I don’t have to ask a student to help pass out papers.”

This was going to be a long week.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #all of the chapter titles are named after songs that I listened to while writing this #and i think Melissa fits she's so mean by matchbox twenty #“she's got a hard time coming when she can't hit back; yeah you want her but she's so mean” like come on!!!#Spotify

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