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familyvideostevie · 1 year

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august: a no good at waiting one-shot

Almost a year has gone by since you arrived in Hawkins. You and your enemy-turned-friend-turned-love-of-your-life Steve Harrington are feeling a little restless as summer passes. Your anxieties will not leave you alone: Are you going to move in together? Does Steve want to leave Hawkins? What will you do if he goes somewhere else? It all comes to a head on a day spent at Lover's Lake.

fluff, angst, miscommunication, musings about making choices, and lots of love! [5.4k]

this is a one-shot set after the events of no good at waiting, a farmer's market au, so it's best if you read that first! | au masterlist

Everything is perfect.

Well, not exactly. But you're happy.

Okay, again, not the whole truth. You're mostly happy. You love living in Hawkins, you love working at New-Bee's and the library, and you love Steve. Your boyfriend, your short-lived enemy, your favorite person. Who is kind of pissing you off right now.

Almost a year has gone by since you arrived in Hawkins not knowing what you wanted or who you were or how things were going to go. This summer has been fantastic -- dates with Steve and nights with your friends, drives to amusement parks and county fairs and visiting Robin's campus. It feels right to be here and you're glad that you decided to stay. You think that maybe you've finally figured out how life is supposed to feel: like this. Like love.

But at the moment, Steve has you in a bit of a rut. A few months ago he told you he really wanted to go on a trip this summer. Something just the two of you, a week or two, exploring a new place. You loved the idea because you love doing anything with Steve, but for some reason he's hardly mentioned it since then. And with the end of summer fast approaching, you know your chances at getting away are running out. As far as you can tell, he hasn't planned anything secret. Sure, things have been busy: El broke her arm last month so Steve took on extra shifts, there was a huge storm that flooded some of the fields, you got a promotion and the library and thus more hours, his car needed new breaks. The stars haven't aligned but there also hasn't been any...effort.

And that's just one thing.

The other thing, which is maybe bigger and actually makes you a bit mad, is you've been focused on figuring out how to move in together. You live at Bob's still and while you spend a lot of time at Steve's loft you've talked about finding a place of your own and your loose goal was to have it sorted by the fall. But he talks about both the move and the trip like they're just dreams, far away things that will never actually happen. He's vague whenever you bring up the new apartments going up on the old mall property, about the for sale signs you sometimes see around town. He tells you that it'll work out, that he wants to be sure you guys have enough money to be comfortable.

Does he not want to move in with you? It's a silly thought, sure, but what else are you supposed to think? He's spending every minute he's not with you at the farm or on errands he's been calling "Hopper Missions" on some property just outside of town. It's like he's filling the time so there's no room to discuss the future, like he wants to pretend it'll be summer forever.

Being in an adult relationship is hard. It's lots of decisions and compromise and learning how to talk to each other even when you don't want to and you wouldn't trade it for the world. You know it'll all work out, you just wish that it was worked out already, so you could enjoy the end of the summer and stop worrying that your boyfriend doesn't want to live with you. You know that you should just tell him how you're feeling, but that's easier said than done. Every time you try you wonder if you're being oversensitive or ungrateful or reading into things too much and you back out. Feelings are hard, okay?

You're mulling over the weight of all of these thoughts at the market on one warm Saturday morning in August. Market day is routine by now. It was fun to be here for the start of the season back in May, but you prefer the high summer days when there are endless fruits and veggies to buy and everyone is full of energy and excitement at another day. By now you run the stand practically alone -- local kids free for the summer help you stock in the morning and unload and cover when you're otherwise occupied. You've expanded to four standard candle scents and try out a seasonal one every month or so and the soaps were a very popular graduation gift. You've just tried your hand at chapsticks and they're doing really well.

Most people in town call you by your name when they come say hi. It's a little slow this month, with seasonal allergy honey sticks being less and less popular as the season winds down. So you feel okay retreating into your thoughts until someone clears their throat. You snap out of it and find El standing in front of you with a paper bag. There's a crease between her brows as she watches you.

"Hi," you say. "Is that for me?"

She nods. "I said that you looked sad so Steve told me to bring you something because he's 'up to his ears in husk'. He said you didn't eat breakfast." She uses air quotes. You soften.

"Thank you," you tell her. She keeps looking at you for a few moments before giving you a smile and trotting back to the Sara's tent. Inside the bag is one of her newer experiments -- peach scones. It's fantastic. You munch on it and keep smiling at anyone who comes by, though it's maybe not as effusive as you'd like. You really want to talk to someone about how you're feeling (a voice in your head says that person should be your boyfriend but you ignore it) but you're not sure who to go to. Robin is in Boston visiting Nancy at her hot-shot job at the paper, Eddie and Wayne are on a fishing trip somewhere in Michigan, and you're not about to chat to high schoolers about your love life, no matter how much you like them. You're not sure anyone around here notices your mood like your friends do.

"Why do you look like you swallowed a lemon?"

Well, anyone but your friends and...Murray, it seems. The guy is a little weird, sure, but he's friends with Hopper and Joyce and he really buys "a fuck ton" from the market every week, as Steve once said.

"Hi Mr. Bauman," you say. He frowns.

"Cut that Mr. shit out," he says, though it's not harsh. You do this dance every time he comes to buy an alarming amount of honey. "Your mood is going to ruin the honey."

"I...don't think that's how it works," you say. He levels you with a stare that you think must have served him well when he was a journalist in Chicago, as you've learned he was. "I'm thinking about a place to live?"

"You sure?" he says, poking fun at your uncertainty. "You can live anywhere. Trust me. Cars aren't great, but they'll do. I'd avoid tents. Very damp."

"I guess I was thinking a house," you admit, looking at your fingers. You've never put this into words before and you're not sure why you're doing it now. "Somewhere not too big, maybe with some land so I could get a dog. Not in town but not too far from town." You sigh. "It's a dumb dream."

Murray doesn't say anything. You look up at him and he looks confused. His gaze darts between you and the Sara's stand where you can see the back of Steve's head. "Not the dumbest I've heard."

He slaps down a bill and picks up his usual jar and walks away without another word. Whatever, he's a weird guy.

The day winds down and you're a little too warm to be comfortable and you're just sweaty enough that you want to take a shower and you've stewed in your feelings for too long. Of course this is when Steve comes over. Handsome as ever in his work jeans despite the heat and a Sara's t-shirt he's cut the arms off of, he looks like the lead in a teen movie.

You're loading up the crates to take back to the truck. He squeezes your hip in hello before he starts to help. "How did New-Bee's do today?" he asks.

You shrug. "Average. You?"

"Every damn person in this town wanted corn," he says. "I swear it felt like we sold more than we did for the fourth!"

You hum. It's unfair that your mood has plummeted just as he's shown up and you don't want to take it out on him, even if you consider it a little bit his fault. Steve, for his part, is being a typical boy and doesn't notice. "Hey, listen," he says.

"Listening," you mutter.

"Let's go to the lake tomorrow." That gets you to look at him. He wipes his forehead with his pocket bandana.

"The lake? Why?"

"Everyone says it'll be hotter than today and I think we deserve a day to relax, don't you think?" He squints at the sky, shading his eyes. His arms look lovely like this. "I know we haven't gone on that trip so this is like, a mini trip! Staycation? I think that's what it's called."

"I don't know if a day at the lake in town counts as a vacation, Steve," you say. But even as the words come out you find yourself wanting to go because its something to do. You haven't been swimming in the lake despite Steve's summer bucket list item of skinny dipping. You've actually only been to the lake in general a few times, which is a bit strange since it's such a big place in your relationship. You kissed for the first time at the bonfire on the shore, you told him you loved him in the cab of your truck on a cold night.

"So, is that a no?" He's looking at you with a confused expression.

"It's a yes. Is anyone else coming?"

"No, just us. We can have a picnic or some cute shit, yeah?" He rests his hand on your lower back and maybe it's a combination of the heat and your mood and the universe but you don't want him to touch you right then so you pull away from it. You don't look at him.

"Are you sure you don't have super secret Hopper shit to do?" Silence behind you.

"No," Steve says, dragging the word out. "Hey, are you alright? Did I do something?"

You ignore his question. "Are you going to come get me in the morning?" Usually, you'd go home, shower, and then stay over at Steve's place. This is a clear line in the sand that you're not sure is fair to draw.

"Sure," he says. "But, seriously, what's going on?" You do look at him then. He's got a frustrated set to his shoulders and his brows are drawn like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

You chew on your lip, hands in fists at your sides. "Nothing," you say. He gives you an incredulous look. "Okay, I just don't want to talk about it right now." The last thing you need is to not talk about it but you can feel that you're getting actually bothered about this and you don't want to have a discussion that gets taken over by your mood.

"Okaaaaay," he says. It annoys you even more. Your own shoulders creep up to your ears. "I'll help you pack up and then --"

"No," you say sharply. "I can do it myself."

"Woah, woah, woah," he says. "Okay, alright!" He holds his hands up in the air and the fight wooshes out of you.

"I don't want to fight with you, Steve."

"Who said we were fighting? Do we have something to fight about?"

You close your eyes and tip your head back. It all comes out in a rush. "Steve, I love you and we spend so much time together and I keep trying to get you to talk about looking for a place and you just won't and you want to go on a trip but you won't actually plan it and you want to go to the fucking lake tomorrow and it's like you want to do anything except talk about this stuff and I don't really want to be around you right now."

You don't feel any better for having said all of it. In fact, your chest aches and your nose stings. You don't know if you can look at him.

"I didn't know you were that upset about it," he says finally. It sounds frosty.

"I didn't tell you."

"I can see that," he says. You still don't look at him.

The market is really closing up around you, fewer voices and commotion. You wonder if anyone heard this argument. "I can pack the rest. I'll see you tomorrow." You could have told him you don't want to go but maybe the lake is where you can squash this once and for all.

Steve seems to take the dismissal at face value because you hear him sigh. Part of you wants him to fight you on it right here right now, to sort it out so you can stop feeling so worried all the time. But he doesn't. Instead, you hear his steps and then feel the heat of him as he gently kisses you on the cheek.

"Okay," he says. "See you tomorrow."

And then he's gone.

"Fuck," you say to yourself. You shake yourself out of it and try to pack away the rest of the stall with as much speed as you can muster without breaking anything. The scar across your palm is faint by now but you aren't eager to get another one.

You're almost done bringing the crates to the truck when you hear your name. Will stands in front of your stall, a hesitant smile on his face. He's a sweet kid -- 18, soon, you think, so hardly a kid at all -- and you've gotten to know him a little more since you asked if he wanted to draw the labels for the chapsticks.

"Hi, Will," you say. "Sorry I didn't see you."

He's holding a single sunflower. "Sorry to bother you," he says. "This guy is the only one left today and El said you looked a little down earlier so I thought maybe you'd like it?"

You blink a few times. "Did you, uh, hear all of...that?" You vaguely gesture behind you as if the ghost of Steve is standing there with his arms crossed.

Will looks at you for a second, considering something. Then he holds the flower out and says, "Hear what?" Tactful kid.

"Thanks, Will." He tells you to have a good day and goes back to the flower stand. The sunflower stem is velvet-soft in your hand and the petals are a brilliant yellow. It's a bit lonely on it's own but you will put it in a wine bottle and keep it on your windowsill.

Imagining it there, the only stem, standing as tall as it can in the sunshine in your bedroom, makes you want to cry.

The thing you're most scared of is Steve wanting to leave Hawkins after all. You knew it was a genuine possibility when you started dating, knew that he wanted to explore the world just as you started to make yours here. You told him you'd go with him anywhere he wanted and you meant it then. But now you're not so sure. You love Hawkins and you love Steve. You don't know what you're going to do if one of them demands you leave the other.

Your mind churns as you go to bed and as soon as you wake up. Maybe he doesn't want to plan a trip because he's afraid he won't want to come back. Maybe he's afraid to move in together because he doesn't want to invest time and money into something he'll leave behind. Maybe he's already got plans and he's trying to figure out how to tell you.

"Stop it," you tell yourself in the bathroom mirror. You're prone to this kind of overthinking; it's why you made the huge mistake of running from him last fall. And while you know him so much better, know yourself so much better, sometimes it's hard to believe that you not only deserve nice things and a nice life full of love but that you already have them. And that's why you don't know if you can leave even if you told him you could.

You sit at the kitchen table in your swimsuit under shorts and a wax-stained New-Bee's t-shirt and feel a bit sick about yesterday. You know that Steve will come get you -- he would have called if he didn't want to go anymore. You don't leave each other in a lurch like that, even if you've fought. But you're worried that you've ruined the chance of a fun day that hasn't even happened yet.

The frustration with Steve still simmers under your skin. But you want to table it to have a bit of fun, if you can. You hear the crunch of his tires in the driveway and you grab your stuffed bag and head for the door. You're greeted with the sight of Steve getting out of the car and smiling at you a little hesitantly. He's in bright red swim trunks and a ratty Hawkins High t-shirt and sunglasses.

"What is this, Baywatch?" you ask him, breaking the tension. He laughs and meets you on the porch stairs to give you a quick kiss. You chase his lips a little but he doesn't call you on it.

"Well, I was a lifeguard," he says.

"Which I bet you did just so you could look hot in the chair."

"Obviously," Steve says. He takes your bag from you. "Actually, I taught kids to swim, too. Jesus, what's in here, a watermelon?"

You roll your eyes. "Just the essentials. Sunscreen, a book, some sandwiches, grapes, a water bottle, spare clothes, a towel, a hat --"

"Okay, okay, damn," he laughs, putting it in the back seat. You get in the car and he heads for the lake, windows down. He was right about the weather -- it's much hotter than yesterday already. It could be a nice day. You want it to be a nice day. But the churning your gut demands you address the elephant in the room.

When Steve reaches for the radio you catch his hand in yours.

"Steve," you say. "I do want to talk about yesterday." He doesn't look at you, chewing on his cheek and tapping the wheel in what you know is a nervous habit.

"Yeah," he says. "We probably should. But I also want today to be nice, okay?" He kisses the back of your hand.

"I do, too."

It's not much but it's enough for now. It doesn't take long to get to the lake. Steve takes you to a different part than where you had the bonfire and where you told him you love him. This area has a dock and some grass and a shore of sand and rocks that you can see from where he parks the car.

"There's no one here," you say, unloading the backseat. "Are we even allowed to swim?"

Steve grabs the blanket from his trunk and you spread it out on the grass. "Yeah," he says. "Five years ago or something they finished a project with some scientists or some shit to make sure the lake was good for swimming. They built this but honestly I don't think a ton of people come here." He shrugs. "Or they knew we were coming and left it to us."

"Lucky us," you smirk. You spread out your items on the grass before shimmying out of your shorts and t-shirt. Steve wolf whistles. "Gross!" you tell him.

"Sorry," he says, not looking sorry at all. "That's a nice color on you. Have I seen this before?" His eyes rake over you and you plant your hands on your hips instead of crossing your arms.

"Have we been swimming before?" you ask him.

He grins. "Good point." He pulls off his shirt in one motion from the collar like boys do and without another word sprints down the small hill and onto the dock, jumping off the end and into the water with a yelp and a splash.

"Such a child," you mutter, but you're endeared. He surfaces and shakes out his head like a dog.

"Okay," he says. "It's kind of really fucking cold."

You stop in your tracks, feet just on the edge of the dock. "Really?"

"No," he says. "It's only a little cold. Nice, though." You look skeptical.

"Did you put on sunscreen?" you ask, stalling.

"Yeah." Steve swims in slow circle. "Did you? I'll do your back," he says with an eyebrow wiggle.

"I did it already," you say primly. You knew that if you ended up touching too much on this date, you'd never get to talk about the stuff you need to talk about. "So no back rub necessary." Steve shoots a stream of water at you with his mouth. It gets your knees.

"It is cold!" you squeal. Steve looks too pleased with himself. "It's on, Harrington." You take a few running steps and cannonball into the water.

Honestly, once you've been under for a few seconds it's not so bad. You surface and find Steve grinning at you. "That was cute," he says. You splash him.

After acting like children for a little you both float on your backs, hands clasped, watching the sky. Your conversation and teasing fades and in its place returns your anxiety and frustration from yesterday.

Steve seems to think you're hungry. "Let's eat something," he says. "And put on some more sunscreen."

He gets up on the dock first and runs to get your towels. He wraps yours around your dripping shoulders and you stand in his arms for a second, hand pressed to his heart to feel it beat. You love him. You will work this out. You wonder if it's possible for something to go wrong not because you don't love each other enough but because you love each other too much.

"I made you a great sandwich," you say, pulling away. "And you need more sunscreen, too. Your nose is getting red."

"Wait, really?"

You settle on the blanket and lay out your lunch. Steve pulls berries from his own bag and you eat in a silence that is only a little tense until he tosses a strawberry top into the grass and sighs.

"So, I'm guessing now is the time to talk about it?" he asks.

"Do you not want to?" You don't want this to be a fight but you don't know what else it's going to be.

"No, of course I do," he says. "We need to, clearly." He crosses his legs, his tanned stomach rolling in the way you adore over the waistband of his swim trunks. God, you love him. That's why you have to figure this out.

"We do," you say, squaring your shoulders. "I'll start." The frustration returns full force. "What the hell have you been up to, Steve? You're busy all the time and I don't need to know what you're doing because I do trust you. I just don't get why you can't tell me what you're doing on these weird errands and you won't talk to me about going on a trip or moving and I thought those were both things we wanted."

"I do want those things --"

"I've been looking into what we can afford in Hawkins and thinking about places we could go and I'm busy busting my ass at the library when I'm not at New-bee's so that we can live somewhere nice. And it just seems like you don't actually care that much about moving in together because --"

"I do, care," he says over you. "I just don't want to live in Hawkins."

Time slows down. Your heart thunders in your ears. "What did you say?"

Steve looks stressed. He reaches for you but you don't want to touch him so you cross your arms. A look of hurt crosses his face but it fades quickly.

"Let me explain," he says. "I can explain it all. If I had known you were feeling this way I would have much earlier. Why didn't you tell me?"

You shake your head to clear it. He doesn't want to live in Hawkins? Well, what does he want? Does he want you, still? "Because I didn't think you'd make me feel this way," you say hoarsely.

He takes a deep breath. "I wanted to go on a trip this summer, yeah. I thought it would be fun. And then, like, two months ago, I started thinking about how I didn't actually want to leave Hawkins, but I also don't want to keep living the same life in Hawkins, if that makes sense."

Two months? Two months? The timeline rolls around in your mind. He's been thinking about this for two months and he didn't tell you?

Steve is still talking, apparantly not noticing your distress. "And we talked about looking for a place so I realized that maybe a trip wasn't a good use of our money even though I know we both work hard and are doing fine. And then I was on a drive the weekend you went to visit your family, remember?"

You nod. You'd gone home for a weekend and missed him terribly the entire time. Steve taps your ankle and you realize he wants you to reply. His eyes are wide like he's scared and he runs a hand through his hair. What is he scared of? "Yeah," you say hollowly. "I called you every night."

"You did," he says. "The first night you left I went for a drive all around the county, basically. Just to get out of town but not go too far. To do anything other than mope at my place after we hung up. And that's when I found it."

You aren't following. He leans forward and taps your cheek with his knuckle. "The most perfect damn place in the world."

"Don't tell me you bought a piece of land, Steve," you say. It doesn't seem like a thing he'd do and wouldn't make sense if he's just going to leave.

Your boyfriend just smiles at you. "No," he says. "I didn't buy it. Well, not really."

"Not really?" you say, incredulous. What the fuck is going on?

"I'm almost done explaining, I swear, honey." He runs a hand through his damp hair again. "It's maybe half an hour out of Hawkins proper. It's a real nice little farmhouse with lots of open space around it and I saw it and it felt like I'd been struck by lightning, or something."

The pieces start to fall into place but you don't dare hope. "Dramatic," you say.

"Hey, don't make fun of me!" Your joke seems to encourage him. "It looked like no one lived there so I figured out what the address was and turns out that weird guy Murray owns it."

Murray? Who you say yesterday at the farmer's market and who listened to you tell him about your dream property? That he, apparently, happens to own?

"He's not that weird," you mumble.

"He is weird but I don't give a shit because he doesn't use it and after talked to me he agreed to rent it to us for barely anything if I fixed it up a little first. So that's what I've been doing."

Steve looks at you, eyes wide and waiting. You blink a few times and try to take it all in.

"So let me get this right," you say. "When you haven't been working at Sara's or spending time with me, you've been fixing up a house that you're going to rent from Murray? And you told me none of this? For two months?"

Steve frowns. "When you say it like that I sound like the bad guy. Also, we're going to rent it." He seems to realize you haven't agreed to anything by the way his face falls and okay, maybe you're being a little unfair. Yes, he lied, a little bit, but it wasn't anything harmful. You just got in your head about it.

"I just don't get why you didn't tell me," you say, feeling small. "I was starting to think that you didn't..."

"Didn't what?" Steve reaches for you and you let him take your hands this time.

"Didn't actually want to live together. Didn't want to go on a trip. I don't know." You sigh.

Steve looks genuinely upset at that you've thought this. "Honey," he says, voice rough. "All I want is to live with you. This house is for us. Now that I'm saying it out loud I'm realizing I probably should have told you that at the start."

A whole house. You've imagined your first place together to be a dinky apartment on the edge of town. But a house? It's a dream come true. You bring Steve's palm to your cheek and lean into it.

"I thought we were good at communicating," you say softly.

"Apparantly not," he says wryly. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I just...wanted to make it nice and official first, I guess." His thumb strokes your cheek. "But you should have told me how you were feeling a long time ago."

"Yeah," you agree. "I'm sorry. Would have saved me some heartache and you some hard work. I could have helped!"

"You still can," he says, eyes lighting up. "It's not quite done. I still need to paint the outside."

You scoot forward so you're almost in his lap. "Where did you learn to fix up a house, Steve?"

"Hopper," he says. He fiddles with the strap of your bathing suit. "He's been helping. So I really was doing Hopper stuff, kind of?" He licks his lips. Another nervous tell. "So, what do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"About the house. I know it's a lot and we're still kind of young but renting means we can change our minds and --"

You put your head in your hands. "Steve," you say, voice thick. "I'm still getting over the fact that I thought you didn't want to move win with me and finding out that instead you've found us a house."

His hands circle your wrists. "Only to rent!" he says a little desperately. "I mean, you might not even like it!" You allow him to pull your palms away. Your nose starts to sting.

"I will," you say.

"Oh no," Steve says. "You look like you're going to cry." He pulls you fully into his arms and flops onto his back on the blanket, taking you with him. You land on his chest with an oof.

"I've been really scared," you say into his bare chest. "That you were going to leave and I don't know if I can follow you because I love it here even though I love you, too."

"I know," he says. "But I think this is perfect. It's close but not the place we've been. It's ours until we want something different. And I don't think I want to leave because I want to be wherever you are."

"It's so grown up." You sniffle and he rubs your back.

"I know," he sighs. You can feel his heartbeat under your cheek. "What the fuck."

"What the fuck," you echo and laugh wetly. "Is the yard big enough for a dog?"

"Sure is," he says. "Do you want to drive by when we head home?"

"I do." He hums.

You sit in silence for a few breaths. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, but please tell me things next time, okay?" He looks down at you through long lashes.

"Deal," he says. "I love you back, but please tell me how you're feeling, okay?"

"Deal." You roll off of him and sit up. "Can we go see our house now?"

He grins toothily. "Hell yes we can," he says. "Well, it's not ours yet. Seriously, we have to work that out with Murray. I think we need a lawyer to draw something up? I don't really know how all that works --"

You kiss him in the middle of his sentence. "We'll figure it out."

"You're right," he says. He kisses you again. "We will."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#no good at waiting #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington au

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steamberrystudio · 2 months

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28/07/2024 Devlog

Hallo everyone! Time for the tumblr update! I have big news! So read on!

Summary:

Finished drafting Yren's ending

Revised Kav, Noel, Raif, and Yren

Formatted/Scripted Kav, Noel, Raif, and Yren's endings

Worked on the play test for Yren

One new BG

Lots of UI stuff

Big Fiddly To Do List

Writing:

I am done with the writing. (Well. As done as one ever really is. I was telling another writer friend of mine just yesterday that we're never really done until the moment we have to ship the project to someone).

BUT. I am done with the rough draft. I am done with the major revision. So from this point onwards, the changes will be more minor as I play test and others play test (eventually. I'm the only one testing right now).

So going forward you probably won't be getting any writing updates because there won't be enough to report. Cause...it's done.

Uncoded word count is 657,000 words.

Coded word count is 616,000 words (this is how much actually ended up in Ren'py).

Huzzah. My 350,000 word story is done. He he. He. LoL

It took so much longer than I thought it would even though I was writing every day - sometimes 3000 words a day!

Timing was just so hard for this project. It was much more difficult to predict a total word count for this game. Because of the structure of this game, word count variations are going to be much more noticeable and I had to focus and work a little harder to keep everyone in much tighter alignment. So when one route (like Asher), increased by 5000 words, I knew immediately I would have to increase all the others by roughly the same amount.. That meant the overall word count goal instantly increased by 25000 words.

Additionally, any time I made a small change in something - whether it was lore or a minor wording or vocabulary change (for instance, changing one thing from "system void" to "gate void" then to "nexus void") - each time, I had to go change that thing in all the other routes.

There was a lot of continuity babysitting.

This was somewhat true for GS but not to the same degree. Not everything mentioned in one route in that game was even mentioned in the other routes. So I might need to only change one other route's references to that thing but not all nine routes. Or maybe no other route would need changes. In WSC, it was all 6 routes every single time.

So even if I was focusing on one particular route, I could never really work on that route in a vacuum. I was constantly having to go check on and edit the other routes for things too.

This not only made it harder and more time consuming to write in general, but also just made it impossible to predict things like how much time it would take.

But that is squared away. Life is good.

Art:

Just some BG stuff. I've been so focused on writing that not much of that focus has been spread around to art so there's not much to report here.

Other Stuff:

UI.

As you know I've been making some visual changes to the UI. Mostly minor stuff involving slight changes to the general aesthetic of the UI. Those fixes are largely complete.

And now the focus has shifted to adding more of the features and functionalities that have been planned but on-hold for the last year.

The new save screen is coded. This save screen, as you can see, divides the characters up by name and lets you add additional save slots when you've filled up all the empty ones.

For a game like WSC, where people may have multiple playthroughs for different characters going at the same time, I thought it would be useful to have this paged organisation. I always find that even if I try to keep my playthroughs separate and organised, they invariably get messy. This is true in other games, this is true for my personal play tests...

I'm really hoping this structure helps with that.

Another feature I'm adding to WSC is a recap screen.

I know that with episodic games, one of the struggles people have is that they forget some of the story details during the gap between episodes. So people feel like they constantly have to replay and refresh their memory. This is, of course, an attempt to help players maybe not have to do that.

The idea is that I will update this with every episode so that people who want a recap can just click in and refresh their memory.

There are some other features that have been added in. Some other QOL of life things. And there are more features to come. I won't go into everything here.

But those things are slowly coming together as well.

There are a lot of things that have to be done before the first episode can release. Some are major things like completing the CGs or coding the sprite expressions. Some are more minor like adding the in-game achievements.

And there are also a ton of smaller, more fiddly things. Like double-checking the styling of certain words (my editing programs could never decide if they preferred home world or homeworld and so both get used.)

I want to fix those kinds of things so testers don't have to worry about pointing them out.

I have a massive to-do list filled with all of those big and small things. And now I'm working through it.

I have also been doing a play test of Yren's route. I have to personally do each route one time just to see if there are any significant issues that need to be fixed before anyone else sees the game. So I've been doing that as well.

Upcoming Weeks:

Finishing my own play test of the game. This goes fairly slow because I play test with the self voicing enabled. And that means that I'm playing through it at a much slower pace. I also stop frequently to fix typos, change repetitive wording. Or may slightly more substantial fixes.

I've been testing for like...2 hours a night because I've been focused on writing during the day. But I'm going to be increasing the time I spend play testing so that hopefully I can get through the rest of it a little faster.

Additionally, all the UI and "Fiddly List" stuff will continue to be worked on as well.

So that's where we are.

We have moved past writing and into the next phase of development. I'm really excited to be finally focusing on other stuff.

That is all for now. I will see you next time.

#devlog #when stars collide #indie otome #amare game #updates

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jo-harrington · 1 year

Text

Interview Prep (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried about making a change to some routines.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.03

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual Pining and Slow Burn, Meeting the Family, Anxiety, Fluff

Note: Special thanks to @chestylarouxx @fracturedarkness and @courtingchaos for reading my snippets, listening to my rambling, and easing my nerves with this one. It's been in my drafts since February! And it's always kind of eluded me, but it's very special so I appreciate the time you took to help me out. So so much.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

“…and I swear the sound is so much better than my Fender. Like a thousand times better. I’m gonna need a new amp, I think. She is way too good for that hunk of junk that Rick got from his buddy way back when.”

“Uh huh.”

“God, I wish you could come to a show to hear it. Maybe...maybe I can ask Tom at the Hideout if our set could be a little later one night so you could come out after the store closed?"

"Sure."

“And then we could get pickle and bologna milkshakes at Benny's afterwards."

"Sounds great."

"Am I boring you?” Eddie finally stopped as he hit the button on the bailer and put his hands on his hips. "You're not even listening."

“What?” You freed yourself from your thoughts and got a good look at him. "I...what? No."

It was break time, which meant cardboard got crushed and garbage tossed before you ventured into the food court for something to eat. And on a day like today when your schedules aligned, that also meant your break was spent with your closest friend--only friend--in Hawkins.

And on any other day, you would have happily listened to his story.

Hell, you actually had listened to him...for most of it at least--he boasted about his new guitar, how he named her Sweetheart, and her first actual performance outside of Gareth's garage that had occurred the night prior--before you got too caught up in your own head.

It had been a normal Wednesday when you got to the store for your opening shift. The registers were counted, gate pushed up, and you were about to confidently post the new schedule.

Then the mail was delivered.

And with it, a larger envelope from home office that contained a very hefty packet inside.

Normally a package like that would make you happy; it was a sign that one of your favorite weeks of the year was approaching: planogram week. It was, quite honestly, not only your favorite week but your favorite part of the job altogether. More than your team, more than your discount...certainly more than helping customers.

Summer was coming to an end, which meant all of the trendy accessories would make way for backpacks, water bottles, notebooks, and lunch boxes. Things that stayed hidden away for 75% of the year, but were suddenly at the forefront of every parent and pre-teen's mind as they got ready to look their best on the first day of school.

Today, however, you suddenly felt a sense of dread as you opened the package because a planogram meant that you would have to schedule an overnight shift on the one night of the week that the mall closed early.

Sunday Night.

Date Night with Eddie.

Eddie's favorite night. And yours.

Your favorite part of your job encroached on what was becoming an essential part of your life.

So you spiraled until your break because it was easier to worry and overthink than it was to just...communicate the fact that you might have to miss a Sunday and face the possibility that Eddie could be mad at you.

Unfortunately he seemed a little steamed right now because he thought you hadn't been listening to him.

His little grumpy face was cute though.

Why was this harder than having to call your team to ask if they were ok with an unexpected overnight shift? God damn it, you needed to get a grip.

“You weren’t listening to anything I said,” he repeated.

“Yes I was,” you insisted.

“What did I say then?”

“You nailed the solo.”

“And…”

“And you actually got a round of applause.”

“And?”

“And you need a new amp.”

“And?”

“Uhm… a-and…”

Shit…maybe you had delved a little bit too far.

Growing up with a big, loud family--including an overbearing mother and two annoying brothers--meant you had the innate ability to split your brain in half and listen to them while also worrying about your own shit.

However, thanks to the intensity of your worrying, that ability failed you.

You wracked your brain for a good 30 seconds until Eddie’s scowl turned into a wicked smile, and then you knew he was just being a jerk.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled at him.

“Excuse me,” he placed a hand on his chest in fake affront and stumbled back a few steps to collapse against the side of the trash compactor. “I'm the worst? You agreed to Pickle and Bologna milkshakes and ignored your best friend. Not very metal, sweetheart."

"I just have a lot on my mind." You shook your head and sighed. "Sorry."

"Well it's a good thing that I am a great listener. Unlike someone."

Eddie pushed himself off the compactor, put his hand on your shoulder, and guided you back inside to the food court. You got your meals of choice and tucked yourselves into a table in the corner by the JCPenney entrance.

"Alright," he started with his mouth full of fries. "Tell dear old Eddie what's bothering you."

You swallowed a mouthful of food and took a deep breath.

It was now or never.

"Well...there's this big thing coming up at work...planogram...uh...floor set," you began. "And it's really important and after it's done...we'll get visitors from corporate and my boss will probably make a few visits to see how it's going. I just want to do really well."

"Well, you've been doing a good job so far right?" Eddie shrugged. "Why wouldn't they think so now?"

"I don't know, I don't wanna mess it up," you admitted. "I'm a new store manager. And a lot of the team never worked retail before. I literally cried my first floor set as a sales associate. It's tough."

"You're just giving yourself the yips. I do it all the time when we add a new song to the set list."

"Don't just say that to make me feel better."

"Last week I forgot how to do a G-chord," he crossed his heart. "Scouts honor."

"You were a Boy Scout?" you asked skeptically.

"Stop distracting me." He popped another French fry in his mouth in an exaggerated fashion. "What else?"

"Well...we have to schedule floor sets on a Sunday."

"Ok."

"After the store closes."

"...Oh."

"Yeah."

Eddie sipped his drink thoughtfully and stared at you with his abyss-like eyes; they didn't betray a single thought going through his head and it made you nervous.

And nervous meant that you didn't shut up.

"I mean I don't want to have to cancel our night out," you started with the word vomit. "It's just the way things are always done and you'll see one day if you still work at Tape World for long enough, that's one of those things that...I don't know, if you try to do things differently it always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"And I'm young and whenever we have a conference call to talk about sales...my DM doesn't let me forget that I'm a baby compared to everyone else and it's so frustrating because I feel like I can't even suggest anything new because it immediately is dismissed as naive. It's like they keep waiting for me to fail. So I wish...I wish I could make a change so we could keep our plans. Like if it was anything else I could make it work but I...this thing I just can't, you know?

"But...but...b-because I would have to work on Sunday overnight I would probably be off another day so if you're ok with it we can do something else? Maybe on...I don't think I could get Tuesday off because of everyone's availability...maybe Friday if your friends are cool with me crashing your club night. Or...you open on Saturdays. We could do Saturday night instead?"

The punctuation to the drawn out sentence was your labored breath and Eddie noisily sucking the dregs of his soda through the straw. Shithead that he was didn't even have the decency to do anything but continue watching you with his big dumb cute eyes.

"Weeellllll..." he started in a sing-song tone and then paused and sucked at the straw some more.

Could he just tell you to fuck off already so this wouldn't be as painful as it was?

"That really sucks you need to work overnight," he finished his thought with a grin and shoved his cup to the side. "Being in the mall after hours...sounds kinda creepy. Do you think there are ghosts?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" you deadpanned. "You let me go on and on like that for nothing?"

"It was funny."

"I hate you."

"You cherish me."

"It was painful." You groaned. "Like I think I'm sweating. My heart hurts Edward."

"Don't act like you've never let me do that before," he scoffed and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. You threw a fry at him. "Don't start what you can't finish sweetheart. One fry can turn into a food fight and I would hate to find out the hard way why I'm Hawkins High's food fighting champion."

"Ok so...Saturday night?" you asked. "This Saturday...are you doing anything?"

"Uh..." Eddie hesitated and sat up a little straighter. "I mean...no hot dates or anything. What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe just what we normally do?" you suggested. "Drive around, eat a bunch of junk food. Or if you want to come over to my place and I--"

"So, I have a confession to make," he interrupted you. "I actually do have plans on Saturday. More like...standing plans than anything. My uncle Wayne is off on Saturdays and we've always watched reruns on TV and ordered pizza. Family night or whatever. My mom used to do the same thing so...Wayne thought it would be...I dunno, good for stability or something.

"It's silly but I don't want to just ditch him without asking," Eddie explained and your heart melted.

Of course you didn't want to take time away from his family; you knew how important his uncle was to him.

"Oh...well that's ok...we can rain check for another day then or--"

"Why don't you just come over?" Eddie asked. "He won't mind. I am opening this Saturday so I'll be done by 5; you can get there in time for Wheel of Fortune. That way he can't yell at me when I try to solve the puzzles with lewd words." He mimics, what you assume is, Wayne's voice.

Eddie looked so eager that you immediately agreed.

Your heart stopped in your chest though.

Come over? And meet his uncle?

Sure...you'd already met Benny a few weeks ago...and yeah you'd thought of it like meeting someone from Eddie's family but...this was his actual family. What if you insulted his uncle or...or made yourself look stupid.

You needed to put your best foot forward. Make a good impression.

"How about..." your mouth started moving before your brain could catch up. "...instead of ordering pizza, I cook for you guys instead? I'll be off Saturday since I'm doing the overnight on Sunday. I can just bring everything over."

Eddie's eyes lit up and as he teased you about the impressive cooking skills that you had supposedly boasted about previously, all you could think was...

How did this situation get even more stressful?

---

The rest of the week leading up to Saturday had been overwhelming to say the least.

To you, food was life. Cooking for someone was everything that you could do to show them that you cared. How many hours had you spent with your grandma making cookies for neighbors at Christmas, or freezer meals when a distant relative had a baby, or a tray of something after a friend of the family had passed.

Food was love and friendship, and as much as what you had done for Eddie with the guitar had been a show of friendship...this meant so much more.

So you needed to hit a home run...or a bullseye...or whatever sports terminology signified that you won.

Which meant you'd spent some down time flipping through your grandma's old recipes that she had gifted you once upon a time--a thin, pocket-sized spiral notebook with a purple cover that was filled with her illegible handwriting and personal shorthand--and thinking of ideas that would be both impressive and hearty. You'd already changed your mind twice, and had made just as many trips to Bradleys for extra ingredients.

You'd also pestered Eddie several times through the course of the week to get his input without giving anything away.

"Does your uncle like cheese?"

"Of course he does."

"Some people don't."

"Would we get pizza every Saturday if we didn't like cheese?"

"There's some pizza that doesn't have cheese."

"Why the questions? Are you nervous sweetheart?"

And that was when he started to tease you. Every chance he got. Lunches, breaks, passing you on the way to the employee lot as you started a shift and he ended one.

He asked if you wanted their phone number so you could call Wayne and make kissy noises at each other for hours, if you wanted him to bring love letters home to save on stamps, and if you were planning to dress really nice for your date with his uncle.

"I'll be sure to grab extra chapstick for him so his lips are ready for you tomorrow," he laughed and leaned closer to make the biggest, noisiest smacking kiss noise in your ear as you waited for your break time cookies.

"You're an idiot," you rolled your eyes after he uttered the last one. "I don't want him to hate me because...what if he doesn't want me to hang around you anymore. I'd kind of lose my mind."

"Oh, uh," Eddie backed away a little bit and rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands in his back pockets. "Wayne wouldn't do that. He's...a little bit of a grump, but he's harmless."

"Guess we know where you got it from," you muttered.

"I didn't know you were...actually worried," Eddie continued. "I'm sorry. But it'll be ok. Even if you...wore a potato sack and brought canned beans that we had to heat on the stove for dinner. He'll think you're great. Because you are."

You were both a little silent after that, Eddie staring at his feet bashfully as you felt your heart race and your head spin.

You finalized your plans that night when you got home and immediately started on your dessert, sure that it was all gonna be a hit with both Munsons.

It was gonna be great. Because Eddie thought you were great.

And Saturday, the doubt didn't creep on you at all. Not while you cooked, not as you packed your casserole dish and Tupperware into a large cooler bag, and not even as you drove across town, following Eddie's directions to Forest Hills without getting lost once.

It wasn't until you stepped out of your car and stared at the front door that you felt your stomach drop a little.

Those four cement steps might as well have been a thousand.

But...your sneakers only needed to crunch on the gravel before the door was thrown open and a slightly-breathless Eddie smiled at you...and then all the worry disappeared.

"Hey," he greeted. "D-did you need any help?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind," you shrugged.

He jogged down the steps in socked-feet and crossed to the passenger's side door of your car, talking a mile a minute as he reached in to grab your things.

"I, uh, got home an hour ago," he rambled. "The A/C at the store conked out...and then Paulie had me make a trash run before I left. Had a big shipment today. So if I'm still a little sweaty...that's why."

"You're fine," you laughed.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry. I've been cooking so I'm probably a little sweaty too. Lasagna and July...sort of don't go together that well."

He raced up the steps and held the door open for you.

"Lasagna? Oh the old man is gonna love you," Eddie chuckled.

You entered the Munson abode and were immediately hit by the strongest sense of home that you'd felt since...well, since you'd still been at home. Not necessarily that it was a place where you belonged, but...it was a place of belonging.

Mugs and hats and other memorabilia lined the walls, reminiscent of the tchotchkes that your mother stacked to high heaven on every available surface. The couch was a little faded but looked comfortable and soft as though you could sink into the cushions and disappear into a soft nether-realm.

Your grandpa had a couch like that. His spot sunk to the shape of his body. It was still your favorite place to sit when he wasn't already there. It was like a hug.

That was when your eyes found the armchair, molded around the shape of the man seated in it. He was older, a little weathered and greying, hairline receding, and even though he isn't smiling right now, the lines around his mouth were indication enough that he smiled quite a bit.

Just like his nephew.

"Uh, Wayne this is my friend from the mall," Eddie introduced you as he juggled your cooler bag and your large Tupperware to the kitchen counter. "The one I told you about. Works at the jewelry store."

"Nice to meet you," you smiled and held a hand out to him to shake. He took your hand in a firm grasp and as you shook his the way your grandfather taught you--to command respect and trust--his eyes narrowed.

"I had to hear about you through Rick, who heard about you through Benny," Wayne started. "And I haven't the slightest idea why my nephew thought he needed to keep you a secret; not the first girlfriend he's brought around--"

Eddie groaned something unintelligible from the kitchen and you fought the urge to break eye contact with Wayne so you could look at him.

"--but I just watched him run around for the past hour tidying up. And he's never done that before. So if you can help him keep the habit, you're alright in my book." Wayne smiled widely and let your hand go.

"Thank you," you chuckled nervously, suddenly realizing how silly it had been that you were even worried in the first place.

Eddie had been right.

You could never admit that to him.

"Even did the dishes," Wayne looked past you at Eddie. "He never does the dishes."

"W-we're having dinner," Eddie whined. "Gotta have clean plates."

The two of them bantered back and forth comfortably and you joined Eddie in the kitchen to get everything plated. There was a salad, buttery mashed potatoes, and of course your still-warm and gooey lasagna.

Eddie explained that it was Wayne's favorite that he rarely got to have homemade--

"Stoffers will do in a pinch," Wayne explained.

--and that you were already more loved than he was simply for making it, to which Wayne agreed. And he even pointed out the well-loved Garfield mug that he had gotten Wayne for Father's Day one year for that fact alone.

Eddie tried to protest when you took the dessert bowl from him to stow it away in the fridge until it was the appropriate time.

"I didn't even get to have cookies with you today," he reasoned. "Or a soda. See? I suffer when you're not working. How am I--a growing boy--supposed to reach my fullest potential without proper sustenance?"

You snorted and brought the plates out to the living area while Eddie trailed behind you.

"He's just grumpy because you're making him eat vegetables," Wayne chuckled as he took his plate. "A feat I have yet to achieve in 8 years. So if you weren't already in my good books, you are now."

Dinner passed relatively uneventfully at first. You and Eddie sat on the couch--which was just as comfy as you thought it would be--as Wayne occupied the armchair. They inhaled their first helping and showered you with compliments. Eddie begrudgingly admitted that your cooking was as good as you had bragged, and even said the dressing on your salad "wasn't Ranch but was still pretty tasty."

As Eddie had told you days ago, Wheel of Fortune started promptly at 7:30 and he and Wayne tried to solve as many puzzles as possible around mouthfuls of food. They teased each other when their guesses were particularly ridiculous, and celebrated when they got one right.

You solved a long puzzle correctly--your only contribution to their little competition--before there were very many tiles revealed on the board and Eddie patted your thigh in praise when you got it right with a soft "that's my girl" that nearly had you drop your plate.

When Wheel ended, Wayne stood up to grab seconds for himself and Eddie and a couple of beers for you all. Before he sat back down he grabbed a tape from a basket beside the television and popped it into the VCR.

"I hope you don't mind," he said sheepishly. "I like the background noise and Love Boat doesn't start til 9."

As the static on the screen cleared, you were treated to a good look of a Map to Illustrate the Ponderosa in Nevada.

"Mind? I love Bonanza," you laughed, and Eddie groaned beside you.

"No I already have to endure Wayne and Rick and their western reruns, and now you too?"

Conversation then turned to you. Turned to the usual stuff that you talked about when you met someone new. And you really...didn't like talking about yourself. The middle child and the only girl with two strong-willed brothers and parents that liked to pick and pick and pick at every imperfection; it was ingrained in you.

Thankfully, Eddie seemed to really like to talk to you, at you, about you.

"I work at Claire's. We do like...ear piercing and cute accessories for kids."

"She works there? She's the store manager. And the youngest one in the company. Right? Is that...no...in the district. Anyway..."

And where you faltered, he picked up the reins.

"I mean it's just community college. Everyone graduates. I'm not smart or anything."

"Are you shitting me right now? Sweetheart I can't even graduate high school."

Eagerly.

"And there was this one time, I shit you not Wayne," Eddie's hands mimed as he tried to tell his story. "She literally balanced on one foot on the top rung of a ladder. Had to have been...20 feet high...to get this kitten that was stuck on top of the bailer. How it got there? I couldn't tell you."

"It was not the top rung."

"It was."

"It wasn't 20 feet!"

"Let me tell the story."

"I'm supposed to be telling the story," you laughed at him.

"Ok, you're right, but you weren't telling it good enough," Eddie argued. "You have to emphasize."

"He means fib," Wayne clarified.

"I mean...bend the truth for entertainment purposes only," Eddie explained rapidly.

Eventually dinner was done and it was time for dessert, which Eddie eagerly followed you into the kitchen for.

"How am I doing?" you asked nervously as you rummaged in the fridge.

"You're doing great. How many times do I have to tell you he would like you?" he huffed good-naturedly.

"I don't know, I just needed reassurance."

"Are you kidding me?" he scoffed. "You're doing great. I'm sure he'll be asking me when the next time you'll be over is so he can maybe get some more lasagna. He doesn't just let anyone watch A Rose for Lotta with him. You're special."

"Am I?"

"You're special to me."

You looked up at Eddie a little shocked and he smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

You couldn't get your hopes up. You just...couldn't.

"What's taking so long in there?" Wayne asked as he ejected the tape from the VCR so he could flip to ABC. You both looked over and found him watching you with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye.

"I dunno," Eddie replied petulantly. "Someone's withholding my reward."

You rolled your eyes and grabbed another set of plates from the drying rack by the sink. You opened your container to reveal the fluffy green mounds of pudding and whipped cream and marshmallows studded with bright maraschino cherries.

"Sweetheart, you didn't," Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders and leaned over to look into the Tupperware.

"I did," you beamed.

The perfect end to a great night.

Because you might not have known that lasagna was Wayne's favorite.

But you knew that Watergate salad was Eddie's.

---

It was late by the time Eddie walked you out to your car, way past your usual bedtime, and later than you should have been up especially considering that you would be doing the overnight tomorrow.

The dessert had been consumed in its entirety; once you and Wayne had your fill, Eddie ate the remainder out of the bowl looking, quite literally, like a kid in a candy store. And as Captain Stubing and Doc Bricker bickered aboard the Pacific Princess, you began dozing on Eddie's shoulder.

He shook you awake and you said your goodbyes to Wayne.

"You're welcome anytime," he insisted as you headed to the door. "Lasagna or no. Don't let Ed trick you into spoiling us. He's still young but my waistband can't handle it."

And now you were standing with Eddie, the driver's side door between you as you sort of refused to get in and drive away. It was a real Midwest Goodbye.

"I'll see you at work..." you fumbled over your words as you tried to think of the next time you'd actually get to see him. You had the overnight tomorrow, and you'd be off Monday. Eddie would be off Tuesday which meant... "Oh god, well...Wednesday? That seems so far away."

"It doesn't have to be Wednesday," Eddie shrugged. "What if I brought you breakfast on Monday? After your floor set is over?"

"God that's gonna be so early for you," you dismissed his idea.

"So? You just made us the best dinner and there's leftovers for a few days, which you didn't want. Let me get you breakfast."

"I don't want to put you out."

The two of you bickered back and forth for a minute before you put your foot down and told him to sleep in because he had to close on Monday night.

"Thanks though," you said. "This was nice. Family dinner at home. It was really nice. Makes me a little homesick but...I guess Hawkins is my home for now."

"Hey, of course, any time," Eddie replied. He looked pensive for a second and then turned so he didn't have to look at you. Like he was hesitant about what you would say or think. "We don't...I mean I guess what I mean is...I really enjoy hanging out on Sundays and I know this is sort of a one-off thing. But...you know we don't only have to hang out on Sundays. We can do...I mean...have dinner again sometimes or meet you after work even if I'm off...or see a movie again...get something from Family Video or..."

"You wanna hang out with me more?" you cut into his rambling.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Friends hang out all the time but..." You shrugged. "Don't...skip out on...I mean I guess I don't know what it is you do with the guys outside of band practice and DnD. Don't skip out on them just for me."

"No, hey now, wait," Eddie held his hand out to stop you. "Those turds already see me all the time and are gonna see me more once school's back in session. And...I'll probably work less so...I'll take any time with you now that I can get."

"Alright." You beamed.

"Alright." He mirrored you. "More non-Sunday hangouts."

You agreed and he held out his pinky. You immediately hooked yours into it.

“See you Wednesday sweetheart,” Eddie said his farewell. “Don’t dream of me too much.”

---

"Alright guys, it's almost 7am, time to clean up," you announced to your overnight crew with a clap of your hands.

It had been a fun but trying night, but ultimately successful.

Saturday had been perfect but your whole Sunday routine had already been thrown off and you spent a majority of your day sleeping and cleaning and wondering what Eddie was getting up to at work.

As you predicted, everyone was more than a little confused by the planogram booklet but you were a patient teacher. Everyone thought they had an eye for store layout until they were faced with twenty shipment boxes of pencil cases and locker decor. You had to talk a few of them down from near-panics several times throughout the night.

Over the course of the floorset, side ponytails became even more askew than normal, a few pairs of shoes got kicked into a pile by the gate, and everyone turned into tired, sweaty messes.

To keep morale up, you had insisted on everyone bringing a favorite tape that alternated in the shop radio and you had stocked up at Bradley's with an assortment of sugary snacks and drinks for the break room. Thankfully, the treats had prevented anyone from bursting into tears or threatening to quit, as you had witnessed countless times during your time working in retail.

You really channeled Eddie's sweet tooth when making your choices and it had paid off.

But after 12 hours of unpacking, stacking, dusting, shifting, and sliding, you were all ready to go home.

You ushered everyone out of the store and locked the gate behind you, and as the group walked toward the employee exit, excitement had returned. Pride for a seemingly-impossible task completed.

"The store looks so good! Mindy is gonna shit herself when she comes in to open."

"Oh my god, do you think we're gonna have a store visit? Can you let me know what they think of the hair wall?"

"We're gonna make so many sales! Who can say no to that unicorn backpack?"

You entertained their conversation but when you set foot outside and saw a familiar van parked next to your car, you lost all ability to speak.

He had said he was gonna surprise you with breakfast...but you told him not to. Of course he didn't listen; it had you rolling your eyes in annoyed amusement.

God you knew everyone was a gossip, this was gonna get to Mindy and then she was gonna give you an earful. She already let you have it when she heard about your invitation to dinner.

You quickly thanked your team and ushered them to their cars before you meandered towards yours. You ignored the questioning looks that they shot you as you hesitated to get into your car but you waved goodbye as they drove away.

When the last car left the lot, you immediately stormed over to the passenger's side door of the van and threw it open to find a McDonald's bag on the seat, two coffees in the cupholders, and a tired-eyed Eddie in the driver's seat. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel in time with Kiss's Beth.

"I'm always somewhere else," he turned his upper body towards you dramatically and began serenading you. "And you're always there alone."

"Unbelievable," you scoffed at him.

"Just a few more hours and I'll be right home to you. I think I hear them calling. Oh Beth what can I do?" He slapped his hands against the steering wheel dramatically. "Beth what can I do?"

You climbed into the passengers seat, closed the door behind you, and opened the McDonalds bag to the delightful smell of hot, fresh, crispy hash browns and egg McMuffins.

"If it's not obvious," Eddie announced as he reached across the van to shove his hand into the bag for a hash brown of his own. "I'm Beth in this scenario because you left me alone for hours and hours and hours last night."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah I got into all sorts of trouble."

“I told you not to bring breakfast.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

"You didn't need to come if you were tired."

"I wanted to and I pretty much do whatever I want anyways," he insisted, and then thankfully focused on his food as you felt your face heat up.

"Well, if you'd like to know, me and the boys were not actually playing all night," you remarked and dug the sandwiches out of the brown bag. You handed one to Eddie, whose mouth was already full of salty, potatoey goodness after he'd shoved the hash brown in one piece. His cheeks were all round and full like a chipmunks and you held back a giggle.

God he was too cute. And he brought you breakfast after a long overnight shift. And he had called you his girl and told you you were special. How were you supposed to stop yourself from having a crush on him if this was...just how he was?

The two of you got to talking about your night, about his Sunday shift, about what you did before work, about what he did after it. And it was nice.

And as you sat there watching him slurp the hot coffee and watch the sparse traffic around the mall dive, you finally found the right words and the strength not to make an absolute fool of yourself.

"This was really nice of you, Eddie. You're wonderful."

He put his hand on his chest and looked a little sheepish.

"I'm wonderful?"

"You're wonderful to me."

---

Next Part: Corrective Action

The tag list is currently suspended.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #store manager verse #stranger things fic #Eddie munson fic #stranger things Eddie munson

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wigglywormy · 5 months

Text

blurred lines, sharp twine [bakugou/deku, 5.6k, nsfw]

okay. so I haven't written a fic in over 5 years!! can y'all believe that? i used to be so active on this blog, pumping out fics day and night, but life got busy and before I knew it over 5 years have passed omg.

of course my first fic back would be something like this lol. this was written for @wreckingtickles who shares my undying love for bakugou getting absolutely destroyed. they prompted me with a fic featuring bakugou's stirrup leggings and that kinda spiraled into this huge monster of a fic.

please enjoy 8) (also i made an ao3 to cross-post my tickle fics on!)

warnings: nsfw, feet, intense tickling, bondage, veryyyy slight dub-con, minors DNI.

Izuku wouldn’t openly call himself a weird guy, but he definitely doesn’t really try to hide the fact that he’s a little on the strange side. He knows he’s a gigantic nerd (he’s thoroughly reminded of that fact by Bakugou everyday), he knows he’s a little awkward, and he knows he’s maybe even a little bit of a freak. But, through the years of trauma, war, violence, and near-death, he’s come to accept that life is much too short to deny who you are.

Moving in with Bakugou after graduation was something Izuku didn’t even have to think about. Bakugou set up a few apartment viewings, and it went completely unsaid that the smartest decision for both of them would be to stick together. Roommates equaled cheaper rent, and since they both were working under the same agency it was easy to align their schedules. Normally they patrol together (the Wonder Due didn’t get its name for nothing), but occasionally - especially lately - Bakugou has been picking up more shifts than usual.

Izuku can’t help but notice how tired Bakugou has been lately, especially tonight, coming home from his 9th day in a row of patrol. The door closes softly behind him - he must think Izuku’s asleep already as it’s around two in the morning, and Izuku turns slightly from his position curled up on the couch to watch Bakugou toe his boots off. He’s already changed out of his hero uniform, clad in only his leggings and a soft, worn looking hoodie that Izuku’s pretty sure belongs to him.

Bakugou leans his head against the wall in the foyer for a brief moment, sighing deeply, and Izuku’s heart aches at the noise.

“Late night?” Izuku asks, closing his book and setting it on the coffee table.

Bakugou jumps. “Jesus - shit, you scared the fuck outta me.”

“Sorry,” Izuku murmurs, a slight smile on his face.

“The fuck are you still doing up?” Bakugou grumbles, finally making his way over to sprawl on the opposite end of the couch, sinking into the cushions with a grunt.

Izuku shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Which, technically isn’t a lie, but. Still. Even when he lays in his bed at night during one of Bakugou’s shifts that he’s not partnered on, he finds himself teetering between sleep and wakefulness as he listens carefully for the front door to open and shut, signaling Bakugou has gotten home safe for the night. Codependency wasn’t something Izuku was planning on adopting after the war, but his heart just can’t seem to relax if he doesn’t know that Bakugou is home and safe. Breathing. Alive.

Normally it’s fine, but since Bakugou has been working himself to death the past few weeks, Izuku’s own sleep schedule has taken a toll.

Bakugou doesn’t look bloodied or bruised now, though, which is a good sign.

“I thought your shift ended at midnight?” Izuku asks, his eyes unconsciously skimming over Bakugou’s exhausted body as he slumps further down into the cushions. He folds his arms over his chest, burrowing into the oversized borrowed hoodie, and Izuku smiles because Bakugou is so loud and brash, but right now, here and safe at home, he allows himself to be soft with Izuku.

“It was supposed to,” Bakugou grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. “One of the interns got caught up in a stupid bank robbery and ended up with a fuckin’ concussion, so I stayed late to help finish up some of his paperwork.”

“That’s sweet of you, Kacchan,” Izuku teases, and Bakugou rolls his eyes, stretching his legs out to rest in Izuku’s lap.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou says, voice tense with exhaustion, “I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

Izuku let’s his hands fall onto Bakugou’s ankles, rubbing gently with his thumbs, and he swallows heavily as his eyes trail down Bakugou’s body, the black leggings hugging his muscles tightly, all the way down to the thin straps holding the stirrups along the arches of his feet.

Izuku wouldn’t openly call himself a weird guy, but shit, that’s another thing about moving in with Bakugou after graduation. Getting to see all of these new and exciting sides of him; tense and angry and bloody after a fight, soft and exhausted after a long boring shift, sleepy and comfortable on his day off.

But the damn stirrup leggings have Izuku trying desperately hard not to act up.

“Do you - uh, want a foot rub or something?” Izuku blurts out, his thumb pressing into the bone of Bakugou’s ankle.

Bakugou’s eyes narrow, and Izuku offers a small nervous smile, trying not to seem as if he’s too interested. He just wants to help his friend relax, okay? Nothing weird about that. It’s not like they haven’t massaged each other before after a long day of hero work. Bakugou’s great with his hands, and Izuku’s arms and shoulders get knotted up so tightly after hours of using his quirk.

Bakugou still has smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes since he hasn’t washed his face yet since patrol, and it makes his gaze piercing in the low light of the living room. He’s quiet for a moment, contemplative, before shrugging eventually and folding his arms across his chest.

“Fuck it, I ain’t gonna say no to a free foot massage,” He shrugs, “Lemme take these stupid fuckin’ leggings off first - ”

“No!” Izuku blurts out, and he chuckles awkwardly as his grip tightens on Bakugou’s ankles. “I mean - um. You don’t have to, it’s fine.”

This time, Bakugou looks… curious, which is the only way Izuku can describe his gaze. He bites his lip a bit as he thinks, and when he wiggles his toes a bit, Izuku feels warmth pooling low in his belly. Bakugou’s feet are surprisingly slender, his arch defined beautifully, ideal for someone who has to be quick on their feet. His toes are slightly pink, as are the soles of his feet, and they look soft from being in his boots all day. Izuku swallows thickly, but god, he just wants to touch.

Is he into feet? Who knows, maybe, he honestly hasn’t thought too much about it until recently. Maybe he’s just into Bakugou’s feet? When Bakugou wiggles his toes again, Izuku finally glances up and catches his gaze.

“Well? What’re you waitin’ for,” Bakugou says, his voice softer than it’s been all night.

Izuku’s hands are large, tan, and calloused - a stark contrast against Bakugou’s pale skin, and at the fist press of his thumbs into the arch, Bakugou exhales quickly through his nose, body sinking further into the couch.

It’s a little difficult to massage his feet with the strap from his stirrups hugging his arches, but at this moment in time Izuku would rather die than ask Bakugou to take them off. He moves over to just one foot, pressing both thumbs into the heel of his foot, and he slowly works his way up, calluses catching onto the legging strap as he moves upwards.

“Did the bank robber get caught?” Izuku asks, hands firm but delicate, watching as Bakugou’s toes twitch when he digs in beneath them.

“What?” Bakugou replies, blinking his eyes open where they’ve fallen shut. “The - oh, shit. Yeah. Sero was actually patrolling nearby so he got him while I took the dumbass intern to medical.”

“Don’t be so mean,” Izuku chuckles, “We were dumbass interns once, too.”

“Interns, yes. Dumbass? No,” Bakugou shoots back, but then he smirks. “Well, I wasn’t a dumbass. Can’t say the same about you, nerd.”

Izuku rolls his eyes, and he can’t help it when his touch softens, hooking a finger underneath the stirrup strap to graze his nail along the delicate arch.

The reaction is instant - Bakugou inhales sharply and twitches, looking ready to pull his leg back, but Izuku holds onto the strap, preventing him from moving away.

“Deku,” Bakugou growls, and to everyone else on this planet, the expression on his face would scream angry, sharp, intimidating.

But Izuku’s known him since they were kids. Izuku can read him like a damn book, and right now underneath that glare, Bakugou looks nervous.

Izuku keeps his touch soft, one finger hooked into the stirrup strap, while his other hand grazes right beneath the blonde’s toes. His foot twitches again, his toes curling up tightly, and the only word that comes to Izuku’s mind is cute. His feet are cute, and apparently sensitive, and Izuku has no idea what monster has taken over his brain but all he wants to do right now is see Bakugou squirm.

He might be dipping into dangerous territory, but ever since they moved in together, Bakugou’s been much more open to physical touch. It almost feels like a game they’ve been playing, dancing around each other but never going to a place they can’t return from. They’ve fallen asleep cuddling on the couch. They’ve spent quiet days off with Izuku’s head in Bakugou’s lap, the blonde idly playing with his hair while they watch old reruns of All Might movies together. They’ve even spent a few nights together in bed, holding each other close when the nightmares creep up every few weeks.

But this? This might be a place they can’t return from. Izuku’s not sure what Bakugou’s feeling right now, but the lines are so incredibly blurred in this moment, and Bakugou’s cheeks are steadily turning pink, and Izuku knows he could pull away if he really, really tried.

But he’s not. He’s staying put, fingers clenched into the cushions of the couch, eyeing Izuku warily.

“You know,” Izuku says idly, moving one hand to grip Bakugou’s ankle, the other hand trailing his fingers up and down, up and down, so soft it’s barely there. “You used to be so mean when we were kids, holding me down and tickling me until I cried.”

At the word - tickling - Bakugou audibly swallows. “Not my fault you were so damn ticklish, idiot.”

“I could never really get you back because you were so much stronger than me,” Izuku muses.

“It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, I’m not fuckin’ ticklish,” Bakugou replies. His voice sounds sure and steady, but his eyes keep flickering down to where Izuku is still stroking up and down his sole. He’s tense, and Izuku can feel it - Bakugou’s trying so hard not to move, not to give himself away.

Izuku laughs quietly to himself. Of course Bakugou would see this as a challenge to himself.

“Of course you’re not ticklish, Kacchan,” Izuku says, “Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it might actually come true.”

“It is true, you little shit - ah!”

He squeaks, his breath hitching, when Izuku flutters his fingers under his toes again. His other leg, the one Izuku isn’t holding by the ankle, jerks back, and Izuku thinks no, we can’t have that now, before tendrils of black whip shoot out, pulling his other leg back and twisting around the ankle.

“Okay, now that’s completely fuckin’ unfair,” Bakugou grunts, trying to sound unaffected, but this time Izuku can hear the shake in his voice. “The hell are you tryin’ do here, Deku?”

“Nothing,” Izuku says, a few more tendrils of black whip emerging to wrap around his other ankle so both of Izuku’s hands are free now.

“You call this nothing?” Bakugou tugs at his feet a bit, and black whip tightens to keep him in place.

Izuku ignores him. “I thought you weren’t ticklish?”

Bakugou frowns. “I’m not.”

“Then this is nothing,” Izuku teases, finally wiggling his fingers in earnest over both of Bakugou’s feet, now bound in his lap for him to do with as he pleases. The thought has his stomach flipping, molten lava settling low in his gut, and he can’t help his dick twitching in interest.

Bakugou’s reaction is beautiful, finally a small huff of laughter escaping him as he wiggles his feet as much as he can with black whip holding his ankles down. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and they keep alternating from clutching at the cushion beneath him to hovering in the air as if he’s fighting his instinct of reaching down and showing Izuku away. His eyes are averting, as if the thought of watching Izuku tickle him is too much, and oh, he’s so cute.

Izuku’s feeling a little nice at the moment, but Bakugou’s fighting his laughter, and Izuku wants to hear him, so he moves his fingers up, scratching underneath his toes. Bakugou does laugh this time, covering his mouth with one hand in surprise as the sound escapes him. His toes curl, trying to block Izuku’s fingers, and a few more tendrils of black whip slither out and wrap around each of his toes, effectively prying them back so Izuku’s fingers can burrow into the soft, sensitive flesh there.

“Wait - no, Deku - ah, ahah.” His laughter is light and staccato, little gasps in between his growls as he covers his mouth with both hands now, muffling himself as his eyes squint in mirth. Once again, he could get Izuku to stop if he really wanted to, but besides the tugging and squirming of his bound feet, he’s not doing much else to get away.

That thought intrigues Izuku, and his confidence grows as he scratches in between his toes, pulled back and vulnerable thanks to black whip.

“I always thought your feet might be sensitive, you know, with how much you sweat and stuff,” Izuku muses, gears turning in his head as he makes mental notes on where Bakugou seems to react the most to. Underneath his toes seems much more ticklish than between them, but the arch of his sole seems equally as sensitive, especially when he pulls back one of the stirrup straps and rakes all five fingers up and down.

Bakugou gasps. “Y-you’re a d-dick,” he growls, but the words melt into laughter as Izuku does the same thing to his other foot before letting the strap go with a snap.

He gives Bakugou a moment to breathe, and the blonde finally lowers his hands from his mouth. His face is extremely flushed now, and he’s looking at Izuku with a mix of murderous intent and… want?

“Still not ticklish?” Izuku murmurs, rubbing his palms over Bakugou’s soles. The blonde twitches again, tensing, before relaxing when Izuku just rubs firmly, soothing.

“Once again - you’re a dick,” he grumbles.

“And you’re ticklish,” Izuku teases back, scratching his nails up the sides of Bakugou’s feet this time before making their way back to the soft, pink skin right beneath his toes.

“Don’t - Deku, st-stop! It f-fuckin’ - ”

“It what?” Izuku’s feeling mean now, and having Bakugou squirming because of him has his dick hardening more in his sweats. “It tickles?”

“I - I c-can’t - ahahaha!”

“You’re so strong, you can take it, can’t you?” And oh, Izuku’s playing dirty, because there’s nothing Bakugou hates than being told he can’t do something, and if he admits he can’t take the tickling, it’d be the same as admitting defeat, and Bakugou Katsuki is not someone who’s ever been defeated.

Although, Izuku thinks, watching as Bakugou covers his mouth again and squeezes his eyes shut, tickling might just be the key to finally defeating this man.

Izuku doesn’t like how muffled he sounds, though, so he uses more of black whip to sneakily slide up and twist around Bakugou’s wrists, tugging them away from his face. A few tendrils slip up his arms and slide underneath the sleeves of his hoodie, and Bakugou’s expression turns to panic.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” He hisses, but his lips are still twitching on a smile which ruins the intimidation of it. “This is an awful fuckin’ use of your quirk - ”

“So was last week, with yours,” Izuku interrupts, “when you were too lazy to microwave the popcorn and tried to just explode it instead.” Izuku laughs, remembering how long it took them to fish out all of the popcorn kernels from every single crevice in the living room.

“At least that was for a good reason!” Bakugou protests, squirming when the tendrils of black whip slip higher into his sleeves, nearly grazing his underarms now. His breathing is short, body tensed and mouth turned down in a pout.

“You’re saying this isn’t a good reason?”

“What, so fuckin’ torturing me is a good reason to abuse your quirk?”

“It’s torture?” Izuku murmurs. “I thought you weren’t ticklish.”

If Bakugou’s face could get any pinker, it would, and he bites his lip hard when Izuku wiggles black whip into the hollows of his underarms, keeping it light and feathery. Bakugou can’t hold out for long, though, and soon he’s gasping on a laugh and wriggling as much as he can in the hold Izuku has him in.

This time though, Izuku fails to notice Bakugou’s feet squirming aggressively, and Izuku freezes and gasps when the blonde’s bound feet nudge against the very obvious hard-on in his sweats.

Izuku swallows, his hands darting down to grab a hold of Bakugou’s feet. His toes are still tied back with black whip, and Izuku resists the urge to brush his fingers along the skin because something is unraveling inside of him and having Bakugou like this is quickly becoming addicting. Instead, he ducks his head, words escaping him as he opens his mouth but not coming up with anything to say.

A few seconds pass, Izuku preparing himself mentally for an explosion to blast him away or for disgusted yelling and screaming to occur. He’s already mentally drafting the text to Todoroki to ask if he can move in with him when Bakugou inevitably kicks him out once he’s freed.

A beat passes. One. Two. The silence is deafening, and Izuku finally manages to raise his eyes up to glance at Bakugou, surprised at the curious expression painted there. Bakugou nudges his heels gently against Izuku’s dick again, and Izuku hisses and bites his lip, apologies already spilling from his mouth,

“I’m s-sorry, shit, um - ”

“I should’ve fuckin’ known you’d be into something weird like this,” Bakugou says lowly, tilting his head a bit, almost like a cat analyzing it’s prey. “You’re a little freak, ain’t ya?”

The words should be harsh and piercing, but Bakugou sounds like he’s…. teasing him. And not in the mean, bullying way that Izuku was expecting. Their eyes meet, and Izuku sees a small hint of a smirk when Bakugou presses his heels in harder, wiggling against Izuku’s clothed cock as much as he can in his restraints.

“Kacchan - ah,” Izuku sighs, cheeks burning. “What’re you - ”

“What is it you like about it, huh?” Bakugou asks, his voice low.

Izuku’s head feels like it’s going to explode. “I don’t… I don’t know? I didn’t even - I mean… I like….”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. His arms are still held tightly with black whip, the tendrils under his arms twitch when Izuku stutters, making Bakugou squeak quietly and jerk in his hold. That has Izuku’s eyes darkening again, and Bakugou still hasn’t blasted him away. If anything he’s egging him on, and Izuku’s mind races with what this might mean.

“I like… you,” Izuku starts off slowly.

“Me?” Bakugou questions, and if Izuku isn’t mistaken, there’s a twinge of something akin to hope in his voice.

“Yeah, you,” Izuku breathes, all rational thoughts thrown to the wayside now. “But I also like… having you, like this,” Izuku plays with the stirrup straps on Bakugou’s soles, fiddling with the fabric, breathing hard when Bakugou squirms each time his fingers graze the skin. “I like feeling you squirm. Hearing you laugh. Having you all… y’know, vulnerable for me?”

As he speaks, a few more tendrils of black whip slip under the front hem of Bakugou’s hoodie, slithering up and tapping away at his ribs. That has Bakugou giggling again, and god, Izuku loves his laugh. This is different from his normal laugh, it’s softer and hiccupy and the sound sends white-hot heat straight to his dick. Shit, could he come from this? Just from having Bakugou squirming and laughing and bound up like a perfect little present?

“Jesus - Izuku,” Bakugou laughs, rubbing his thighs together, and Izuku’s eyes widen when he sees a bulge in his leggings, now visible from where his hoodie has ridden up.

Izuku’s brain short-circuits then, and he’s now laser focused on the other boy, fingers moving almost mindlessly as they go back to scratching beneath sensitive toes. Izuku keeps his eyes on Bakugou’s face, his expressions, every twitch of his brow, and the blonde chokes on a laugh and ducks his head, trying to hide his face since Izuku has his arms pulled aside.

“What do you like about it?” Izuku asks, growing bolder the more Bakugou squirms.

“Fuck, oh my g-god, I d-dont - !”

Izuku moves finally, and though he keeps Bakugou bound with his quirk, he crawls up until he’s seated, straddling Bakugou’s thighs where they’re squeezed together, and now Izuku’s just a nudge away from Bakugou’s own obvious arousal.

“You don’t like it?” Izuku says, and this time, he withdraws black whip from underneath Bakugou’s hoodie, instead sliding his own hands beneath the fabric to touch bare skin. His hands are warm and large, fingers curling gently over Bakugou’s deliciously tapered waist, and though he doesn’t do anything yet, Bakugou’s shifting and squirming beneath him already.

Bakugou’s eyes meet Izuku’s finally, and when Izuku flicks his gaze down to Bakugou’s cock, hard as a rock in his leggings, Bakugou groans and ducks his head again.

“It’s not - I don’t know!” Bakugou breathes out, frustration clear in his voice. “You’re just - fuck, it’s weird.”

“It’s not that weird, Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs, and Bakugou tugs helplessly at his arms again. Izuku hums, pulling his arms with black whip until his wrists are crossed, and then slowly - absolutely mean - he lifts Bakugou’s arms up and back until his elbows are bent, bound hands pulled behind his head and forcing Bakugou to lean back more into the arm of the couch. Izuku slides further up, straddling Bakugou’s thighs until their clothed cocks finally brush, and Bakugou breathes out a shaky noise.

“It’s okay,” Izuku breathes.

“Let me go,” Bakugou grumbles, but his eyes are averted, blush high on his cheeks, teeth gnawing at his lower lip nervously. And wow, having Bakugou nervous, beneath him where Izuku can feel the heat radiating off of his body, has Izuku grinding forward, rubbing their dicks together firmly.

Bakugou instinctively tries to buck his hips up, but with the way he’s bound up, he can’t get too much leverage. Once again, he’s still not blasting Izuku off into the sun with his own quirk, so Izuku drums his fingers against Bakugou’s bare sides, drawing little circles with his thumbs right beneath his ribs.

“Ah - ” Bakugou hiccups on another strained giggle, and Izuku grins at him sharply.

“What do you like about it?” Izuku repeats, tickling oh-so-gently, because now that he has his hands touching him, he can’t stop. He can feel every hitch of breath, can feel his body tremble with restrained laughter, and there’s definitely no going back from here.

When Bakugou doesn’t respond, Izuku creeps his hands higher, towards the upper part of his ribs. His hoodie is bunched up completely now, and although Izuku would love to remove the damn piece of clothing, he’s scared if he lets Bakugou go now, this electric bubble they’re both in will pop and Izuku will have missed his chance completely.

He grinds against Bakugou again, while at the same time finally digging into his ribs, and the explosive laughter that Bakugou lets out has Izuku groaning out loud.

“Okay - okahahay! Fuck!” Bakugou yelps, taking a breath when Izuku’s fingers finally pause. “I - fuck, I don’t know. I like… how it feels, not being… not being able to move or some shit, I guess.”

Bakugou looks like he’d rather die than tell Izuku all of this, but Izuku’s already gotten this far, and there’s nothing that would ever make him stop now. The blurred line is now vanished completely, and Izuku murmurs quietly,

“You like being tied up, Kacchan?”

Bakugou frowns, glaring at him, but doesn’t respond.

Izuku continues, smirking. “You like being tied up by me?”

Bakugou squirms a bit, staying defiantly silent.

“You like being tickled like this? Helpless, vulnerable, letting me do whatever I want to you while you can’t do anything to stop it?” Izuku has no idea where this filthy mouth of his came from, but he takes this newfound confidence and harnesses it, slipping a hand down to cup Bakugou through his leggings and squeeze.

“Nn - fuck,” Bakugou pants. “No, you asshole, I don’t like being tickled - ”

“I disagree,” Izuku says, and this time when he pinches at Bakugou’s ribs, he can feel Bakugou’s cock jump beneath his hand as the blonde gasps out a laugh. “I actually think you really like it.”

“Just - when it’s you,” Bakugou finally gasps out, giggling softly as Izuku crawls his hand higher. His words give Izuku pause, Izuku’s heart beating rapidly in his chest because oh. Okay. Just when it’s him? Because it’s him?

Oh.

“Kacchan,” Izuku breathes, a magnetic pull tugging at his chest until he’s ducking down and kissing the laughter right out of Bakugou’s mouth. The blonde moans, tilting his head to the side to kiss him deeper, and Izuku happily licks into his mouth, chasing the feeling of god, fuck, finally.

Bakugou jerks his head to the side though when Izuku’s hand creeps higher, fluttering dangerous fingers into his underarm, and he yelps on a laugh, squirming and bucking up into Izuku’s other hand still kneading at his dick.

“Oh my god,” Bakugou giggles, shaking his head back and forth, and Izuku takes a moment to duck lower and kiss his neck, licking up beneath his jaw, biting gently right under his ear. That has Bakugou squeaking again, and Izuku moans as he feels the blonde tremble against him.

“God, you’re so cute,” Izuku moans in disbelief. “How can you be so hot and cute at the same time?”

“Y-you should be - ah, ahaha - asking yourself th-that - fuck, Izuku, I cahahan’t!”

Izuku stops tickling him for a moment and grins. “You think I’m hot and cute?”

“Not right now, while you’re ti - ,” Bakugou cuts himself off with an embarrassed grunt, not even able to say the actual word, and Izuku takes note of that happily, “Also, fuck you, I’m not cute.”

Izuku doesn’t respond right away, instead opting for shoving Bakugou’s leggings down so they’re bunched around his thighs, freeing his dick, before settling back up where he was seated before. He pulls his own cock out of his sweats, and when he wraps a large, calloused hand around them both and strokes, squeezing perfectly tight, Bakugou throws his head back and moans.

Tendrils of black whip slide down his legs where his feet are still tightly held in place, and as they flutter and scratch beneath his toes more intensely this time, Bakugou actually lets out a small sob, his eyes tearing up as he simultaneously tries to tug at his legs while also squirming up into Izuku’s hand on their cocks.

“You’re feet are so sensitive,” Izuku muses, his pupils so dark his eyes look black, and although Bakugou can’t really kiss him back while he’s laughing, that doesn’t stop Izuku from swallowing up every little noise he makes, lips spit-slick and panting against Bakugou’s mouth.

“Izu - Izuku, plehehease - ah, fuck, fuck,” He sounds like something straight out of one of Izuku’s wet dreams, and Izuku leans back again to stare at his face. Bakugou’s eyes are screwed up now, tears leaking out from the corners, and Izuku coos at him.

“Baby,” he says sweetly, “Is it too much?”

“Y-yes, I can’t - Izuku please.”

“I think you’re stronger than that. It’s just tickling,” Izuku teases. Bakugou’s cock is leaking, and it’s making the slide of Izuku’s hand on them both so, so good. Izuku brings out some more tendrils of black whip, sliding them right back underneath Bakugou’s hoodie to return to the warmth of his underarms, and Bakugou screams.

“It’s so - ahhaha, it’s t-too much,” Bakugou whines, his breathless giggling mixed with moans that sound as if they’re being punched out of him, and his body is strung tight, so tight Izuku can feel how close he is to breaking.

There’s something so incredibly sweet about taking Bakugou completely apart like this. Izuku pants and grinds into his own hand, squeezing and rubbing the head of his cock against the blonde’s, and while black whip continues tormenting Bakugou’s poor feet and underarms, Izuku’s own free hand comes up to grip Bakugou by the chin, forcing him to look at him, eyes blurry through his tears.

“Tell me how it feels,” he whispers, his lips just a breath away from Bakugou’s, feeling the warm desperate noises coming out of the boy’s mouth.

Izuku swipes his thumb over the head of Bakugou’s cock, his own arousal forgotten as he slips down to squeeze at the base tightly, preventing the blonde from actually coming. Bakugou makes a guttural, desperate noise, and Izuku’s grip tightens on his face, keeping him there, watching him.

Izuku’s quirk is nearly everywhere by now, black whip slithering beneath the leggings to stroke behind his knees, a few more tendrils brushing and tickling at his neck, and even more settled beneath his hoodie, prodding and digging and relentless. The fight has completely left Bakugou finally, and he’s slumped against the arm of the couch, body shaking and fighting the plethora of sensations that are overwhelming him.

“Hey,” Izuku laughs a bit, “Baby, c’mon. Tell me how it feels.”

It almost feels evil, watching as Bakugou tries to speak, to come with something, anything to get Izuku to - what, to stop tickling him? To keep tickling him? To stroke his dick again until he comes all over himself? Bakugou’s brain is mush, and Izuku revels in the desperation painted on the boy’s blushing face.

“It - fuck, it f-feels like torture,” Bakugou manages to gasp out, but he bucks his hip up when he feels black whip dig into the ticklish dip of his hip.

“You like being tortured, it seems,” Izuku points out as Bakugou’s cock leaks another bead of precome, so red and hard it’s nearly purple.

“No - ” Bakugou hiccups on his laughter, eyes widening when Izuku raises a brow,, “I mean - fine, shihihit - yes, yes, I like it, god fucking d-damnit Izuku!”

“Shh,” Izuku soothes, but he doesn’t release his hold at the base of Bakugou’s cock.

“Please,” Bakugou whines, and Izuku nearly comes when he realizes he has Bakugou exactly where he wants him.

“Please what?” Izuku releases Bakugou’s chin and his hand slips under the hoodie, pinching right at Bakugou’s top rib, a place Izuku’s learned makes him absolutely lose it.

“Pl-please let me - ah, ahaha fuhuhuck - please let me c-come!” Bakugou’s crying in earnest now, ducking his head down to press his forehead against the crook of Izuku’s neck, and Izuku’s heart leaps when the blonde bites down on Izuku’s shirt, trying to muffle his noises in the fabric.

It’s adorable, and Izuku sighs happily. “Of course, Kacchan.”

He grabs ahold of both of their cocks again, this time stroking in earnest, fast and quick. It doesn’t take more than a few pumps of his hand before Bakugou is crying out against Izuku’s neck, writhing beneath him as he comes, and Izuku keeps tickling him through it. The sensation is electric, Bakugou’s body fighting to distinguish between pleasure and torment, and Izuku groans loudly as he uses Bakugou’s come to stroke his own cock.

“St-stop,” Bakugou giggles, completely breathless, “Too - too f-fucking much - please - ”

Izuku ducks back down to kiss the sweet helpless laughter right out of his mouth, finally coming, his own come mixing with Bakugou’s between them. Izuku heaves a deep breath, slumping against Bakugou as black whip finally retracts, disappearing back into his body and releasing the blonde from their clutches.

It’s quiet for a moment, Bakugou’s arms having fallen limp at his sides, head still buried in Izuku’s neck as he catches his breath. When he shifts, flexing his legs a little, Izuku leans back, sitting up and brushing Bakugou’s hair back from his sweaty forehead.

“Holy fuck,” Bakugou manages, blinking leftover tears from his eyes. “You’re fuckin’ evil, you know that?”

Izuku giggles nervously, still riding the high of whatever the hell just happened between them. Bakugou finally lifts his arms, wrapping them around Izuku’s waist loosely, and Izuku’s heart flutters when Bakugou leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Izuku’s mouth.

“You liked it,” Izuku says, turning to kiss him properly, now able to happily lick into the warmth without Bakugou’s laughter hindering him.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou murmurs into his mouth. “So what if I did, huh?”

Izuku just hums, because that blurred line being gone means that now he can kiss Bakugou whenever he wants, and that thought has him grinning widely and winding his arms around Bakugou’s neck.

“Ew, no, don’t get your nasty jizz-hands in my hair!” Bakugou protests, and Izuku laughs out loud, pulling his arms back quickly.

“Shit - sorry, sorry! We should probably get cleaned up, huh? Your hoodie is covered in come.”

“Good thing it’s not my hoodie, then,” Bakugou smirks. His cheeks are still flushed, and Izuku rolls his eyes as he takes his come-covered hand and smacks it right into Bakugou’s cheek before darting off of him and running away like his life depends on it.

Bakugou shrieks and scrambles to chase after him, and Izuku’s laughter echoes happily through their apartment.

#bakudeku #dekubaku #bnha #bnha tickling #tickling #worm writes #tickle fic

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r0mantic-f00l · 7 months

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(again, not happy with this one but I just finished an over 2k chapter for soleil et lune and I'm tired so 😭)

jealous remus is one of my weak spots 😩

happy valentines day!

Interfering with a Love Life

The pub was cramped, every corner, every table filled with people as chatter and laughter deafened the music playing through the speakers. Drunk old men sat at the bar and bothered the poor, exhausted barkeep who had half an hour left in his shift, his eyes flicking to the clock every 5 minutes as the old men roared with laughter.

Remus was staring at you, sneaky with his gaze as he watched you smile, giggle, joke and talk; he only looked away when you glanced at him briefly, sipping his beer as he pretended to listen to James rambling to Peter about just how difficult Quidditch could be.

Sirius was at the bar himself, flirting with the man next to him to get free drinks (Remus always rolled his eyes, but Sirius always ended up walking away with free drinks for everyone at the table).

Lily was talking to you about wedding dress shopping, Remus quite invested into the conversation as he listened to you gush about how a sweetheart neckline (whatever that was) and perhaps a mermaid dress (he wondered if that was even a thing) would look amazing on the red-haired girl.

A couple minutes later, Sirius finally walked over with a round of drinks in his hands, passing them out to everyone.

"God, that bloke was such a creep." He murmured, digging into Marlene's bag for a cigarette pack.

"Uh, Sirius, you got me a cider." Remus complained, lifting the bottle so Sirius could see the lable.

"So?"

"So I don't like ciders."

"You don't like ciders?" You asked, bewildered at his taste.

"Yeah, I think they're too sweet." He shrugged.

You took the cider bottle away from him and smiled as you drank a sip.

"More for me, then."

Remus rolled his eyes, smiling as he did so, and he stood up from his chair, taking his jacket off and placing it on the chair, establishing his claim as he checked his jeans' pockets for money.

"Right, I'm going to the bar. Does anyone want anything?"

Everyone shook their heads and said no, Remus walking over to the bar as Sirius lit up his cigarette, ignoring Marlene's scolds as James gagged at his 'disgusting' habit.

Remus ordered a beer, to which the barmaid had to run down to change the keg, leaving the man standing there as he leaned against the wooden counter.

Another man had walked up next to him, same age as Remus, maybe a tad bit older, as he ordered an old-fashioned from the other barkeep, leaning in the same way Remus did against the bar.

"Oi," The man had attempted to get Remus' attention, quite rudely, but nevertheless Remus turned to face him.

"You having a good night?" The man attempted to make small talk, tapping his fingers against the wood as he grinned at Remus.

"Yeah." He replied, just wanting to be left alone.

"Oh, good. Listen, that girl you're with, over there?" The man had pointed to you over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if she's single."

The barmaid had replaced the keg, it seemed, as she handed Remus his cold glass of beer. He gripped onto it strongly, sighing as he reminded himself to be calm and tell the truth. You weren't dating, much to his dismay. Why should he interfere with your love life?

"No, she isn't."

Apparently, Remus decided to interfere with your love life that night.

"Oh. Who's she with?"

"This really strong guy, he's also got insane anger issues."

"Oh yeah?" The man tilted his head.

"Yeah."

"Well, I don't see him anywhere." The man grinned, taking a sip of his whiskey whilst Remus' jaw clenched.

"Well he's here."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and if he knew that you were talking like this, he wouldn't hesitate to punch you across your face and kick the living shit out of you."

The man chuckled. "Trust me, he wouldn't get a chance to try."

It was as if the stars aligned when you walked up to Remus and wrapped your hands around his arm.

"Remmy, why are you taking so long?" You whined, clearly a bit tipsy as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Are you missing me?" He grinned, finding humour in the man's suddenly afraid expression.

"Yeah, Siri and James are being stupid and the girls are talking about going to Vegas, and I just wanna go to bed." You yawned, closing your eyes against Remus' arm as he chuckled and shifted his arm around your shoulder so you could rest your head against his chest.

"Okay, I'm coming back now." He grabbed his beer and smirked at the man who gulped and looked away from his intimidating stare whilst the two of you walked away.

"I heard you by the way." You mumbled.

"You did?

"Yeah," You looked up at him and grinned.

"It's nice having such a protective boyfriend."

Remus repricated your grin, and ruffled your hair.

"It's nice having such a beautiful girlfriend."

You blushed, though you hid your face in his chest.

The next morning, you woke up with your head on Remus' bare chest as he twirled your hair between his fingers, staring at you with tired eyes and a smile on his face.

#marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus x reader #valentines day #remus lupin fluff #jealous remus

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chronological-knight · 7 months

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so excited for @mcyt-aro-week, I've decided I'll participate by writing fic which is. scary. to say the least. but!!! I think this is good!! it's for day 1, "trope subversion" also, this turned out angstier than expected, so tw for internalised aphobia.

---------

In hindsight, this had been a very, very bad idea.

See, the thing is, Grian and Mumbo had always been close, but since Grian joined Hermitcraft they'd spent nearly all the spare time they had with each other. Between Sahara and their bases being so close, a significant amount of their not-spare time was spent together too, just from sheer proximity.

And see, the other thing is, Grian had never had a boyfriend before. Or a girlfriend. Or any other kind of partner, for that matter. If he was being honest he'd say he felt like he was missing out, when so many of his friends were getting together or celebrating anniversaries. So when he'd started getting closer to Mumbo, his first thought was: finally.

His second thought was: this feels very underwhelming.

That was fine, he thought, maybe he just needed time. That makes sense, right? Surely feelings don't just start off super strong right from the get-go? Surely, he reasoned, if he just acted the part hard enough his stupid heart would finally kick into gear, and he’d get the happy ending he wanted.

Surely.

That was how he ended up on the top floor of his base – a garden – surrounded by parrots and butterflies and perfectly wild bamboo, the moon shining through floor length glass walls to cast him in otherworldly silver lighting.

Kissing Mumbo.

It should have been perfect. It should have been butterflies-in-your-stomach-fireworks-going-off-stars-aligning perfect. This should be what he'd been missing. For goodness sakes he should at least be having fun.

All he really felt was gross.

The kiss was wet, and gross, and there was too much teeth, and when Mumbo finally pulled away Grian made a valiant effort to hide the disgusted sound he made. Mumbo put his hand over his mouth, which could be a good sign or a very, very bad sign, Grian didn't know.

The first thought he could make out over the clamour of ew was: void, I hope I never have to do that again.

The second thought was: there's something wrong with me.

The third thought was: oh no, Mumbo.

“Oh, void.” He said, because he had to say something. What if Mumbo hadn't liked it, and thought Grian had, and now Mumbo would never talk to him again. Or, hels, what if Mumbo had liked it, and Grian would have to explain that that was the worst thing he’d ever experienced, and Mumbo would never talk to him again-

One look at Mumbos face told him that at least wasn't true. His face was screwed together so tightly you'd think he'd just eaten the world's sourest lemon, and his hand was clasped over his mouth in what was very clearly disgust.

Grian watched him grimace, and felt the expression reflected in his own face, before Mumbo lowered his hand and said, “Grian, I – right ok. I'm going to tell you something and – and you have to promise to not be offended by it, ok?” Despite the sea of panic-disgust-fear already swirling in his mind, Grian nodded.

“That – that? That was awful.”

A beat passed between them, before Grian slumped forward and exclaimed “Oh thank goodness.”

“I mean, I mean, yeah no that wasn't one of your better ideas if I'm being, if I'm being completely honest dude.” Mumbo's voice grew more hysterical with every word.

Grian slumped even more forward, fully sprawling on the floor with his head in his hands. He felt stupid, and wrung out, and like he never wanted anyone to see him ever again. His wings were puffed up in front of his face, holding him like a dam.

“There’s something wrong with me” he mumbled miserably into his open palms.

Grian hadn't seen Mumbo, what with all the flesh-and-feathers between him and Grian, but he could still feel the shift from hysterical to concerned-confusion as acutely as if he had. He heard the ruffle of fabric against grass as Mumbo turned to face him and said “Why on earth would you think that?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” He mumbled, though judging by Mumbo’s “Can’t hear you, Gri,” the words were too muffled by his wings. With a frustrated grunt, Grian lifted his wings from his face, and the dam broke “I’ve never kissed anyone before, ok? I’ve never had a girlfriend, I’ve never been in love, void I don’t think I’ve ever even had a crush on someone before, isn’t that ridiculous! And, and then I joined Hermitcraft, and we were spending all this time together, and I thought, I don’t know what I thought! I thought maybe I wasn’t broken!”

At some point in all that, Grian had stood up and paced towards the window. He rocked back on his heels and scrubbed at his face in frustration, until the phantom image of Mumbo’s face faded from his vision. Mumbo, too, had stood up and now took a few steps towards Grian.

“Grian, you’re not broken” The way Mumbo spat the word broken, like it had personally offended him, like the mere idea Grian would think something like that about himself was ridiculous, “You’re aromantic.”

That caught him off guard enough to still the churning anxiety in his stomach. His wings de-puffed a little, and he turned his head quizzically away from his hands and towards Mumbo, “I’m aromatic?” Mumbo giggled a little at that, though it was more hysterical than actually humorous. “No! No, aromantic. It's where you aren't attracted to anyone – well, it’s a bit more complicated than that and, really, I’m not aromantic and you should probably talk to Etho about this, not me – but, but you're definitely not broken!”

You're definitely not broken.

He said it with so much conviction, like he couldn’t possibly be wrong, that Grian began to believe it too. And with that, a release of pressure like he’d just dropped something he didn’t even know he’d been carrying. You’re definitely not broken! He hadn’t realised the thought was weighing on him so much until it wasn’t.

“Oh,” he said, because he had to say something. He released his hands from where they were gripping at eachother white-knuckled, ran them through his hair. Memories were pouring through his head, every one recontextualized through the light of you're aromantic and, oh. He turned that over in his mind, examined it's edges, and came back with a feeling of rightness. Aromantic. Aromantic.

He's not broken.

The realisation could have made him cry, if the circumstances weren't so ridiculous. What had he been thinking? oh void, had he really been so scared of being single, of all things, that he'd kissed Mumbo? Laughter washed over him like a wave and he heard Mumbo join him a moment later.

“I am such a spoon,” he wheezed between fits of laughter

“Yeah well, what else is new?”

#mcyt aro week #hermitfic #grian #mumbo jumbo #hermitblr #hermitcraft #mywriting #gods and saints i am so scared to post this hoooo #i think the ending could be better but. no no im happy with this and its done now

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kimkhimhant · 10 months

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It's me again, I'm hesitant about reblogging because my first ask was spoilery but in the end, who cares lmao. FUCK I forgot about Sara. I agree that the ending was choppy, especially the hospital scene... he moved from ambulance to post-mortem way too fast. What always gets me though is Peter's breakdown. He's alone, and it hits this unemotional man with full force. It's magnificent. I'm also just... sad that Neal was made to believe that he could never fully change. He deserved better. He tried so hard and he WAS succeeding despite Mozzie's disappointed resistance plus everyone else's mistrust. Thanks for geeking out on this with me hehee

hi again!!!

ugh yes Peter's breakdown is heartwrenching, and it brings me back to a line he says earlier in the show, i don't remember the exact words, but he says something about how if something were to happen to Neal, he doesn't know if he'll be able to live with it. and i just. yeah. ow. lol

now buckle up for another character analysis essay bc i can't shut up ever lol

Honestly i have a lot of mixed feelings about Neal's "redemption/reformation" ! because yes he wants to be good, but also... i don't think a true/complete redemption arc is necessary for his character, and i honestly like that he doesn't have one? I think that the most important aspect of his character development in that sense is that, he considers the effects of his actions on other people a lot more by the end, and i think that's all the reformation that he needs and that makes sense for him. I don't think he needs to become someone who commits no crimes/cons in order for his reformation to be recognized.

i think what i'm more sad about is the lack of recognition for that development. he isn't perfect, and he still has a lot of vices, but now his actions are almost all out of a desire to fix things/protect people/etc. Most of the other characters, namely Peter, don't seem to recognize or appreciate this development. Understandable, to an extent – Peter has dedicated his life to law enforcement, and his moral code is, for the most part, aligned with the law. Neal is still breaking the law, even if, in his own mind, Neal is doing so with good intentions, to Peter, the outcome matters a lot more than the intent.

Neal begins the show as a con-artist and art thief whose priority is his own enjoyment and gain, and he ends the show still a con-artist and art thief, but now his priority is shifted. In the later seasons, almost none of the crimes he commits are simply for the hell of it. there's almost always a reason, and the reason is almost always to fix something or to protect the people he loves. his moral code is still very distorted, and he has a strong disregard for the law and authority, but he also cares about other people, their safety, happiness and their opinions of him. He still loves the thrill of the con, and he still loves living luxuriously, he's still impulsive, and he's still very proud of his skills, but...

these things don't make him "bad," in my opinion. He wants to be good, and he is good. His intentions are good, it's just that the way he understands and navigates the world isn't aligned with "legal good."

I could write an essay on that alone. Neal is very traumatized, and very good at compartmentalizing and masking so that no one can tell, and also (this is entering headcanon zone) probably some form of neurodivergence, on top of probable CPTSD and some kind of personality disorder. So, obviously his relationship with the world as a whole is... disrupted and warped by these things, so maybe that's one of the main issues. "moral and good" as Neal understands these things, simply don't perfectly align with most people's definitions of them.

And I think this is the main issue in his relationship with Peter. Neal wants to be good, and is trying to be, and he wants Peter's recognition and appreciation for that. But that's still not enough for Peter, who operates on a different moral code, and doesn't understand Neal's perspective.

Once again, this is very longwinded, but basically: I think Neal did have as much of a redemption arc as he could have had without having a complete shift in worldview, and I really like that about him and his character. That he didn't end the series as a perfectly reformed ex-con, but he did end the show as a good person.

#benji talks #white collar #neal caffrey #peter burke

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eusudia · 8 days

Text

One strange place

A future fic where against all odds, Izuku leaves first.

MCD

Against all odds, Katsuki lived a long life. Heart getting blown up, quirk awakening that is borderline threatening to his life, and after getting patched up, a heart that is weak for a good chunk of portion of his life.

And against all odds, he attended the funeral of one Midoriya Izuku.

He sat there solemnly. Eyes downcast as if not seeing the casket infront of him would make the event happening unreal. Yet, his shoulders kept getting pats. From friends and families.

Through his life, he has felt pain that is quite unlike any other. Who in the world would survive a heart getting blown up? Bakugou Katsuki apparently did. Yet that pain felt like a scratch compared to the one he is feeling currently.

It's odd. There's no wound this time, less blood- zero! even! Yet the pain makes him feel harder to breathe.

"Bakugou..." he doesn't respond. Even as the person sat down beside him, careful as to still give him space. He doesn't need to see who it is, even with everyone wearing black and solemn voice as they speak to the point it's almost all the same. This one is... different. It's the voice of someone who have some semblance of understanding what he is feeling.

They both sat there in silence. Listening to the soft murmurs and occasionally sobs that filled the place. Because of Izuku's deeds in his younger years, he expected media vultures to be present at the funeral. So, with every power and influence he could muster, dangling his family name also to further push his agenda, he managed to make it held in the most private place.

Only friends and families are allowed.

It was... contrary to the word, a nice distraction. With how obsessively he was arranging it, he doesn't have the time to cry. And yet with a call of his name from a not-so-roundface-anymore, he let out a heavy breath along with his tears.

"How?" Katsuki grunts, finally looking at the casket. Pushing himself up, he leans over and sees freckled face. Scarred and a bit sunken. He doesn't have to repeat himself, he was close enough to where Ochako is sitting.

"Well, it's not easy for me." Ochako exhales as she looks around. Most of the guests she is familiar with to some degree. But there are people she has never met prior to that day, what with the different lives that they took after UA graduation.

To teach, one must attain a degree. And Izuku undoubtedly made friends during his time in university. Yet, with how much their time is just impossible to align, most of the former class-A never met them. It feels strange to be in a place where one would think would be surrounded by only the closest friends as it was the final time the memory of Midoriya Izuku would be made.

Well, except Bakugou. He made a point, albeit sometimes rather obnoxiously, that he is to be involved in Izuku's life as much as possible. Barging in on karaoke nights of Izuku and his university circle held in Izuku's apartment, and then falling asleep shortly as he had just finished his gruelling shift. Making Izuku and his friends ended up spending the night playing cards or board games just to keep the noises down for his sake.

"No shit." Katsuki pulls a stool so he can sit closest to Izuku. Resting his arms on the edge, his brows furrows ever so slightly as he gaze upon thinning green hair.

"I just took his advice, and rely on my friends," she continues, "it took time that is way too long to my liking, but I made peace with it."

They sat in silence once more. People came by the casket to pay respect to Izuku every now and then, offering short condolences before retreating.

"A fucking disease," Katsuki suddenly said when the silence has stretched forever. Face scrunched as he grips the edge of the casket.

"Took eight fucking years of my life to get him back on the field and a fucking disease is what took him," Katsuki grits his teeth. Voice getting louder without him noticing, or maybe uncaring. Everyone's quieted down. But not one dare to comment on it.

"God! Fuck!" Katsuki stood up and turned his back to the casket. Palm covering his face, not wanting to show his feelings to the others. A feeling that is private to him.

"How can I even be mad at that?!"

Katsuki crouches down, rubbing his tears away with his arms as if he was a child again. Ochako watched as Mitsuki made it down and hugged her son. As Katsuki's sobs developed, she bit her lip, holding back tears of frustration.

As much as she wants to lend a hand, a place where the blonde can confide in, it is not her place. To lose the most important person that has been there for the majority of one's life... out of all people only Mitsuki can understand the pain.

Ochako looks out the window. The world cries, mourning the loss of a person so precious, yet the sky shines beautifully as if creating a warm environment to welcome Midoriya Izuku back to heaven.

Katsuki fumbles with the key to their shared apartment before grabbing the handle. Opening it, he took off his shoes in the genkan and proceeded to go inside. He went on autopilot, going straight to the bathroom to take a quick shower. After putting on some clothes, he went to the kitchen to make himself some dinner.

It’s late, after all.

Opening the fridge, he grabbed some ingredients before turning to the counter where he is met with a bouquet. For a while, he stood there, just looking at it like it is a strange object in their home. Putting the ingredients down, he approached it. For a while, all he did was stare at it, contemplating on what he should do. Slowly, he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers. It’s rather dusty now.

He left it there after all.

The flowers have all wilted. He frowns and reaches for one single flower that stays yellow. Closing his eyes, he pulled a chair and sat on it, feeling those tingly feelings on the bridge of his nose. God… Carefully, he hugs the bouquet, careful as to not destroy the delicate thing. Careful to not mess with the arrangements that the flowers are in. Wanting desperately to preserve the last ever thing that he bought for Izuku.

Izuku.

Katsuki sobs anew, leaning onto the counter. Izuku, who is as warm and soft as the sunflower, has now gone cold just like the bouquet.

How fucking dare he?

Leaving him just before Izuku can wear his name.

Fuck.

Breathing feels harder now. Opening his eyes, he blinks them a few times to get rid of streams of tears blurring his vision. He was supposed to give the bouquet to Izuku, and then say something sappy such as ‘you can only leave me when all the flowers wilted’ or something. And then… finally give Izuku the ring that he had been saving for when Izuku's treatment came close to an end.

But the universe can be cruel. Izuku faced some complications just near the fucking finish line, and before he knew it, he was holding that delicate scarred hand one last time with his own.

And the bouquet never got delivered to Izuku.

Once he calms himself down a little bit, he pulls the singular fake sunflower out the bouquet. Leaning back, he holds the flower limply, but still carefully. The fake flower looks really lonely. With its friends consumed by time except for the singular fake flower in his hold.

He lets out a scoff.

They look almost alike. The flower and him.

He tiredly chuckles, resting his head on the counter. The exhaustion of the last week has finally caught up to his body.

Alone.

#katsudeku #ktdk #bkdk #bakudeku #drabble

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sunflowersand-bees · 2 years

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rivals to lovers mall fruity four au?

Steve and Robin work at Scoops Ahoy (because we’re pretending the mall didn’t blow up). And they hate Hot Dog on a Stick. Like they would rather die than associate with the people who work there. (Keith worked there at one point.)

Then, one day, Nancy, fresh from being fired by the Hawkins Post, needs a job and gets hired at... you guessed it! Hot Dog on a Stick.

Steve is like, “Nancy. Why.” (They’re on good terms of course, amicable exes, came out to each other as bisexual. Jonathan and Nancy have also broken up, they just grew apart. Robin has had a crush on Nancy for a while, everyone but Nancy is well aware of it. Robin is not subtle.)

And Nancy’s like, “Not everyone who works here sucks. I usually have a shift with this one dude, he’s cool. I don’t know if he’s your type though.”

“My type?!” Steve splutters.

“Like, type of person to hang out with,” Nancy clarifies.

And Steve concedes this much. He doesn’t hang out with many people. In fact, if he thinks about it, nowadays he only hangs out with Robin, Nancy, occasionally Jonathan, and the brats (his 7 children, all of which are basically middle schoolers), and he tries to convince himself that he’s not pathetic for this, but fails.

Anyway.

One time Steve and Robin happen to have their shifts align with Nancy and this mysterious guy’s shift. Steve pulls the same shit that he did in S3 with the binoculars and the spying. He creeps around the corner of the food court, eyes fixed on Nancy, working the register, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mystery guy when-

“Creep.”

“FUCK!” Steve jumps, flipping around, hands instinctively raised to protect himself, but he loses balance and falls on his ass. Standing above him is a guy in a Hot Dog on a Stick uniform, bent over laughing at Steve.

Steve’s first instinct is to snap at this dude who scared him, but the guy straightens up and Steve instantly loses all sense of what he meant to say. He has long, curly, black hair, and big, warm eyes. Somehow, he managed to make the Hot Dog on a Stick uniform look good, which stunned Steve, who couldn’t even pull off the Scoops Ahoy uniform (all the girls he’d flirted with had proved this much).

Steve is absolutely speechless. Because this jerk is really Cute.

Cute Guy rolled his eyes, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Dumbass.”

Whatever animosity that had been erased from Steve’s mind upon viewing Cute Guy instantly returned. “Asshole. What the hell was that about?”

“You interested in Wheeler? Maybe I could hook you up with a date,” Cute Guy offers, wiping a tear of mirth from his eyes.

“What? No, I’m not interested in Nancy,” Steve scoffed. “We’re exes.”

Cute Guy gave him a Look. “Is that supposed to make this creep situation better?”

“Fuck. I’m not trying to be a creep-”

“Then what are you doing here, Harrington?” Cute Guy asks, leaning down and getting in Steve’s face.

“You, uh, you know my name?” Steve said, panicking from proximity. He imagined he could smell Cute Guy’s shampoo, and then kicked himself. Why would he give a shit about Cute Guy’s shampoo?

“Of course I do. How could I not know the King of Hawkins High?”

“...Right.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to know who I am. Freaks like me usually fly under your radar. Unless you’re looking to teach us a lesson, hmm?”

“That- that’s not me anymore,” Steve disagreed, frowning heavily. Every word Cute Guy said made him more and more uneasy. “That was before, and I’ve changed.”

Cute Guy gave him another Look, this time accompanied with a raised eyebrow.

“I have!”

“Okay...” Cute Guy clucked doubtfully, leaning back up and starting to walk away.

“Wait!” Steve called, and then cursed himself. Why why why did he say anything? When would this torment end?

“Yeah?” Cute Guy crossed his arms now.

“You- Your name. It doesn’t seem fair that you get to know who I am, but I don’t get to know who you are,” Steve pointed out.

“Why do you care to know who I am?”

Good question.

Steve floundered for a minute, trying to bullshit an answer that didn’t sound gay as fuck.

Cute Guy sighed, cutting through Steve’s train of thought. “Poor, naive King Harrington. He thought he’d get everything served to him on a platter, didn’t he?”

“What?”

“If you want to learn my name, you’ll have to earn it,” Cute Guy said simply, shrugging, his tone light.

“Earn it? How-”

“Figure it out,” Cute Guy suggested, turning and walking back to Hot Dog on a Stick.

Steve watched Cute Guy and Nancy put their heads together and whisper for a moment, both shooting glances his way. Steve frowned, standing up and brushing off his ass. He returned to Scoops Ahoy and Robin, trying to hold onto the few scraps of dignity he had left. (Spoiler: he had no dignity.)

Robin had the board out. The ever-dreaded board.

“You. Suck.”

The “You suck” category had about twelve tallies, and Steve watched as Robin drew another one, slowly and deliberately, shaking her head like the judgy bitches who liked to visit with his mom on Saturday mornings.

“That wasn’t me flirting!”

“Sure it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t!”

“I sure hope not. That was a train wreck.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Steve protested, face warm.

“Oh, Stevie,” Robin reached out and put her hand on top of his, giving him a condescending and pitying look. “It really, truly was.”

And Steve was dying inside.

#steddie #ronance #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic #basically a fanfic #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #writing #stranger things #steddie fanfic #ronance fanfic #riv rambles #my writing

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sheepibum · 1 month

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hello!

sorry about the lack of updates, i'm working on a irl project that i need to finish before my poor laptop crumbles to dust, so right now everything i've written lately is, you know, handwritten crumbs of drafts that i'm going to cry about when it's finally time to clean them up

but! i am almost, almost, done with said project, and since i failed horribly my new year's resolution of uploading one (1) thing per month (ambitious, i know), i decided i would simply upload/update 12 whichever-things before the year's end

this of course means that most of it is going to be bad, as in quality, and also quantity of words bc i need to tap my vast reserves of wips and that's a lot of minifics and orphan scribbles with no plot or a proper ending, sorry o(￣┰￣*)ゞ

still, twelve things! at least that's the plan; and since i've abandoned you for pretty much this whole year, below are some snippets

first, let's start with some stuff i do actually care about so there will be some effort here:

1) a constellation of blood drops

Gaelio has already played the zealot before Rustal Elion, it should hardly be a difficult thing to play such role again. If the object of his zealotry has shifted just enough to align with Elion's own interest, no doubt twisted by the very real flaws of the organization he was, oh, so willing to worship before, and how it had only proven to fall short of his expectations after his, oh, so harrowing experiences while undercover—well, people are always willing to see what they want to see. Gaelio won't be even lying, really.

it makes me happy whenever i see someone like or reblog this thing bc it's just one of my favorite self-indulgent whims

2) Start, From Minus

Emilia took it upon herself to arrange their little detour to Margrave Mathers’ Mansion; but really, she needn’t have bothered. Cecilius had little to no problem waltzing right past the security of any place regardless of invitation, and the only thing currently preventing him from doing that was Subaru. Exhibit A: if Subaru hadn’t crash-landed into his life, there was a very good chance that at some point he would have crossed the border between the Empire and the Kingdom to demand a rematch from Reinhard, and he probably would have succeeded out of sheer stubbornness, the crazy bastard.

yes, finally! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

3) with all the pieces of the broken-hearted ON AO3!

The whole situation is absolute crap because Subaru is not, and has not been for quite some time, some dissatisfied, edgy teen craving fame and attention and maybe a harem in some other world more interesting than regular, boring Planet Earth. He’s very much been there, done that, gotten over it, so this whole thing is at least ten years too late and happening at the very worst moment possible. Maybe second-worst, but only just.

i don't like the sloth if for many reasons, but it gave me the canon hilarity of subaru having dilf potential and i am choosing to make this everyone's problem

4) just a little bit of blood in your hands ON AO3!

His door has seven bolts, huge and heavy and all on the outside. The only safety his room offers is that no one would dare to cross the one who owns the keys to those locks. Subaru is a treasured possession, but a possession nonetheless.

new re:zero thing!

things that are going to be rushed or just make me go 'whatever, i just don't want to look at this wip anymore':

5) these brilliant-hued hibiscus

Atsushi mows through everything the festival has to offer in terms of food. Tanizaki feeds him hot takoyaki, dripping with sauce, a chocobanana with sprinkles, sweet-bean taiyakis for good luck, sticks of yakitori, sticky and pastel pink cotton candy, shaved ice and even candy apples, shining under the festival lights. Between him and Ranpo, he’s sure they’ll make all the food-stalls generate at least some profit.

this is another super indulgent minific collection to the surprise of no one

8) (we’ve gone) to the dogs

His life ends with a bullet between his eyes, no hope for Yosano to do anything at all. Just a bang and then darkness; a shimmering instant of relief before he opens his eyes again in a place and time that hadn’t been his for years. And that’s where it all begins (again).

i am cheating a little bit here, bc i posted a snippet here back in the day that i decided could be part of yet another minific-oneshot collection, which is my jam

7) A Superscription

Ren’s mouth twists to the side, a facsimile of a smile so empty it’s like being back in the interrogation room all over again.

I have a bunch of P5 minifics written, but I'm happy with none of them, so I'll probably wait until november or something so I have an excuse to chuck them in bulk at you and this is one

some indeterminate stuff I will have to scramble to put together:

8) Something for Lout of the Count's family to celebrate the official translation! It's probably going to be either crack or a fairy tale retelling, I'm afraid

9) The Souls of Starfishes

They’ve gotten better at not flinching whenever they hear the name, but they’ve never quite managed to stomp out the hope that inevitably rises in them whenever they do. ‘Hajime’, it echoes with the beat of their hearts, discordant as they may be.

Normal Me and Abnormal Friends is one of my favorite android visual novels ever, and I really, really want to finally upload something for it

and lastly, things that are mostly finished, but never got around seeing the light of day bc i forgot or lost interest or cringe whenever i think about them (sorry):

10) To Have and To Hoard

What Subaru knew: Subaru had died around the same time in the last five or six loops. What had happened: The time when Subaru was supposed to die had come and gone and Subaru was, against all odds, still alive. Conclusion: Subaru had screwed something up, pun somewhat intended.

the very first reinhard/subaru plot i came up with and the worst one, too. i just don't want to have its ghost haunting me anymore :/

11) brittle branches ON AO3!!

What could Victor hope to do faced with the depth of such love? A love that Yuuri had chosen to hold on to, to fight for, to cherish and protect and all things Victor wished to do for him, before either of them were even aware of the other’s existence. Sometimes life is just not fair. Victor never even had a chance.

also cheating a little bit with this one, bc it's done and i posted here in tumblr a lifetime ago, but i guess i'll finally post it on ao3 with the little added coda i never got around writing before the movie got canned o(TヘTo)

12) our wishes are the right lure

You wake up in a subway car. This isn’t super strange. Except you don’t remember getting on a subway, or falling asleep. And this interior, for all you have rode on the subway before, is very unfamiliar. It is for starters, absurdly clean. Suspicious. There’s also the fact that you are the only one in this car. Doubly suspicious.

ugh. alright. look, a couple of years ago, when i was in my all time PLA high playing pokemon masters ex, i said 'if i get this character in the gacha i will write a reader-insert', and i did get the character, and i did write the reader-inser, but it's just so silly. i am going to have to write another reader-insert at some point just so this is not the one associated with me, probably ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

so yeah, so far this is the plan. i'm also working on second chances (derogatory), but i've mostly finished the latter chapters, bc those were fun, and i decided to put it on hold until i get my hands on P3 Reload, sorry. there's also a minific AU collection but i don't have a lot yet, just concepts, AND my attempt at a New Game+ fic that's also on hold until i play Reload, sorry.

#the sheep writes #sheepibum does more than rant #will unpin after i complete the list!

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lumine-no-hikari · 6 months

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #85

I've decided that today is a video game day. Specifically, I've decided that it is a Salt and Sanctuary day. I haven't played it in forever, and something about the weather today kind of makes me want to.

It's like that for me, sometimes, for whatever reason. The angle of the sunlight, the kinds of scents on the breeze or in the house, the relative humidity, the way the wind sounds as it moves… for whatever reason, when these things align in juuuuust the right way, I want to play certain video games. So for example, in the winter, the combination of the scent of the dust in the heater vents plus the scent of fresh clementines makes me want to play Fallout 3. Other combinations make me want to play Terraria, or Valheim, or Skyrim. I'm not really sure why this is the case.

Like I said before, I like to run around in this game world as Julian Devorak, from a game called The Arcana. It truly is a perfect little spot to stick him in. Julian is associated with crows, salt, plague, gold, booze, seafaring ships, and just a little bit of masochism. He's basically the epitome of the phrase "running with scissors", which is extra great, because in this game, a giant-ass pair of scissors is literally my weapon of choice, hahahaha! 🤣

His story is done and over with, and while it's wonderful because I know he's safe and happy in the end, it also means I don't get to see him anymore in any new scenarios. So sometimes, I try to recreate him in places he might like, and run around with him there. The world of Salt and Sanctuary is dangerous and scary, but don't worry - I am good at this game, and I hardly ever fall in combat anymore; he's in good hands, I promise.

That said though, I'm probably very rusty, because it has been a long time since last I've played with any kind of consistency. But I'll stream it today anyway, just in case you or anyone else wants to watch.

twitch_live

And, just in case you want to see what sorts of shenanigans I was once capable of when I wasn't rusty, here:

youtube

…I wish you were here. Just for a day, I wish you were here. I think maybe you could become good at a game like this. Or maybe, given everything you've been through before, you might find a game like this to be a bit too triggering and scary? I dunno; maybe Undertale or Deltarune would be more your speed. I can ask you about it, but it's not as though you can answer me, because given the nature of reality, it's not as though my question will ever reach you, will it? 😔

In Julian's story, he gets to have a happy ending because I get to be present as the main character and make choices that teach him that he is lovable and worthy, which influences the choices that he makes. If you treat him kindly and as though he is someone who matters and who deserves to feel good about himself, he turns away from his self-destructive and self-sacrificing tendencies in favor of better ones. Of course, if you don't make kind and loving choices with him, he will get a bad ending instead. I've never seen the bad ending with him, though. I don't think I want to.

You know? Even for the main antagonist, Lucio… he does a great many evil, horrible things many of which are arguably FAR worse than anything you've ever done, and for FAR flimsier reasons; in some timelines, his "eggs" are indeed "well and truly scrambled" (thank you for this phrase, @freelanceexorcist; I think it's gonna be one of my new favorites, hahaha~! 🤩), but if you make choices where you treat him as though he is worthy of compassion, he turns himself around, and he makes better, kinder, gentler, and more loving choices as you teach him that making mistakes and taking accountability for those mistakes doesn't mean that he is unlovable or unable to shift his life in a different direction. My choices made a difference in that fictional world because I could reach it, even if only in an abstract sense.

…You can't even begin to imagine what I would give up if it meant that I could reach you, even if just for a moment. Though I am aware of how it would likely end for me (you are VERY good at unaliving things with that blade of yours), I feel like trying is worth the risk. Besides, what else am I gonna do while derping around on this mossy wet rock that I call "home" anyway, aside from continue to endure the disgust that society at large seems to have for the nature of my existence? Maybe I can make a few people smile along the way, but in the grand scheme of things, I am insignificant - nothing more than an ephemeral blip in the sands of time; here one moment and gone the next, faster than the blink of an eye.

If I tried to reach you and failed in the most spectacularly permanent way, at least I'd have an opportunity for a short nap before the next time I'm cycled into a physical body, right? And hey, maybe it could even be the case that my next meat-mech isn't fundamentally flawed on a genetic level next time around; having proper connective tissue, eyes that actually work, and motor neurons that actually do their job properly would be REALLY FREAKING NICE, ya know?

Hey, Sephiroth? I don't know what sorts of stories in other realities that you might have access to from your spot at the Edge of Creation. But I hope that you'll take the time to examine some of the ones that are available in my world. I think you'd find a lot of them to be relatable as well as hopeful, because your circumstances aren't as unique as you think they are. You really aren't alone. I promise you that you're not alone. I promise you that you can belong anywhere you choose, no matter what form you take, no matter the composition of your body, no matter how horrible the memories you carry are, and no matter what conditioning you received during the course of your existence. You can belong. You can belong with people who don't have a rigid definition of what it means to be a "correct" human. So please try, okay? Please don't give up - not yet - not while there are still so many things you haven't done, and so people out here cheering for you to become whole and well again. You can do it; of course you can do it, because I am doing it, and you're a lot (a LOT!!!) stronger and smarter than I am. I believe in you.

Anyhoot. I made myself some tea and drank it. Here's a picture of how it looked; maybe you'll like the way the milk swirls in the jar:

I think it's time for me to Salt some Sanctuaries. Swing by and check it out if you have the time, ability, and inclination. And if not, that's okay too. There's absolutely no pressure.

I love you and I'll write again tomorrow. Please stay safe.

Your friend, Lumine

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