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holycritchance · 9 days ago

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unintentional outcome | chance x reader

synopsis; sometimes things are better not going as originally planned. word count; 1.7k author's note; aaaaa my first piece for the loml - i've been nonstop playing the game since it was released and i finally feel as if i have a decent grasp on how to write for him!! this is for the monthly theme in the date everything discord :))

“Well good morning to you, too, cool kid.”

Freddy rumbles with a laugh as you grab onto the handles of your refrigerator, throwing open the doors with an excitement that was… uncharacteristic for you at this early hour.

“Mornin’, Freddy!” You chirp in response, eyes scanning what little food you had inside.

“What’s got you so chipper this morning, eh? I didn’t see you stop by Kopi’s for your morning fix,” Freddy questions, watching as you reach inside and pull out a container of mixed fruit to examine. “Is it some special day? Feel like Holly would’ve told me if it was a holiday.”

You hum to yourself as you set the fruit on the counter nearby before diving back in. “Not a holiday! Just excited for some plans I’ve got today.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” He beams at you. “Whatcha got going on today, cool kid?”

You smile, grabbing a ziploc bag containing half a block of cheese. It joins the fruit on the counter and you shut Freddy’s doors, next swinging open Cabrizzio.

“Just… hanging out,” you say with a damning flush reddening your face. “I thought a picnic would be nice, yeah?”

Freddy’s expression becomes one of mischief as he chuckles. “Oh, I see. You’re hanging out with Chance today, aren’t ya?”

“Don’t make me regret confiding in you,” you retort as you bring the fruit over to Sinclaire for a quick rinse. “I’ll never tell you a thing again, Freddy.”

Freddy laughs in response, clearly amused at your empty threat. “Alright, alright,” he acquiesces, raising his hands. “A picnic sounds lovely. Here, there’s some ice cream I made last night waiting in the freezer — I tested the waters and made a black cherry with some chunks of dark chocolate mixed in. Take it with ya!”

You can’t contain your glee as you reach into the freezer and pull out the container, placing it with the rest of the food. With everything in one place, you bend down and dig through the cabinets beneath your sink.

“Ah, there we go! It’s no picnic basket but it’ll do,” you murmur as you pull out an old shopping bag and carefully load the food inside along with some silverware. “Thanks, Freddy, you’re the best!”

Freddy flushes with a chuckle. “Anything for you, cool kid. Swing by later to tell me how the ice cream was — and about your date!”

You shoot Freddy a pointed glance as you hurry around the corner and make a beeline for the office. As you approach the door you hear soft music playing within and a nervous feeling crawls up your spine. You stand outside the office, bag in hand, heart racing as your hand hovers over the doorknob.

You’ve no idea how much time passes before Dorian is what stands between you and the office, an eyebrow quirked at you.

“Just gonna stand here all day?” He asks, startling you. “Never seen you so rigid, friend. Nerves getting the best of you?”

“No!” Your face scrunches up in irritation as Dorian chuckles at your far too quick response. A surge of courage surges through you as you straighten your back and push past Dorian into the office. “See! I’m going.”

“Have fun —”

That’s all you catch before you practically slam the door behind you. You stop short as you find Chance standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by papers, game pieces, books and various writing utensils. A speaker playing some instrumental piece sits on the shelf and all the curtains are closed, giving the room a rather eerie feel.

“Ah, hello!” Chance calls, stepping over the disarray to meet you. “Sorry about the mess, I guess I got a bit carried away again…I’m just stumped on how I wanna go about this one.”

“Crafting another campaign?” You question, a fond smile tugging at your lips.

Chance chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Am I that obvious?”

You hold up the bag of food. “Wanna tell me about it over some snacks?”

With that, you’re led into the heart of Chance’s planning, standing with him amongst the many pieces of torn-out notebook paper and guidebooks. You notice sketches of characters from past campaigns scrawled in the margins accompanied by scribbled out plots, twists, settings — worlds built only to be discarded.

“You see, I was thinking of asking you and Dasha if you wanted to reopen the troubadour run,” Chance says as he searches for his notes amongst the clutter, “for some, say, post-credits fun! I was thinking about how we never touched further on how Miles fared within reaching their dream and came up with… here!”

He bends down, grabbing a few papers and holding them out to you. He takes the bag of food from you and sets it aside, eyes never leaving you as you read through his ideas. As you flip pages back and forth, he watches your eyes scan each line and awaits your feedback.

“A royal ball?” You look up to see Chance grinning broadly. “Let me guess — at the apex of the event, expect an enemy force to raid the palace, pocketing whatever they deem valuable. This all is inconsequential to a point until they choose to also take with them… the prized royal family heirloom, a priceless ribbon sheath! Another adventure is born!”

Chance smiles but shakes his head. “Quite the imagination you have! I guess I’m starting to rub off on you, yeah? However, I was just thinking we have a relaxing session for once! Something fun and unexpected!”

“Woah, no risks? No danger? That is unexpected,” you agree. “You said you were having troubles with this? It seems so well thought out, though.”

Even in the dimmed lighting you can see Chance redden as he takes the papers from you. “Well, heh, I really appreciate that. My shortcomings lie within the main event itself — dancing, specifically. I’m just not sure how to best describe it to give you guys the imagery I usually provide.”

“You don’t know how to describe…how to dance?” You ask, confused. He nods and you can’t help but laugh — the idea of a man able to create such vast and beautiful worlds can’t conjure up a way to explain a dance?

Chance huffs, pouting at your reaction. “I-I’ve tried everything I could think of! I even talked to Rainey but that, well, didn’t give me much to work with. This music I’ve had on repeat for hours now has helped only set a mood but nothing more!”

He’s clearly frustrated as he gestures to the papers and whatnot scattered all around the two of you. The aforementioned music fills the silence that follows and you let it play for a moment before an idea comes to mind.

“Dance with me, then.” You hold a hand out to Chance, hoping to the geode goddess herself he can’t notice the tremble in your fingers. “Maybe if you live the experience it’ll be easier to work into a story?”

“Is this just an excuse for you to hold my hand?” He teases but rests his hand in yours regardless. “You know how to dance?”

“Vaguely.” You guide his other hand to rest on your hip before placing your unoccupied hand on his shoulder. “Ready?”

Chance is quiet and you slowly begin to lead in a, frankly, improvised dance. You’re careful to follow the beat while also making sure you don’t step on any of his materials. Neither of you speaks for a couple of moments, too focused on keeping up with one another.

Soon, comfort creeps its way in and the two of you move fluidly together. The proximity becomes less nerve wracking and you find yourself slowly moving closer, practically chest to chest as the dance continues.

“Is… this working?” You murmur after some time, curious.

Chance nods. “Oh, yeah. Had the scene all figured out about five steps into this whole thing.”

“I’m glad I could help.” You go to step back, figuring this is all he needed, but his grip on your hip tightens ever so slightly. “Chance?”

“I’m sorry I turned our hangout into a G&G planning session,” he mutters, casting a glance at the abandoned bag of food in the corner. “You brought food and everything only for me to hijack your plans.”

You attempt to stifle a laugh but find yourself unsuccessful, opting to cover your mouth with your hand. “You say this as if I’m having the worst time of my life.”

Chance shrugs, still swaying the both of you with the music. “Yeah, but —”

“I’d rather this over what I had planned,” you interrupt, reaching up and tapping the space between his eyebrows. “I admire your passion for what you love, Chance. Besides, I’ve just spent — what? — the last ten minutes in your arms. This was the best first date I’ve ever been on!”

Abruptly, the two of you stop swaying. Neither of you step away from each other, however, even when the speaker runs out of charge and leaves deafening silence.

“First date?” Chance echoes, a sort of excitement in his tone. You refuse to meet his gaze out of sheer embarrassment and he chuckles before giving your hip an affectionate squeeze before stepping back. “Here, I gotta clean this up and finish writing the oneshot. Are you free tomorrow to play?”

You nod, words failing you. His smile practically lights up the room and you can’t help but smile yourself — Chance’s joy is nothing if not contagious.

“Great! I’ll let Dasha know,” he says. “And maybe afterwards, you and I can grab something to eat? Koa’s place would be a great place for a second date.”

You nod as he talks, eyes widening as the words second date are spoken.

“A second…! Y-yeah, absolutely!” Your eagerness has you tripping over your words. Clearing your throat, you try again. “I’d love to.”

Chance places a hand on your shoulder and leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Till tomorrow, then.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as you nod furiously, slowly backing out of the office. Once the door is shut you find yourself staring at it just as you had earlier, only this time the nerves are gone, replaced by overwhelming joy. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grin and run for the kitchen.

“Freddy! Freddy! I’ve got something to tell you!”

#date everything #chance date everything #date everything chance #chance #chance date everything x reader

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cami040405 · 2 months ago

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Since you have officially become my like, number one slasher writer for my manzs Michael and Bo:

Could you pretty pls do Michael, Bo, and whoever you would like to write for with a fem!s/o that looks and acts like a ‘sweetheart’ in a (non republican lol) 50’s housewife type of way but cusses constantlyyy if that makes sense? Like, think Bree from Desperate Housewives with Gordon Ramsay’s profanity, so really sweet but just aggressive about it (I’m sorry if it doesn’t really make sense and feel free to not do it :))

Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair & Charles Lee Ray with a S/O who's a Sweetheart but Swears a Lot

Summary: Imagine Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair & Charles Lee Ray with a S/O who’s very cute and a sweetheart, but has an explosive temper and swears a lot.

A/N: As always your ideas are great, sorry for the delay in responding to requests, this week has been crazy, thank you for always sending requests, I'm always happy to write them.

Michael Myers

“Oh sugar, could you hand me that fuckin’ chainsaw?”

You were a contradiction wrapped in satin gloves.

The first time Michael saw you, you were standing outside your little retro house at the end of a quiet suburban street. The morning sun hit your lemon-yellow dress like a halo, and your lipstick was cherry red — perfect, untouched. You were watering your garden, hips swaying to some old doo-wop song playing faintly from a vintage radio inside.

You looked like you belonged on the front of a Betty Crocker box.

Until you dropped the hose, stepped in the mud, and muttered loud enough for God and the birds to hear:

“Goddamn motherfucker, not these heels again, Christ on a fuckin’ cracker—”

And then, sweet as pie, you looked up and waved at your neighbor with a sunny:

“Good morning, Mr. Owens! Hope your prostate’s treatin’ ya better today!”

Michael stood there in the bushes, frozen. Not stalking you — yet — just... watching. Bewildered. You were both doll-like and chaotic. Sugar-laced thunder.

He kept watching. Days turned into weeks. You vacuumed in heels. You baked cupcakes with little fondant pumpkins on top and left them on porches. You told the paperboy to “be careful on that shitty-ass bike or I’ll be scraping your spleen off the sidewalk,” with the voice of a lullaby. He was obsessed.

You didn’t even flinch the first time you saw him up close.

You came home from grocery shopping to find a six-foot-tall man in a boiler suit and mask standing in your hallway. Most people would scream. You? You just exhaled like you were annoyed and dropped your bag of produce.

“Jesus tapdancin’ Christ, you scared the goddamn soul outta me. You one of them freaks from next door? If you’re gonna kill me, do it fast, I’ve got a roast in the oven and it’ll burn to hell if I don’t baste it in the next twenty minutes.”

He didn’t kill you.

You made him dinner instead.

From that point on, you just… accepted him.

You’d hum old love songs in the kitchen, apron tied tight around your waist, pearl necklace shining against your throat, muttering about the broken mixer like:

“Piece of shit sounds like it’s possessed by a meth head raccoon…”

And Michael? He just loomed in the doorway, silent as a shadow, following the scent of cinnamon and soap and that one perfume you always wore — something old-fashioned and soft. You never demanded anything from him. You didn’t cry, you didn’t run, you didn’t try to “fix” him.

But you did talk to him constantly.

“I made your favorite today, sugar. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The potatoes are fluffier than Satan’s ass cheeks, swear to God.”

“I put some more knives in the drawer for you. Good ones. Japanese steel, sharp as hell. Don’t say I don’t treat you right, you giant homicidal marshmallow.”

“If that little bitch Laurie peeks over my hedge one more time, I’m gonna march my ass over there and shove my spatula up her perky little nose.”

Michael never responded. But he stayed. That was his answer.

You weren’t scared of the mask. You even joked about it.

One day you got up in his face while adjusting his collar and whispered,

“You ever wanna try a pastel pink one, baby? I could match it to my oven mitts.”

And then you cackled like it was the funniest thing in the world while he just… stared.

And yet, somehow, your softness reached him. The way you’d gently rub circles on his hand when he sat at the kitchen table. The way you left him little notes like

“Gone to the market. Don’t kill anyone in the living room. ”

You swore like a sailor, but loved like the 1950s housewife you dressed as. Tender, thoughtful, present.

You patched up his wounds without hesitation, gently dabbing antiseptic and muttering,

“Jesus Christ, who put a fuckin’ meat hook through your shoulder? I’m gonna find that bastard and slap ‘em so hard they piss alphabet soup.”

Your touch was gentle even when your words were vicious.

The day he killed someone for you, it was the neighbor who kicked your cat.

You weren’t mad. You just sighed and kissed his jaw, eyes bright with a kind of knowing warmth as you said,

“Aw, baby… you didn’t have to. But hell, that guy was a dick. You want lemon bars?”

And he nodded.

In the end, you became the calm in his storm — even if you swore like the thunder itself. Michael never needed words, and you didn’t need answers. You just needed someone who let you be exactly who you were:

A loving, doting, cupcake-baking, vintage-dressed, profanity-flinging badass with a heart of absolute gold.

And he needed someone who didn’t flinch when he got blood on the floor — someone who just sighed and muttered,

“That better not fuckin’ stain. I just mopped.”

Bo Sinclair

When Bo Sinclair first laid eyes on you, he thought he was hallucinating.

You were standing outside your charming little home just outside Ambrose — watering the flowerbeds, your pastel yellow sundress cinched at the waist, matching heels digging into the gravel as you shifted your weight. A vintage kerchief held back your curls, and a string of pearls hugged your neck. A picture-perfect 1950s vision — you even had a cherry pie cooling in the window.

He was halfway through imagining how to flirt with you when you turned, looked him dead in the eye, and called:

“You just gonna stand there like a goddamn creeper or you got somethin' to say, sugar?”

His jaw damn near hit the dirt.

You smiled so sweetly it gave him cavities. The kind of smile that made men forget what day it was. But the voice? You had a tone like a shotgun — all honey and gravel.

Bo didn’t know whether he wanted to date you or put you on a leash.

Bo, being a man of his own… colorful vocabulary, finds your style hilarious and magnetic.

You’ll bake him biscuits, hummin’ along to old vinyls in the kitchen, your frilly apron hugging your curves — and then you burn the second batch and shout:

“MotherFUCKER, I knew I set that damn oven too high, son of a BITCH!”

Bo leans in the doorway and just watches you — beer in hand, shit-eating grin on his face.

“You kiss me with that mouth, darlin’?”

“Damn right I do, sugarplum. You love this fuckin’ mouth.”

He does.

He likes to walk into rooms just to hear what’ll come out of your mouth next. It’s like a sport to him — poke the bear and see what kind of filthy poetry you’ll spit.

You’ll talk about needing to clean the curtains and insult Lester’s entire lineage in the same breath. You’ll lovingly rub Bo’s shoulders while telling him he’s your “big, sexy bastard,” then flip off a tourist from the porch with a fresh batch of lemonade in hand.

You don’t let Bo get away with being a temperamental shit. And that’s what really draws him to you — you challenge him, but in that sexy, playful, Southern-goth way.

“Bo, if you slam that fuckin’ door again, I swear on my mama’s ashes I’ll superglue your dick to a car battery.”

“You gonna wear that sleeveless shit in front of company, darlin’? Or are you tryin’ to start rumors?”

“Boy, I love you more than pie, but if you touch my ironing again, I will throw hands.”

Bo isn’t used to that. He’s used to people being scared of him, tiptoeing around his moods. You? You threaten to shove a wrench up his ass and then kiss his cheek and ask if he wants sweet tea or whiskey.

And what’s worse? It works. He actually listens to you. (Sometimes.)

You're fiercely loyal, despite your loud-ass mouth. If anyone — anyone — says anything sideways about Bo, they’re gonna have a whole lot more than tooth decay to worry about.

You’ve absolutely cornered some poor soul before like:

“Say one more fuckin’ word about my man’s scars and I swear to God I’ll take that spork and carve my name into your eyeball.”

Bo just stands there, arms crossed, biting back a proud smirk while you defend him like a rabid chihuahua in heels.

You're not just sass — you're his protector in your own unhinged, mother-hen way. You patch him up after fights, rub his shoulders when he’s tense, and kiss his jaw like it’s sacred. You tell him he’s handsome even when he’s covered in motor oil or blood.

“You look good, baby. All sweaty like that. Like a filthy mechanic Calvin Klein ad.”

“You need Jesus, sweetheart.”

“What I need is you to bend me over the fuckin’ sink after dinner.”

He chokes on his beer often thanks to you.

Living in Ambrose with you is chaos in pearls.

You clean up the Sinclair house — which Bo doesn’t even realize is possible — in floral gloves and heels, all while calling the dead bodies “inconvenient little fuckers” and the flies “Satan’s tiny bastards.”

You paint the walls pastel and cuss out the wiring.

You host a tea party for yourself, Bo, and Vincent once — complete with scones and the most aggressive table manners known to man:

“Vincent, sweetheart, pass the cream — and Bo, if you scratch your balls at the fuckin’ table again I will knife you in your sleep.”

Bo’s never laughed harder. Vincent hasn’t stopped blinking.

Bo never knew he needed a woman like you — sweet enough to charm anyone, but savage enough to start a war. You keep him grounded, even when you're threatening to “gut-punch God himself if the washing machine breaks again.” He thinks you’re the hottest thing in heels, and no one — no one — gets to talk shit about you without losing a tooth or two.

Bo loves you because you’re wild, loyal, gorgeous, and completely yours.

And when he sees you fixing your lipstick in the mirror, muttering about “those damn tourists ruining your front lawn with their crusty-ass footprints,” he leans in, smirks, and says:

“You’re somethin’ else, sugar.”

“Damn right I am, baby.”

Charles Lee Ray

From the second Charles laid eyes on you, he was in love — or as close to love as a scumbag soul trapped in a plastic body could get. There you were, standing in your sunlit kitchen with checkered curtains, a powder-pink apron cinched over your dress, red lipstick perfectly applied, and a frilly headband keeping your victory rolls in place.

It would’ve been a Leave-It-To-Beaver wet dream if it weren’t for the fact you were scrubbing blood off your floor with a mop and muttering:

“Fuckin’ hell, I just waxed this floor yesterday. Asshole couldn’t have died somewhere useful, huh? Like the goddamn backyard?”

And then, as if the universe wanted to seduce Charles specifically, you turned around, smiled at him sweet as peach pie and said:

“Well hey there, sweetheart! You want lemonade, or are you just here to stare at me like a constipated jackrabbit?”

He burst out laughing. Loud, genuine, amused-as-all-hell laughter.

You didn’t flinch. You even giggled, because you knew what you were — a contradiction wrapped in satin gloves and peppermint-scented rage. Charles was used to blood and chaos. What he wasn’t used to was someone matching his energy while wearing kitten heels and pearls.

You were affectionate, sweet, doting — calling him things like “darlin’,” “my little firecracker,” and “handsome devil” while simultaneously using language that would get you banned from network TV. You’d make him a sandwich and say:

“Here ya go, baby. Don’t eat it too fast or you’ll choke like a goddamn dumbass. Love you.”

He adored you. Couldn’t get enough. He never knew whether you were going to kiss him or insult his life choices, and honestly? That was his favorite part.

You had this voice — soft, airy, almost sing-song — and everything that came out of it was horrendously explicit. You’d read cookbooks aloud while replacing every measurement with swear words:

“Two goddamn cups of that floury bullshit… half a fuckin’ teaspoon of baking soda — NOT powder, unless you want it to explode like my ex’s tiny-ass ego…”

Charles would just be there on the counter in doll form, cackling, kicking his little feet while watching you flounce around like a pissed-off Stepford Wife.

You and Charles were murder soulmates. You looked like the type who’d faint at the sight of blood, but no — you were the one snapping the guy’s wrist while Charles stabbed him in the neck.

And every time, without fail, you'd pause mid-murder to scold someone:

“You absolute dickweed — who the hell tries to run in heels? You're making me chase you in my good apron, and I swear to Christ if you get blood on my fuckin' blouse I’m gonna give your corpse a goddamn makeover and parade it around like a prize hog at the county fair.”

It was poetry. It was obscene. Charles would be doubled over laughing while also violently stabbing someone. It was romantic, really.

You kept your home pristine. Pink appliances, floral curtains, vintage everything. But the second something went wrong — toaster didn’t pop, radio signal cut — the cussing started.

“This stupid, limp-dick, crusty-ass bread ruiner of a toaster is testing my goddamn patience!”

Chucky: “I love you so fucking much.”

You once threatened to strangle a Jehovah’s Witness with your phone cord because he insulted your dress length. Another time, you told a nosy neighbor:

“Oh honey, if you spent half as much time worrying about your own pussy as you do about mine, you wouldn’t be getting cheated on every weekend. Want some brownies?”

Chucky was so proud he cried. Actual tears (okay, blood, but still).

What stunned Charles most was that underneath all the murder and swearing, you were incredibly level-headed. You kept him grounded. You could disembowel a guy and still remind Charles to take his medicine or brush blood out of his hair before bed.

You kissed his scars. You never judged the way he looked — even as a doll, you’d sit him on your lap, stroke his fiery red hair, and say:

“You’re my cute little bastard. Don’t care if you’re plastic or not. You still get me wetter than a hurricane, baby.”

He blushed. Chucky actually blushed.

You helped stitch him back together after a fight with Tiffany (who lowkey respected you but also wanted to fight you for being too hot and fun). You two would get drunk together and throw knives at moving targets, taking turns insulting each other:

You: “You throw like your dick’s on backwards.” Chucky: “You flirt like a grandma with dementia.”You: “Still sucked you off better than she did.” Chucky: “...Okay, fair.”

Charles never expected to be happy — truly happy — until you. He was chaos incarnate, a murderer, a soul in a broken doll. But you? You were delightfully unhinged, dressed like a Disney character but cussing out reality like it owed you rent.

And the weirdest thing?

You made him feel safe.

You didn't just tolerate his psychotic tendencies — you embraced them, matched them, outpaced them, all while baking cherry pies and yelling about flaky crust like it was a war crime.

He never stood a chance.

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lexirosewrites · 6 months ago

Note

O!Steve & B!Robin as childhood friends!! Not Nancy Wheeler Friendly bc this is from a protective Robin POV & I needed drama & No Upside Down AU

They meet when Robin skips 4th grade & become friends when they're paired together for a project. Steve is a Henderson bc his mom divorced his sire Richard Harrington & Steve didn't want to b a Harrington anymore he wanted to have his mom's maiden name. He & his mom moved to Hawkins the week before school started.

Steve is chubby & a boy omega (which is rare especially in Hawkins Elementary where only two other boys in the grades below r omegas) which makes him different & he's not very good at reading aloud but he still gets some of the best scores on their social studies or history lessons & his scent is still muted like the kids younger than them. So he isn't popular but he isn't overtly bullied but he is largely ignored by the kids w more social capital.

So he & Robin bond abt being treated as outcasts. They quickly become best friends & spend as much time together outside of school as they can except every other Sunday bc Steve's mom drives a few towns away in Roane County to the nearest Episcopal church.

Robin was raised Buddhist bc her mom is a child of Vietnamese immigrants & her dad was an anti-war protester (especially after he gets drafted into Vietnam, causing him to lose his left leg). The Buckleys celebrate a vague Christmas tht they treat more like Yule with Father Winter instead of Santa, presents still happen but Robin is expected to choose a few of her gifts to give to a nearby domestic violence shelter where some kids stay.

Then high school starts. Steve has his first heat the summer before & so his scent matures to smell like baked apples w honey. He loses a bit of the baby fat, his face gets clearer of acne he'd developed in 7th grade, & his hair is noticeably more shiny. This means Steve is suddenly the subject of new attention by some of the beta boys & alphas of Hawkins High. It all makes Steve uncomfortable so Robin stops trimming her nails & even files them sharper when at home. She shows off her newly sharp nails when she scratches up the arms of an alpha senior who wasn't taking Steve's polite refusals as an answer, tearing up their jacket sleeves, & even ripping a big hole in the bottom of their backpack so all their things tumbled out.

After tht word spread quickly tht Steve Henderson had a guard, Robin Buckley. So the attention turned from a rush to a trickle.

A!Tommy Hagan tries harassing Steve in their sophomore year & calling it courting but Robin tells B!Carol Perkins tht Tommy is trying to cheat on her & together they scratch Tommy so deeply he gets scars. Sophomore year is also when Steve begins babysitting for extra cash. He starts w his little cousin Dustin, then the Sinclairs hire him every other Saturday night, & the list grows till Steve is having Robin help him keep a planner just to keep track of his babysitting gigs.

Then junior year brings abt a Steve who is the uncontested prettiest omega in school & the attention gets worse. Except now ppl know to try to get Robin's approval. She doesn't make it easy & this weeds out the ppl who only wanted a chance to say they'd popped Steve's cherry.

This works till A!Nancy Wheeler sets her sights on Steve. Nancy does practically every task Robin gives her w minimal complaints, so Robin gives Nancy the chance to actually court Steve. Except it quickly becomes clear to Robin tht Nancy didn't seem all tht interested in learning more abt steve outside of who he was in the schools social ladder. Robin would watch how Nancy flaunted their relationship to others to establish a growing social status but would then make eyes at B!Jonathan Byers, The Creep as others called him.

When O!Will Byers goes missing (later being found kidnapped by his father) & B!Barb runs away while the town is focused on tht, Nancy becomes more & more disinterested in Steve. Apparently insisting to Steve tht Barb was her best friend & tht she would've told Nancy if she was going to run away. Robin snorts when Steve tells her this bc it was obvious to Robin their friendship was a one way street of Nancy getting what she wanted.

So of course Nancy embarrasses herself & Steve at Tina's Halloween party the next year, after a year of growing colder towards Steve & leading him on & insisting to them both tht Jonathan is just a friend. Of course Nancy runs off w Byers after the whisper of a lead on where Barb had gone reaches her ears, of course she comes back smelling like Byers in a way tht made it clear she'd had sex w him & only then breaking up w Steve & worst of all is how Steve doesn't get angry with Nancy or Jonathan.

It all gets more annoying when Steve is newly single & knot headed A!Billy Hargrove tries approaching Steve when no one else is around. He never offers to exclusively court Steve & he never approaches Robin abt it either. He just follows Steve to secluded corners of the school or town & makes comments when no one is around to hear him.

Eventually they graduate, Robin decides to put off going away for college opting instead to take classes part time at the Roane County Community College w Steve. Billy Hargrove races out of town after he beats his father in the Hargroves front lawn, Mr Hargrove leaves town soon after but his wife & step daughter the Mayfields stay in Hawkins. Robin only learns most of this thanks to Steve being Max's babysitter now

for two weeks of the summer Nancy tries to court Steve again, claiming she'd changed but this is after Jonathan Byers learns tht Nancy hadn't broken up w Steve till after their fruitless attempt to convince Barb to come home led to them sleeping together & so he breaks up w her unable to believe she'd hurt Steve in the way his own father had hurt his mom

They get jobs at the mall in the food court. Then the larger parent company of their employer Scoops Ahoy gets shut down by the government for tax evasion & tax fraud & a whole list of illegal labor practices so they find new jobs at the Cinema-plex in the same mall. Then the mall burns down bc the construction was cheap & several safety regulations were blatantly ignored. So they find another job they can work together. This time at Family Video, after an interview w Keith (whose parents own the small strip mall where the laundromat & the arcade & video store r located) wherein Robin said her favorite movie was a German silent film she knew Keith would know nothing abt & Steve equally stumped Keith w a samurai movie tht Robin knew didn't circulate in the US, Ms Henderson had gotten the VHS of the movie shipped to Hawkins through friends in the UK.

Time went on, they took their classes at the small community college, Steve still babysat here & there, & the platonic soulmates were even apartment hunting in their free time. Settling on the relatively affordable rent of a 2 bed trailer in Forest Hills.

That's where Eddie Munson pops into their lives. Apparently he'd met Steve once or twice when Steve had come by to babysit Max. Now tht the pair lived so close by Munson he took to being a welcome committee. A couple of months of living in the trailer park, hanging out w Eddie who had begun working at the local mechanics instead of racing out of town like Hargrove, & buying the odd joint from the alpha at an obviously reduced price. Munson made his move & approached Robin on a day tht she was working without Steve.

The alpha was visibly nervous but determined & he didn't even shrink away when Robin glared him down for 5 minutes in silence. So she sighed & gave him a random task tht she knew Steve would like to see. This went on & on, Eddie growing closer w Steve & when Steve told Robin he wanted to b courted by their neighbor she delivered the news to Eddie w her best friend right behind her.

The pair courted for 2 years before Steve sat her down & told her he was pregnant just abt 2 months along & tht he & Eddie were going to exchange bites before the due date & tht they wanted to move in together. Robin was silent bc they were supposed to leave for Portland tht spring, so tht she could attend college & Steve could get a cosmetology license, they were supposed to remain together into their old age. She didn't even realize tht she'd nearly gone into a srs beta drop till it was the next morning & she was being held by Steve in his nest.

Over breakfast sandwiches in bed Steve explained tht she had dropped before Steve could tell her tht if she approved Eddie was going to drive to Portland two weeks before they planned to leave & get a 3 bedroom apartment set up. If she didnt approve Eddie was still going to drive there early but just find an apartment for stobin & another apartment for himself. They talked for hours abt how Steve didn't want to b best friends w anyone except Robin & his alpha, how Robin had been scared for awhile abt Steve leaving her, & it ended w them having a movie night where they ordered Eddie to pick up a pizza & sodas & the biggest order of chicken tenders possible

7 months later after a home birth in Portland Oregon, Robin cried when she got to meet her best friends twin babies & learned tht they'd named the youngest of the baby girls Janis Robin Munson while the older twin was Joan Cathy Munson (Cathy was Eddie's mom's name & coincidentally grandma Henderson's name)

& Aunty Robin became the Munson pups favorite babysitter 🥰

Robin being protective of omega Steve is always so lovely💕💕💕

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #beta robin buckley #platonic stobin #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #mpreg #tw mpreg #cw mpreg #my asks

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fightclubgayporn · 1 year ago

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Vernon… I think I understand you, man.

#a lot of this au doesnt make sense #(kris and cato exes???) but im having fun #fcgp art #sdau #vernon valentine #cato crux #tyrannicides #kristen clark #icarus #cherry sinclair #eve singh #kan komarov #rock kandy #scott pilgrim

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literallys-illiteracy · 11 months ago

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Project Moon Reading list

this is mt attempt at a comprehensive list of the references in Project Moon Games.

if you have any that arent listed, feel free to share them.

Lobotomy Corporation:

SCP-049 (Plague Doctor) (Speculated)

Portrait of Dorian Grey (Portrait of Another World; Mirror Of Adjustment) (Speculated)

Bible (One Sin and Hundreds of Good Deeds, Plague Doctor, Skin Prophecy, Flesh Idol, Burrowing Heaven, Express Train to Hell, Whitenight, Carmen)

Midsummer Nights Dream (Fariy Festival)

[Radio Station] UVB-76//The Buzzer (1.76Mhz)(Speculated)

Necronomicon//General Lovecraft (Skin Prophecy)

Colour Out of Space (Fragment of the Universe) (speculated; Thematically almost certainly lovecraft inspired)

The Little Match Girl (Scorched Girl)

Beauty and the Beast (Beauty and the Beast)

The Red Shoes (Red Shoes)

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Scarecrow searching for wisdom; Warm Hearted Woodsman)

Colour Out of Space (Child of the Galaxy) (speculative)

The Snow Queen (The Snow Queen)

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (Rudolta of the Sleigh)

[Opera] Der Freischutz (Der Freischutz)

Snow White and the seven dwarves (Snow White's Apple)

Alarune (Alriune) (speculative)

The Little Prince (Little Prince)

Little Red Riding Hood (Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary; Big and Will be Bad Wolf)

Three Little Pigs (Big and Will be Bad Wolf)

The Six Swans (Dream of a Black Swan) (Speculative)

[Music] Bethoven's Moonlight Sonata (Il Pianta De La Luna, Silent Orchestra)

[Film] Spirited Away (Mountain of Smiling Bodies) (Design) (Speculative)

Wonderlab specific:

Alice's adventures in wonderland (Red Queen, Hookah Butterfly)

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Scaredy Cat and the road home)

The little mermaid (Piscence mermaid)

Midsummer nights dream (Titania)

[Conjecture/Heavy Speculation] Snow Queen or Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (Nobody Is)

Rapunzel (Tangle)

Lady in the Lake (White Lake)

Mythology and Folklore:

[Buddhist] Preta (Clouded Monk)

[Celtic] Faerie (Fairy Festival)

[German] Der Freischutz "The Freeshooter" (Der Freischutz)

[German] Doppelganger "Double Walker" (Nothing There) (thematic)

[German] Nachtkrapp "Night raven" (Big Bird) (Speculative; Personally unconvinced)

[Greek] Stymphalian birds (Punishing Bird) (Speculative)

[Greek] Pygmalion//Galatea (Pygmalion)

[Japanese] Baku (Void Dream)

[Japanese] Jubokko "Tree Child" (Grave of Cherry blossoms)

[Jewish] Kabbalah (Tree of life, Malkuth, Yesod, Netzach, Hod, Tifret, Gevurah, Hesed, Chokma, Binah, Keter, Ayin)

[Jewish] Succubus//Incubus (Porccubus)

[Korean] Urban Legend regarding "Grape Welch Soda" (An Opened Can of Welcheers)

[Norse] Yggdrasil (Parasite Tree) (Speculative: Giant Tree Sap)

[Roman] Justicia // Lady Justice (Judgement Bird)

[Roman] Laetitia (Laetitia)

[Russian] Zhar-ptitsa "The Firebird" (The Firebird)

--------------

Library of Ruina:

Library of Babel

Do Androids dream of electric sheep? (Thematic, Achievement name)

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (The Adult Who Tells Lies, Scaredy cat and the road home)

The Marvelous Land of Oz (Ozma)

Town Musicians of Bremen (The Musicians of Bremen)

The Jaunt (WARP trains)

Nosferatu (Nosferatu)

Macbeth ("And then is Heard no more")

[Film] The hour of the wolf (Tanya)

[tarot] The fool (Jester of Nihil)

[poetry] Sky, Wind, Stars, and Poem (SPB&TP mili song) (thematic)

[poetry] Orlando furioso /& Orlando Innamoratto. (Roland and related cast (Argalia, angelica, etc.))

---------------

Limbus Company

The Divine Comedy (Dante & surrounding cast)

The Wings (Yi Sang & co.)

Faust (Faust)

Don Quixote (Don Quixote)

Hell Screen (Ryoshu)

The Stranger//L'etranger//The Outsider (Meursault)

Dream of the red chamber (Hong Lu)

Wuthering Heights (Heathcliff & Co.)

Moby Dick//The Whale (ishmael & Co.)

Crime and Punishment (Rodion & Sonya)

Demian (Sinclair & Co.)

The Odyssey (Outis, Cyclops)

The Metamorphosis (Gregor)

Limbus Company - Minor References:

Peter pan (Smee)

Sherlock Holmes: (Timekilling Time Stage Names)

Scandal in time (Scandal in Bohemia)

A Case of the Gallows (A Case of Identity) (speculative)

The Adventure of three detectives (The Adventure of Three Students)

The White Scarved League (The Red Headed League)

The Clock Tower of Fear (Valley of Fear)

The Final Problem (The Final Problem)

Midsummer night dream (Midwinter Nightmare EGO gift)

The Time Machine (Hubert from TKT) (Speculative)

The Stars (Alfonso and Stephanette)

The Old Man and The Sea (Indigo elder) (Speculative)

Murder on the Orient Express (Murder on the WARP express)

Vampire the Masqurade (Casseti) (Speculative)

The Masque of the Red Death (Casseti) (Speculative)

The one who rules (Stage name "the one who lords") (speculative)

Real People:

League of nine:

Kim Kirim (김기림) (Rim)

Yi Hyoseok (이효석) (Aseah)

Lee Jong-myeong (이종명) (Yurang)

Kim Yu-yeong (김유영) (???/ Unnamed Member)

Chi-Jin Yoo (유치진). Pen name: Dongrang (동랑) (Dongrang)

Cho Yong-man (조용만) (Aneung)

Lee Tae-jun (이태준) (Sang-heo)

Jeong Ji-yong (정지용) (Young-ji)

Lee Mu-young (이무영) (Gap-ryong)

Park Taewon (박태원) (Gubo)

Kim Hae-Gyeong (김해경). Pen name Yi Sang (이상) (Yi Sang)

Park Pal-yang (박팔양) (???/ Unnamed member)

Gim Yujeong (김유정) (Dongbaek)

Kim Hwan-tae (김환태) (Nul-in)

other(s):

Agatha Christi (Grade 1 Fixer Agatha)

Kim Sakkat (Bamboo Hatted Kim)

Alphonse Daudet (Alfonso)

Vergil (Vergillius)

EGO and Abnormalities:

Midsummers Night Dream (Midwinter Nightmare) (EGO gift)

Carmilla (400 roses Anormality) (Carmilla EGO gift)

Metropolis (Resident of Metropolaris) (Speculative)

Snow White and the seven dwarves (Ebony Queen's Apple)

Pride and Predgudice (Spider of Marrige)

Poem of a dying butterfly (no.10 Crows Eye View) (A Dying Butterfly

Rudolph the red nosed Reindeer (Sandolph)

[Religion, Abrahamic religions] (Skin Prophet) (Heavenly Executioners throne) (Sign of Roses) (Heavenly Commanders Throne) (Broken Wings) (ichthys (Headless ichthys))

[Religion, Buddhist] (Ya Śūnyatā Tad Rūpam EGO) (My Form Empties)

[Folklore, Celtic] Faeries (Fairy Long-Legs, Fairy Gentleman, Faelantern)

[Folklore, German] Der Freishutze (Der Freishutze) (Der Fluchshutze)

[Folklore, Korean] The Green Frog (Blubbering Toad)

[Folklore, Korean] Dol hareubang (Wishing Cairn) (Pagoda Veneration)

#project moon #limbus company #limbus #lcb #essays i wrote primarily while half asleep #projmoon #library of ruina #lobotomy corporation #lor #lob corp #lobotomy corp #Reading list #oh god im not going to tag every different book

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small-sinclair · 9 months ago

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Tarps and Glass

Whumptober 6: Not Realizing They’re Hurt

Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: blood, hints of murder, dead bodies mention, Bo being a bit obsessive of reader, not proof read

“It’s not my blood.”

Bo didn’t give Lester a chance to break as he hopped out of the truck and ran towards the accident. He saw a blue car tipped over and its side and your white car on the side. The window was cracked and shattered, and the door dented and tangled. He didn’t see you at first as a firefighter tried to hold Bo back, but he shoved him aside and ran towards your smoking car. The air bags were deployed, showing hints of blood, your blood.

“Bo!” His head snapped at your voice and his knees turned into Jello. You were sitting in the back of an ambulance with an EMT looking over you.

“Y/N!” He shouts, rushing to your side. He knelt in front of you and took one of your hands. His eyes never looked away from the dark cherry red on your shirt. He felt his blood grow cold and his heart rise in his throat. “Darlin’, is...is that...?”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand, “No, no; it’s not mine. It's the others.”

“How did it get on you?” He looked up at you, one hand holding your hand while the other ran up and down your arm in a soothing motion. Under different circumstances, he would look good on his knees with pleading eyes. “Sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes as you relived the moment when the other car came barreling towards you. You didn’t mean to, but you squeezed his hand tightly. “I know I was pinned, but...but the other driver wasn’t. He looked over at the other EMTs working on the driver. “He got out of his car and tried to help me.” Your eyes met Bo’s, saying in a soft voice, “He was bleeding bad, but it didn’t stop him. He was trying to help me...he was trying, Bo.” You said his name in such a defeated voice. He never wants to hear you say it like that ever again. “Then he collasped and...and...”

“Shh, cher,” he hushes. He only talks in his deep Cajun when he’s scared; this terrified him to death. “He’ll be alright. Promise.”

“What if he’s not?”

He reaches up and held your cheek. His ring was cold against your skin, sending a comforting chill through you. “I’ll start his heart if I have to, sweetheart, and you know I’ll do it.” he gave a reassuring smile, which faded in moments. “They’ll work on the man and do everything they can.” He came of his knees and kisses your forehead, his lips pressing against your forehead with a lingering touch. “Worry about yourself, mon cher. Do that for me?” He smiled when he saw your nodding, your eyes puffy and read from tears.

Bo kisses your hand before leaving your side to find Lester, who was parked behind a line of firefighters. Worry was edged on his face as he saw Bo, and his eyes never left his as Bo reached into his breast pocket and took out a ciggaret and a lighter.

“They’re fine,” Bo said, casting his gaze over the scene behind him. “The driver saved her, or tired to help...it’s up to the angels to decide.” He looks over at the drapped tarp then back at Lester. “Get those bodies to Vincent, Les. I’ll hitch a ride with the bus.” He blew smoke into the air. “Don’t want cops to see our hunting bounty.” He flashed an amused smile and chuckled. “Damn, it would fun, wouldn’t it?”

Lester shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he looked past his shoulder and into the scene. “You’re gonna to kill that driver, aren’t ‘cha?”

“Tried to take what was mine,” he said as if it was a fact of life. “Can’t let him live.”

“It was an accident—”

“An accident that nearly took ‘em from me,” he said, his eyes hardening. “He tried to help her, yes, but he nearly killed her. That’s unforgivable...something I can’t overlook, Les. It won’t be my blood on my hands; it’ll be his. Now,” he handed his half-lit cig to Lester, “take the bodies to Vincent.”

Lester hesitated but sighed and took the cigarette, placing it in his mouth. “Be safe then. Don’t get caught, either. They don’t know what we do, Bo.”

“And I’ll keep it dat way,” he said, nodding. “Get drivin’, raccoon. Those bodies will smell soon.”

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heartavenue · 1 month ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ༉‧₊˚. The Debut: Katseye

༄.° Introducing Love Sinclair

‧₊˚ ┊Love Ma Cherie Sinclair was born on May 22nd, 2006 in Mobile Alabama to Richard and Josephine Sinclair. When she was two she started ballet classes where she grew to love dancing. Love went on to be accepted at thirteen into the prestigious Laurier Peforming Arts Academy where she discovered her passion for producing, singing and performing.

ㅤㅤㅤ「Love Ma Cherie Sinclair」

Nicknames: Lovey, Lovebug, Cherry

Color: Cherry Red

Position: Main Dancer, Lead Vocalist

Dream Charm: Cherry Bullet

Zodiac: Gemini

Years Active: 2023- Present

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ「Pre-Debut」

‧₊˚ ┊As a hobby Love would upload videos of her dancing and singing to her YouTube channel; she was discovered by a casting director who saw Love's content and became interested in her. Upon further research the director learned that Love was a former Miss Teen USA and So You Think You Can Dance winner, after finding this out the director had no choice but to scout her for the program.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 「Missions」

MISSION 1 - "Still Into You" Vocal Team B. Immune

MISSION 2 - “Antifragile” Team A. Immune

MISSION 3 - “Confident” Immune

FINALE - “Girls Don’t Like” Judge Son’s Top Pick

FINAL RANKING - #1 Judges' score of 45.00, total fan voting of 100,000 votes, total 90 points.

Final Result: Debuted

Make sure that you are on the look out for our debut EP "Soft Is Strong (SIS)" coming to you June 28th!

IB: @benniefranky

#katseye dr #Dr intro #reality shifting #desired reality #shiftblr #shifting realities #dr intro post #anti shifters dni #shift blog #shifters #black shifters #realityshifting

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crappymixtape · 11 months ago

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because of you • epilogue

PART I • PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • EPILOGUE ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 1k – a little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • E P I L O G U E 🎶 believer – piano version, SYML

❝ WE’VE BECOME ECHOES, BUT ECHOES ARE FADING AWAY, SO LET’S DANCE LIKE TWO SHADOWS, BURNING OUT A GLORY DAY ❞

Walking across the parking lot of Hawkins High with Steve Harrington’s hand in the back pocket of your jeans was a surreal feeling. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on speaking terms with him let alone dating him. You also didn’t think the world would end, so maybe being wrong was something to get used to.

Steve had a bag of clothes under one arm while you pulled a wagon of canned food and blankets behind you. It seemed like everyone was in need of something – shirts, coats, shoes, bread, cheese, shelter – and despite the way everyone had rallied against Eddie, they changed their tune quick after the news broke. Came together as a community to support each other through these unprecedented events.

The story came out that it had been a serial killer who’d murdered those poor kids, not Eddie, and it was all forgotten anyway the minute your little town suddenly turned into a war zone. Helicopters and tanks and soldiers, scientists and news crews from all over the nation. The ash hadn’t stopped falling since the Creel House and in the daylight the damage was so much worse than any of you had expected.

When Steve drove you home, it just simply wasn’t there. Swallowed up in one of four deep gashes splitting the earth at the seams. Your parents had survived, came back to see if maybe you’d go home to find them and tried to salvage whatever they could.

They’d sought shelter with your aunt on the other side of town, but Steve insisted you stay with him. Told you you’d have your own room and space and whatever you needed and when you expected a no, your parents surprised you with a yes, with relief. It was tight enough over at your aunt’s as it was and maybe it was better that way. With a friend – friend.

“Donations?” a volunteer asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“What?” you started, but Steve held up his bag.

“Yeah, yeah. Clothes, food, some blankets.”

“Great, that’s perfect. Clothes are on the tables at the far end of the cafeteria, food is being collected here in the quad and blankets go to the library,” the volunteer said and Steve thanked her with a small smile.

Even though you were bringing things to donate, it was a weird feeling knowing you’d likely be looking for things for you too. You wondered about everyone else. Wondered if they had lost everything too and hoped they hadn’t. Hoped they were all safe. The Wheelers, the Sinclairs, Max and Robin and Eddie–

“Holy shit–no way! Sweetheart, who’s that in your back pocket??”

As if summoned by your very thoughts, Eddie materialized at the bottom of the parking lot turning your cheeks cherry red, Steve’s hand still tucked into your jeans.

He gave Eddie a big grin and dipped down to press a kiss to your temple, “Shut up, Munson.”

“It’s Steve you idiot,” you snarked, lips tugged up in a little smile, no heat behind it and as soon as you passed the wagon off to a volunteer, your best friend was pulling you into a hug.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured into your hair, holding you tight to his chest. His voice wobbled a little and it made your throat squeeze. He’d brushed with death last night, just the same as you, and feeling him here – really here – was like a big sigh of relief.

“Wayne okay?” you asked quietly and he nodded, curls tangling with yours.

“Yeah, thank fuck,” he exhaled, finally letting you go to rub at the back of his neck. “Trailer’s totaled though.”

“My place too,” you commiserated and Steve’s grin faded as his realized just how much had been at stake outside of the party, outside of Vecna.

“Listen,” he started, clearing his throat, “My parents checked in this morning to make sure I was alright, but aren’t coming home anytime soon. If you need a place to stay there’s plenty of room…” Steve jammed his hands in his pockets, unsure if he’d crossed a line or was breaking some unsaid rule, but Eddie grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into a hug too.

“Thanks, man! God, that’d be great. Promise Wayne and I aren’t messy, we’ll clean up and help with dinner and the trash and–”

“Eddie,” Steve laughed, giving the other boy’s shoulder a squeeze, “It’s okay, I’m sure you’re fine.”

You were positive your heart was going to burst, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last 24 hours – mostly because of these two idiots – and both boys noticed at the same moment.

Eddie frowned, worried, “Hey, hey, what’s up?”

“Oh–shit–you okay, Princess?” Steve asked, his words blending together with Eddie’s.

“No, I’m okay–” you sniffled, pressing your palms to your eyes, half-laughing at how stupid you felt, “–you two just suck.”

Both boys laughed, we love you, and Steve pulled you under his arm, “Hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck with us.” He shot Eddie a look and the other boy grinned.

“Yep. Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie gave you one of his too-charming winks, “can’t get out of this one.”

You huffed a laugh and buried your face into Steve’s chest. Warm like summer and the sun, like safe and home, and when you pulled away to push up onto your toes and catch his lips between yours a voice echoed across the quad.

“OH MY GOD–WHAT?? STEVE, WHAT THE HELL?? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOU’RE DATING–”

“Oh, Christ–Robin! I’m right here, you don’t have to yell!”

[ I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF, THIS SCENE WAS SCREAMING AT ME LIKE ROBIN – YOU'RE WELCOME ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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