#i got a stuffed animal that looks exactly like one i lost when i was 5
Note
Thinking about the prompt "no, you’ll get an infection." since I just saw a gifset of our beloved firemen ripping open packages with their teeth. 😄
thank you! have a bit of established-relationship dorks on a very serious rescue mission.
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"Buck," Eddie says, in the deeply patient tone that means he's refraining from adding, what the fuck is wrong with you. Buck's found that most people have a version of that tone, at least around him. Eddie doesn't employ his all that often; most of the time, Eddie is on board with pretty much anything Buck suggests. Digging around in storm drains for a missing stuffed animal is the limit, apparently.
"I've almost got it," Buck says, twisting slightly to wedge his shoulder against the grate. His fingers just brush the soggy synthetic fur of the small purple stuffed rabbit a few feet down.
"Isn't this how that kid lost his arm in that movie?"
He twists back to stare up at Eddie, who is backlit by the midday sun with the carnival spread out behind him. His hands are on his hips and his expression is half-amused, half-exasperated. "What?"
"Pennywise? Evil clown monster that lives in the sewers and eats children? It's based on a Stephen King novel."
"I repeat," Buck says. "What?"
"Right, I forgot that you don't watch anything other than nature documentaries and whatever Christopher adds to your Netflix queue."
"Bold words for a guy who's memorized every single telenovela from the past twenty years."
Eddie scoffs. "Come on. Who knows what's down there, you're not even wearing gloves, you're going to slice your hand open on some grimy piece of metal and get an infection."
"I'm being careful." Buck turns his head to squint down into the storm drain. It's too dark to see much of anything other than the faintly oily glimmer of water. There are cigarette butts and greasy fast food wrappers floating in it, and it doesn't smell great, but he's definitely dealt with grosser over the course of his career. Besides. He's so close. If he just stretches—
His fingers brush the rabbit's ear again. It topples over into the grimy water with a splash, and Buck swears under his breath. The toy is now half-submerged and several inches out of reach no matter how much he stretches.
"Buck," Eddie says again, softer. "Come on. It's just a stuffed animal."
"That Christopher won."
A sigh. "He's thirteen. I don't think this is going to break his heart, sweetheart."
Buck knows that this is probably objectively true. Chris was gleefully triumphant about winning at balloon darts even after Eddie grumbled about rigged games, but the stuffed rabbit itself seemed like an afterthought. He shoved it into Buck's hands with a quick grin before going off with his friends twenty minutes ago, and Buck is—stupid, probably, for the fact that this is sort of breaking his heart.
He hasn't thought about that giant stuffed bear that they won at the pier, the one that must have washed out to sea along with half of the Los Angeles coastline, in years. He doesn't even know if Christopher remembers it. He was little. And it wasn't exactly the most memorable part of the day. The little stuffed rabbit, which fits in the palm of Buck's hand—and incidentally, between the holes of a storm drain grate—makes a much more convenient souvenir. And it felt kind of—nice, having a sort of redo on that, even if Chris doesn't remember.
But Eddie's right. Short of trying to pry up the grate cover—which he could absolutely do, if he had a halligan handy—there's no way he's going to reach it. He sighs, resting his forehead on the metal frame, then wriggles his arm out of the grate and sits back on his heels, defeated. "Okay, fine. You win."
There's no response. When he turns around, Eddie is nowhere to be seen. Feeling more than a little put-out, Buck straightens up and looks around. It's not that crowded here, but there are enough passers-by that Buck's been getting a few strange looks, which he's been ignoring. The two streets to his left are closed-off for the carnival; to his right is a black-and-white parked across the median with a bored-looking beat cop directing traffic, and a couple of sanitation workers in hi-vis vests. Eddie is talking to one of them, but he glances back like he can tell Buck is watching him.
Buck spreads his hands in question, and Eddie holds up a finger, turning back toward the guy he was just talking to. Buck slumps, then sits down on the curb, staring forlornly at the storm drain.
A moment later, footsteps approach.
"Come on, stop pouting, scoot over," Eddie says as his shadow falls across Buck.
"I'm not pouting," Buck grumbles, but he scoots over.
"Sure you're not," Eddie says agreeably, sitting down next to him. "Here. You think this'll work?"
Buck blinks at him, then looks down at the trash picker Eddie is holding out to him, which has LA - DPW scrawled down one side in Sharpie. "Did you…"
"I mean, I had to give them a whole sob story, so you might as well try it," Eddie says, wrapping his hand around Buck's knee and jostling him gently. Buck takes the picker, then laughs, dropping his forehead to Eddie's shoulder.
"Sob story, huh?"
"Just saying. Probably more sanitary than trying to stick your bare hand down a storm drain."
"I love you," Buck tells him, and he feels Eddie's shoulder shake slightly with laughter before he straightens up.
"Love you too," he says. "Now come on, let's get started on this rescue operation. Though I think our patient is gonna need a thorough hose-down before we can transport him."
Buck snickers into Eddie's shirt. His eyes aren't wet, because that would be dumb. He rubs his cheek against the warm cotton anyway before lifting his head. "You're such a dork."
Eddie grins at him, ruffled and lovely in the afternoon sunlight. "Just trying to follow proper triage protocol here."
"Dork," Buck repeats, but he leans in to steal a brief kiss before they get the rescue operation underway.
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thinking about the time I was around 9 years old and I'd decided I was sure Santa Claus didn't exist because I'd had this nefarious scheme - on my Christmas List for that year I'd added a thing I knew Santa could not reasonably provide - a creature I'd made up in one of my drawing books. I don't recall at all what the name I used for it back then was, but for the sake of convenience now let's call it a "Squirg."
"Squirg's" looked like this (artist's recreation)
(It was kind of just a little ball with and had a bird beak, and a very long tail it could use to coil up and shoot like a spring, bouncing around from place to place)
So on my Christmas Wishlist when I was 9 years old, I'd added that I wanted a real, live Squirg. And what's more - I didn't include this wish in my actual full wishlist for that year - I'd detached it. I'd hidden a small bit of this torn writing above a piece of tall, wooden furniture, figuring that if Santa was as real as my parents were claiming, surely he'd simply be able to find this hidden addition to my wishlist and deliver it to me. At 9 years old my doubt had really begun to grow as to whether Santa Claus was real. I considered this my personal Ace in the Hole for figuring out that question, and once I'd had definitive proof that it was just as I thought, I could set my mind at ease. In my mind, seeing that Santa couldn't do this thing for me was the shattering of the illusion. I'm sure Christmas went really well that year and I got all sorts of things that made me happy, but the realization that Santa Claus was a make believe thing definitely dampened my spirits at the time.
It'd be months later, (perhaps for my birthday but I'm not sure), that my step-grandmother showed up with something which at the time I didn't think very much of.
She'd stitched together a whole recreation of a Squirg by hand and given it to me as a present. Now at the time I was just 9 turning 10 or so and I was at exactly the age where I didn't want to be given stuffed animals as a present. I didn't appreciate the time put into it or the love to do something like that. It wasn't something I concerned myself with when I was a kid, but looking back on it my parents must've handed her the drawing and the little scribbled wish to Santa Claus, and she still gave her best possible human effort to give me that wish as best she knew how.
Of course, she couldn't have known that I wanted a real, live cute animal companion that I'd made up. Little kid me at the time was not very satisfied with the Squirg plush and ended up stuffing it away in my closet for years. At some point unknown to me it became completely lost, probably when my family was moving from house to house.
I wish I still had it. It was a really nice gift, not even taking into account the excellent craftsmanship. I was just very struck today by what a sweet gesture that was. To be a grandparent seeing her grandkid be disappointed by the world and trying to give me what she thought I wanted, even though I was an imaginative little kid who wanted impossible things.
it was a gesture made with a lot of love and even though the plush itself has been gone for a long time, there's a bit of Squirg-shaped love out there for me.
#my posts#I'm having a category 5 mushrooms event right now and experiencing shrimp emotions I think.#this is not a made up story btw this is to the best of my recollection. I wish i still had the Squirg.
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get good
✧ choi seungcheol x f!reader
✧ summary: you and seungcheol enjoy an evening together with you doing puzzles and seungcheol playing video games. you both lose your games. and you both are menaces.
✧ wc is approx 2.6k
✧ warnings: tried to make this gender neutral again! inspired by soonyoung being bad at video games. no warnings, except seungcheol and reader kiss and curse at each other. both throw rage fits when they fail at their respective games. nothing serious tho!!! not edited.
Feeling extremely satisfied, you set your pencil down on the comforter beside you and stretched out your legs. Your sudoku puzzle was finished, all squares marked off and ready to be checked.
Seungcheol let out a curse from his desk, shifting. He had been playing some sort of fighting game with his friends for as long as you had been sitting on his bed with the puzzle, his aggravated shouts and clicking filling up his room.
You wiggled around, pushing yourself towards Seungcheol. His desk was pushed up against the wall next to his bed, which allowed you to reach out and touch him. You grabbed a handful of his shorts and tugged, peering up at him.
Humming, you rested your cheek on your hand. You were content to just stare at Seungcheol, if you were honest. He had some of the most striking facial features you had ever seen, from his large downturned eyes and thick lashes to his equally thick brows. You were always looking at his lips, fascinated with their plumpness.
“Finished my puzzle,” you murmured. Seungcheol arched his brow again, moving one of his headphones off of his ear. You repeated yourself, slightly louder.
“Finished my puzzle,” you murmured. Seungcheol arched his brow again, moving one of his headphones off of his ear. You repeated yourself, slightly louder.
He made a noise of understanding. “Is my baby all bored now? You finally want my attention?”
You pouted and rolled your eyes, reaching out to tug at his shirt this time. “Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not being mean,” he protested, with a smug look on his face that said he knew exactly how mean he was being. He loved teasing you, and when you asked him why he teased you Seungcheol would just smirk and lower his face close to yours, and then you would quickly forget your question as you got lost in him.
“You are mean,” you whined. You turned away from him, burying your face into his pillow. You breathed in his smell, both the thick scent of his cologne that always seemed to linger on him even when he was fresh from the shower, and the softer, more natural smell of Seungcheol. You shifted again, peeking out to see Seungcheol grinning, looking back at his game again.
“You’re not even paying attention to me now!”
“I am, baby,” he soothed. Seungcheol glanced between the computer screen and you. “You didn’t want my attention earlier when I wasn’t gaming with the guys.”
“That’s because I was sick of you earlier,” you mumbled.
Seungcheol pulled his headset off fully. He turned to you, a smug look on his face. It was the sort of look he had when he felt he won something, whether it be a stuffed animal from a claw machine or when you admitted that yes, you did like the stupid movie he had dragged you to watch. It was the same look Seungcheol would get after kissing you, sometimes, moments when you felt as if your heart had stopped completely, when you felt like if you spent the rest of your life kissing Seungcheol it would still be a life well spent.
“Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “I guess I better keep my distance from you. You know, since you were so sick of me.”
And then he turned back to his computer and put on his headset, leaving you alone once more.
You pouted. You knew this game. Seungcheol wanted you to whine and beg for his attention; wanted you to make a fool of yourself for him. And sometimes you did. Sometimes you would hold onto his arm and press kisses to his neck and cheek, begging for attention from him.
He would do the same to you during times he felt you had given something that wasn’t him too much attention. Seungcheol had even done it once when you were holding a friend’s new puppy, tugging on your arm and laying his head against it and asking who was cuter, him or the puppy.
You huffed. You pushed away from the head of the bed and went back to your spot, picking up your pencil and puzzle book. Seungcheol murmured something into his headset and laughed, and you were tempted to chuck your pencil across the room at him.
Instead you went down each column and across each row of your puzzle, going over your answers. Humming, you tapped your feet against the bed as each box proved to be right. Then you were at the final column: one, seven, six, three --
Three??????????
You glanced at the very bottom of the column. There, in the bottom of the column and the last in the row, was the number three.
You had two of the same number in the same column.
“FUCK,” you spat out, feeling as if the curse had started deep within your soul and bubbled out of you.
Seungcheol turned in his chair just in time to see you throw the pencil against the comforter. You then, in a fit of rage not unlike that of a toddler, grabbed the puzzle book and hurled it against the floor, letting it hit it with a dull, satisfying thud.
“Well damn,” Seungcheol began.
You shot him a vicious look, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Are ya winning, baby?”
“Fuck off, Choi Seungcheol.”
“That’s the -- what? Fourth puzzle you’ve failed this afternoon?”
“I said I don’t want to hear it --”
Seungcheol carried on, delighted. “You know. If you’re bad at sudoku, then why do you play it?”
You rose from the bed, feeling particularly murderous. The blankets pooled around your waist before falling to the floor, revealing your bare legs. Your shorts had ridden up considerably, and you took a pause from your anger to awkwardly pull them back down.
Seungcheol was laughing at you when you finally got to him, your hands reaching out to frame his face. You looked at him for a somber moment, taking in his sparkling eyes. His hands settled on your waist, moving you closer and to stand between his thighs.
You followed his lead, leaning down so your faces were close together. He was still smiling, obviously pleased with the turn of events.
Your hands moved from his face, wandering down to his biceps. You squeezed the muscle and Seungcheol obliged, flexing his arms beneath your grip. For a moment you were content, feeling the firmness of his arms and the smoothness of his skin. You trailed your nails on his skin, smirking softly at how his grip on your waist tightened and his fingers tug into your flesh.
Seungcheol moved his face towards yours. His eyes were intent on yours and his tongue peaked out of his mouth to lick at his lips.
That was the moment you got your revenge.
“FUCK!” He shouted, and you immediately pulled away from Seungcheol. Laughing, you retreated to his bed. From there you watched him rub at his biceps, looking at you with an extremely hurt look on his face, not unlike that of a puppy denied treats. “Why the fuck did you pinch me?”
“Don’t be a dick, then,” you snapped.
Seungcheol cursed some more, rubbing at his skin. “Fuck. Fuck. You’re so -- you’re evil.”
“Yes,” you grinned, wiggling at him. “I’m the evilest datemate in the world. And you told your mom you think I’m ‘the one!’ I fooled you!”
“Damn right you did,” Seungcheol mumbled, sticking his lips out in a pout. “Can’t believe she thinks you’re the sweetest angel.”
“That’s because I am,” you chirped. You moved up the bed to the pillows once more, so you were next to Seungcheol. You were at the edge, and you moved to your knees, reaching out to grab Seungcheol's shoulders so you could steady yourself. “I’m the sweetest angel on the continent. And guess what?”
Seungcheol was still pouting, his puppy-dog eyes turned to you full blast. He knew what was coming. “What?”
“I’m the sweetest angel,” you began, lowering your face to his. Seungcheol’s eyes flickered to your lips. “And I’m all yours.”
And then you pressed your lips to his pout, effectively erasing it off of his face. Seungcheol, who was extremely weak to the power of kissing, wrapped his arms around you. He brought you close, lips coaxing yours, leading a soft dance between the two of you.
“Mine,” he agreed once the two of you finally pulled away. Seungcheol planted another kiss on your mouth. “Even if you’re an asshole.”
You settled back on the bed, lips still tingling from the kiss. You pulled out your phone, snuggling into the mess of blankets and comforters and pillows. “What are you gonna play now?”
You glanced up. Seungcheol was smoothing back his black hair, headset in his other hand. You were struck right then by how handsome he was, eyes smoothing over the sharpness of his jaw, how strands of his bangs framed his face. The set of his broad shoulders, the shape of his hands.
“Um. Anagrams.”
Seungcheol repeated what you said in a tone of disbelief. “I’m dating a grandma,” he said, settling the headset over his ears.
“That’s right!"
And so the two of you were lost in your respective games. Both of your eyes were glued to your screens, the room filled with the clicking of Seungcheol’s mouse, tapping of keyboard, and his reprimands against his teammates.
Whenever he got too loud you would look over at him. Sometimes he would turn around and give an apologetic gesture, but you didn’t mind all that much. Seungcheol didn’t game often, preferring much more physical competitions than virtual. Furthermore it wasn’t often he left you to your own devices.
Not to say Seungcheol was controlling. No, the two of you had your own lives. You met for lunch when you could, had dates out as often as possible. But still you planned little days out with your friends, joined your family for meals. You two had separate lives, but when you were together it was as if you two were stuck in the other's gravitational pull, constantly revolving around one another.
(Seungcheol’s mother had remarked on it once. You were leaning against the counter, joking with his dad and giggling along with the horrible jokes he made, when Seungcheol plodded along and draped himself over your back. His mother had taken one look at Seungcheol before hitting him with a spoon, scolding him and telling him to leave you alone. She then smacked his father for teasing you "too much", and for him to leave you alone.)
(“She loves you more than me!” Seungcheol’s dad had said, laughing loudly, the same laugh as his son. His mother had agreed, setting homemade dessert in front of you and urging you to eat quickly.)
Eventually you made your way up the bed to lay as close to Seungcheol as possible without actually leaving the bed. Your feet were hanging off of it and pressed against his thigh, and every so often he dropped his hand to run his thumb over the knob of your ankle.
“Ya,” Seungcheol began, tensing. You looked up from the gotcha game on your phone. His jaw was set, brows furrowed. “Soonyoung. Move. Soonyoung. You have to fucking move --”
The screen flashed and Seungcheol cursed, throwing his hands up in the air and dislodging your feet. You watched, amused, as Seungcheol berated Soonyoung over the microphone. “Kwon Soonyoung. You are the worst fucking player. I’m serious.”
“What did he do?”
“He just sat there for ten minutes!” Seungcheol shrieked, gesturing at the game. “And no one even shot him! He was left alone! And the fucking moment he moved, he got shot!”
You laughed, throwing your head back a little. You moved, standing to lean against Seungcheol and talk into the microphone attached to his headset. “Don’t listen to them, Soonie. I think you’re amazing.”
And then you made a little kissing noise into the microphone. You were just able to register the noise of Soonyoung returning the air kiss before Seungcheol pushed you back onto the bed, shrieks of laughter escaping you.
“Give me a moment,” he said. Seungcheol threw his headset off and onto the desk, practically throwing the chair back in his hurry to get to you.
You were laughing loudly, pushing back against his shoulders and Seungcheol clambered on top of you. “Stay away, you heathen!”
Seungcheol captured your arm in his hand, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss against your skin, eyes boring into your soul and making your heart flutter. “Don’t --” he began, his lips moving up your arm and pressing kisses between every word. “Ever do that again. You’re mine.”
And at the final word his lips were on yours, forcing your mouth open and immediately invading. His hands were in your hair, angling your head for him to better kiss you. Seungcheol kissed you like he was intent on devouring you, tongue claiming the inside of your mouth for his, teeth biting at your lips before he descended on your neck.
You were gripping his shoulders, little gasps leaving you as he pressed kisses to your throat and neck. He practically worshiped your neck, lips frantic against it.
When Seungcheol finally pulled away from your neck, you were panting. He pressed a final kiss to your lips before pulling off of you entirely. Seungcheol wheeled his chair back to the desk, running a hand through his hair and settling the headset back on, as casual as could be, as if he hadn’t just ravished you and left you famished.
You ran a hand through your own hair, laying there. After a moment or two you got your wits about you, straightening up and grabbing your phone.
mingyu (the annoying one): so you’ll kiss soonyoung and seungcheol but not me.
you: take a shower once in a while and i’ll consider it
mingyu (the annoying one): you cannot tell me that you believe soonyoung takes showers more regularly than i do
you: enough w this soonyoung slander. you could spend this time taking a shower but instead you actively ruin your friend’s reputation. this is why you are maidenless.
A loud curse brought you from your phone screen. You watched, somewhat concerned, as Seungcheol lifted his keyboard up from the desk, and with the force of a starving man desperate to get the potato chip bag on the verge of falling form its slot in a vending machine, began shaking the keyboard and cursing at it.
“Cheol,” you began, bewildered. He either wasn’t paying attention to you or didn’t hear you, so you raised your voice. “Baby? Seungcheol?”
He turned to you, keyboard clattering to the desk. “I’m sick of this! Fucking -- Wonwoo and Jeonghan and Chan are on a team and who do I get? Soonyoung and Mingyu!”
“Mingyu isn’t so bad --”
“Soonyoung doesn’t even FUCKING KNOW HOW TO TURN ON DARK MODE ON HIS PHONE!”
“I know,” you agreed, “I’m the one who did it for him. What happened?”
Seungcheol turned to face you fully, a pleading look on his face, as if you were the god of gaming and could control the outcome of his game. “I literally was doing so well. Really. Nothing could stop me. Not even Wonwoo. Soonyoung doesn’t move the entire game! He just stands in a corner and waits! And I play the game how it’s supposed to be played and what do I get? Killed!”
“Well,” you began, licking your lips. You felt as if you were on the edge of a cliff with Seungcheol and had two choices: you could either give him a helping hand and coax him back into a more relaxed state, or you could push him over the edge.
“Well,” you said again. “If you’re so bad at the game, why do you keep playing it?"
#!!!!!!#s.coups#svt s.coups#choi seungcheol#s.coups x reader#scoups#scoups x reader#choi seungcheol x reader#svt#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt fic#my writing
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3, 7, 14, 20, 29 Numbers for the Drabble! Can I get really angsty here with like Eddie being depressed and almost dying and Steve saving him?!
Okay, I don't know if I went the route you were thinking, but I tried. Also, I definitely think I went a different way with the 'saving' thing, but here we go. This also got way longer than a drabble.
3: "Please, don’t leave.”, 7: "I almost lost you.", 14: "Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”, 20: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”, and 29: "I thought you were dead.”
CW: Implied/Referenced Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Eddie's Sacrifice Being Referred to as a Suicide Attempt
Established Steddie, Pre-Season Four Relationship
———
A voice low and raspy floats through his head. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,” it says. There’s a pressure to Eddie’s hand. The firm squeeze of somebody else. Somebody who doesn’t remind him of his uncle. He can’t pinpoint who it is exactly, but it’s somebody familiar. A person who knows him, most likely. A person who’s willing to talk to him in the in-between of somewhere and nowhere.
Though, it’s not the first time he comes to hear this phrase. Uttered to him day in and day out. A constant reminder that he’s not gone, but he’s not there. Not with this person. This somebody that seems to care about him. And he should know, because their voice is familiar. Strong and urgent and pleading and soft, all at once. It’s the burn of a mid-winter fire in his backyard, tossing butt-ends of cigarettes into its mix, drinking spiked eggnog until he can’t sense the numbness of his cheeks and is lost in the glorious laughter between him and his uncle. It’s the push come to shove.
The shove that he needs to wake up. And wake up he does. Startled and groggy, too. Choking in the back of his throat. Jump the wire with hands out in front of him, clawing at his mouth, at the contraption stuffed down his throat. Then, in a blur of motion and noise and light, it’s gone.
He can breathe. He can blink. He can smack his dry lips and suck down on the plastic straw offered out to him. Offered to him by a shaky hand that doesn’t have the same rugged, aged quality to them that his uncle’s do. He can see, so he looks. Up the person’s arm and to this stranger’s face.
Yet, he’s not a stranger. No, not at all. It’s Steve.
Steve Harrington, the guy he’d been kissing back at his trailer nearly every night before the bullshit came to bulldoze him. The guy he’d held on the couch when he had concussions number one and two. The guy that makes him cry.
The cup and straw is set aside hastily. Outstretched hand to his uninjured cheek. And a thumb, steady and warm wiping at his tears. “I gotcha, baby,” Steve murmurs. Leans tight and close, pressed warm against Eddie’s side. And kisses at his overheating skin, at the tear tracks, and his hiccuping chest. “I gotcha,” he coos again. “I almost lost you, but I have you. I have you.”
Days move like that. Nearly like that. Eddie wakes up sobbing and choking, too warm and agitated. And Steve holds his face, kisses his cheeks, and brushes back his hair.
It works until it doesn’t.
When he’s discharged, he moves into a drab apartment. Too far from his childhood home. Away from a room that was brimming with him and his love for all the people and all the things he’s ever known. He’s lost everything. Lost tattoos, patches of smooth skin, books with margin notes, tapes and records, poster and banners, clothes and old stuffed animals. It’s all gone from him. Anything he’s saved from his and Steve’s time together, that’s all away from him, too.
Even as he unpacks the boxes of things that replace that of which he’s lost, it doesn’t soothe him. Nothing does. He had expected to never see the daylight again. To have left everything behind, with Wayne and Steve and the other people he’s come to know. That he wouldn’t have to see it again, but even if he had to, it would still be there. But nothing is. Then, he doesn’t graduate. Doesn’t even want to try again; just tells everybody, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll get my GED or something, y’know? Maybe just go to trade school.”
Though, he knows that’s a lie, too.
Because he’s ten times worse off than he was before. Nothing to stick to his name. A distance that stretches between him and everything he’s ever had. It’s noticeable in the way he’s prone to lash out more. Prone to laying in bed, tight under his blanket, not doing anything. How quiet and how unnerving he’s become. Staring off at nothing, caught in flashbacks and blinking lights, holding to himself tightly as if he can will the normal to creep back into his body. He figured if he had died, sure there would be a bad taste to his name, but at least he wouldn’t have to keep making up for things he didn’t do. He wouldn’t have to justify who he is. Or find a way to hide in broad sunlight.
Everything he’s ever known is twisted backwards and shoved up where the sun doesn’t shine. He tries to do the things he loved, but all that it reminds him of is playing a demented concert, creatures come to life, bites and scars and blood and screaming. And death. Sometimes, he wonders why he didn’t just die down there. How he survived.
So, he asks. He asks because it’s his story, too. He deserves to know, right?
It’s during a stay-in date night at his new apartment that he asks. “Hey, Steve?” And part of him grimaces at the last time he used those words, in that exact progression, in the moment that should’ve been his last.
Steve startles on the couch. Untucks himself from under Eddie’s arm. And full body faces him. Wide eyes, tight mouth, and wrinkled brow.
“Nobody’s told me how I…how I managed to survive. Will you tell me?” He asks quietly. Even his voice is as tired as his brain is. He used to be good at masking this. The waves of discontent that flood from his body every once in a while. It was manageable because it was just about his parents, or his living situation, or the bullies at school. But now it’s just him. It’s him as a whole, as a person who shouldn’t have lived. How nobody’s written Zombie Boy on the side of his van, he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure about a damn thing anymore.
But instead of answering, Steve just shakes his head. Tries to tuck back in close.
Eddie won’t have it. He scoots farther away. More distance. Why is there more distance? His emotions are haywire, he knows that. Something sparking red inside his chest, ready to light up in bright shades of orange through his mouth. “Why not?” He questions, though it falls flat and bitter. “Tell me,” he demands. Has practically skipped over the pleading stages, he’s done begging.
“I—“ And something in Steve’s eyes harden. Jaw setting with an unsubtle twitch. “I can’t tell you, Eddie,” he bites.
“You won’t tell me,” he accuses. “Which, I don’t get why you won’t. It’s something I want to know, don’t make me go to Dustin. Or Robin. They’ll fucking tell me.” The words fall from his mouth dark and slow. Dripping from him like the hot churn of tar. And he should regret how sour his tone has already gone, based on the hurt creeping into Steve’s face.
“Eddie,” Steve sighs. “Please don’t make me fight you on this right now. I—I literally can’t bring myself to say it. It’s…I shouldn’t even have to explain this to you, but it was one of the worst moments of my life. Is that not enough of a reason for you?” He could take this all back, really should, but Eddie just shakes his head stubbornly. Furrows his eyebrows and wags his hand as if to gesture for Steve to keep going. Instead, Steve stands from the couch and makes way to the door, hand stretched out for his sneakers. “I’m not fighting with you,” he states calmly. “I know that you’ve been curious or…or that you’ve been trying to come back to yourself or whatever, but it’s not something I’m willing to share. And it’s certainly not something I want to argue with you about.”
“Whatever,” Eddie scoffs. “It’s probably bullshit anyway.” The fight leaves him all at once. As he leans into the couch, head at his lap, picking at his sweatpants. He sniffs, an attempt to rescind the tears that want to fall down his face.
But instead of leaving, Steve stays by the door and sighs. “Why do you want to know so bad?” He asks. Before Eddie can give him the same response, Steve quickly adds, “Don’t tell me that it’s ‘part of your story’ or whatever. I know it is. It’s just…Something’s different about this.”
He used to be unreadable. Unfathomable. Jumping between all kinds of things, unable to pinpoint him in a single way. But he shrugs. Goes quiet again. And mutters, “Just go, Steve. It doesn’t matter.” Even if he wants to say something about how he was supposed to die, or how he should’ve. Even if he wants to show all his cards: I’m lost, I’m different and everybody can tell, I’m falling apart, I’m close to death anyway.
Steve still doesn’t move.
“Go, Steve. I said that it doesn’t matter,” Eddie snaps. He raises his head. And for some reason, Steve is still there. Concerned and confused and sad all at once. He hates it. “I’m not gonna make you talk about it! Why are you still standing there?! You can go! I’ll find out one of these days, so stop looking at me like that!” He shouts. And he hates that, too. But he lets himself loud and angry, red faced and harsh lines. Because why won’t Steve just—
“You’re being a real dickhead, you know that?” Steve asks rhetorically. “I’m trying to save myself the fucking heartache I went through, and you—What, you think bullying words out of me is going to get you an answer?! I just don’t get why you’re so curious about what I saw! You’ve never pushed before, y’know, back during Starcourt or after Billy or whatever, but now it’s—“
Eddie groans and stands. Interrupting with his own words, “I’m not forcing you anymore, so let’s just drop it!”
“—Why does it matter in the first place?! You know what you did! It’s nothing different from—“
“Nothing different?! God, do you hear yourself?!”
“—Seriously, why does this matter so bad?! I don’t get it—“
“Because…Because I—“
“I thought you were dead!” Steve screams, just as Eddie shouts back:
“I wanted to die down there!”
And then the room fills with suffocating silence. As they stand merely four feet apart from each other. Wide eyed, red in the face, shaking. Immediately, Eddie looks down to the floor as Steve stops closer. Stepping back when he thinks they get too close to touching.
He doesn’t say anything about wanting to die, even now. Doesn’t say how even when Steve is doting on him, massaging his scars with lotion, taking care of him all sweet like—Eddie still wants to crawl outside of his skin and bury himself under the ground. Won’t say something about how he thought about all the ways in which he should’ve died, or could’ve died, or could still die now. Won’t.
Now, he understands why Steve can’t talk. Because he’s realizing he can’t talk either.
Steve’s voice is wet and heartbreaking when he asks, “What? Baby, why would you…”
Eddie just shakes his head. Heaves his own little wet thing. A sigh or a sob, it’s hard to tell. “I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m sorry,” he says first. “Please…Please go, Steve. I think I should lay down.”
“Hey, wait—No, Eds,” Steve calls out, his hand brushing briefly with Eddie’s wrist. But he can’t grasp. Not with how Eddie turns away, down the hallway, and slams his bedroom door behind him.
They don’t see each other for a week after that.
Eddie stays closed up and silent in his bedroom. Under his comforter. Unmoving. Briefly gets up to go to the bathroom. In which he tries to avoid how his uncle stares at him. Doesn’t want to eat, can’t bring himself to eat. Not with the guilt that fills his stomach anyway. Steve shouldn’t have heard that. Shouldn’t know that that part exists inside of Eddie, but it does. And it festers.
Festers uncaring that Eddie doesn’t want to feel this way. Just lingers heavy on his shoulders, tight in his belly, grumbling in his chest. It, that desire, tingles in his fingertips. As he takes his medications, holding onto the plastic bottles longer than he needs to. When he carries a cigarette between his two fingers, eyeing the embers sparking over his bare skin. It’s in the haunting images in his nightmares, where he lays bloody and exhausted and finally in solitude. But he wakes up sobbing anyway. Grasping to his elbows, rocking back and forth in his bed, biting down on his comforter or his blanket as to not wake up Wayne.
It’s still there when he sees Steve next.
A knock to his bedroom door, hesitant and small. Then, the bustle of movement clambering through. His shadow standing over the end of Eddie’s bed. “Eds?” Steve’s voice is low and cautious, standing on eggshells. “Baby? I—uh—I got a call from Wayne saying you were…That you weren’t feeling good. Just wanted to check on you.” Eddie pulls his head out from under his blanket and just blinks at Steve. He takes that as some sort of cue, though, and comes closer. Hesitantly sitting on the edge of the bed. He lays his right hand over Eddie’s forehead and frowns. “You don’t feel warm or anything. How aren’t you feeling good?” He asks. And his face is all too soft. A little smile. The creases at the corners of his eyes. How his body language is still so sweet and caring and…It just doesn’t make sense with how Eddie treated him last.
So, without a response to give, Eddie allows himself to weep. A quiet thing at first, but that bubbles and pops and explodes from out of him in the next moment. Tumbling from him admits blubbering, apologies and terrible explanations and how he didn’t mean to push. Steve startles lightly, pulls his hand away, but doesn’t get very far. Eddie plunges his hand out from under the blanket, grabs to Steve’s retreating hand, and holds on firmly. “Please, don’t go,” he pleads, “Don’t go, Steve. I don’t—I can’t—“
Carefully, Steve burrows himself into Eddie’s blanket. Flush against Eddie’s torso. Arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders. Lips to his forehead, murmuring, “Hey, hey, Eds. You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.” And when Eddie’s crying only gets louder, Steve squeezes impossibly tighter. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always, Eds. I’m right here with you,” he attempts to placate.
When the crying gets hoarse and Steve’s words are just sticky kisses to Eddie’s forehead, does he calm down. Sniffing loud, burrowing in close to Steve’s warmth, scratching his chin with his wild and unwashed hair. “I didn’t mean to say it that way,” he mumbles, “It’s true, but I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
Steve lets out a carefully measured breath. “I just hope that you don’t think like that now,” he murmurs. A tinge of sadness at the edges of his voice.
He swallows past the lump in his throat and the scream in his chest. The quiver in his palms and the thoughts in his head, he tries to steady. Of course this isn’t easy. “I do, sometimes. I don’t like it, though. And I’d never…But I thought my life was over at that point, you have to understand that, Steve,” he begins to explain. “And like—My life now, I may have some things. I may have you still and Uncle Wayne. I have Dustin and Mike and Lucas, our game and whatnot. But I can’t…Things that used to matter to me, they don’t mean anything at all. They just make me think of that place. It’s just…My life feels drastically different now and like there’s nothing to fix it.”
Above him, where Steve’s chin rests on the top of his head, he hears and feels the hum Steve emanates. He swipes one hand down the center of Eddie’s back. The other holding tight to the back of his head. “I think fix is the wrong word. Maybe just…You just need to be guided. But I don’t think I’m the right person to do that.”
“I know,” Eddie mutters. “I’ll have to find something because I’m not putting the people around me through—I’m not going to let you lose me,” he states determinedly. “Just please don’t go. And know that I really am sorry, that I am grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“It sucked,” Steve admits. “But I’m right here with you. By your side through the thick of it. And I forgive you, as long as you stick by me.”
All Eddie can do is burrow in closer, nod, and let himself succumb to Steve’s warmth. To be saved from near death is one thing, but to be held away from it is another. And Steve has done that for him. He kisses Steve’s chest, where his heart is, and makes a silent promise that he will find a better tomorrow for himself.
#stranger things#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#angst and hurt/comfort#very angsty#arguments and making up
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HL Fic Library 🌚 Supernatural Fics
Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.
🦇 domestic monsters (series) by @g-uttertrash {E, 234k}
Harry is a witch from a long line of power, an ancient line that’s one of the strongest left alive in their hemisphere. He can cast spells without a word if need be, fly on a broomstick, and has a black cat (a kitten, really) named Felix that is his animal familiar. He can shape galaxies in his cupped hands and can destroy them just as easily. He can choose exactly how to use his power, for encouragement and support, or for more nefarious causes if he wishes to.
And as fate would have it, he’s scared of haunted houses.
(Harry is a witch who carries around a stuffed pumpkin, Louis is a vampire with too much time on his hands, and their best mates Zayn & Niall aren't exactly what they seem...)
🦇 Collision by itjustkindahappened / @tequiladimples {E, 226k}
Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.
(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)
🦇 Run Like the Devil by benzos / @churchrat {E, 139k}
Harry stops pouting, but his frown is still fixed in place. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know it’s your soul you’re signing away.” He sounds…sad? No, that’s not right, but there’s something.
Christ. This is the most incompetent demon Louis’ ever met. If he hadn’t seen the red of his eyes he wouldn’t believe he was a demon at all. How’d he get this job if he isn’t trying to convince Louis to deal? Or is it just another trick? A ploy for sympathy?
“I’m sure,” Louis says. “Come over here and kiss me.”
Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.
🦇 House of The Rising Sun by @itsmotivatingcara {M, 101k}
“It wasn’t me.” Louis said after they’d walked a block in silence, Harry glanced over in surprise but this time Louis didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking ahead. The moonlight cast shadows under his striking cheekbones, and not for the first time, Harry thought he was eerily beautiful - though immortality would likely have a hand in that. “It was supposed to be, but I got caught up in something else.”
“Something more important than murdering a witch” Harry snarked, “Will wonders never cease.”
He felt Louis’ irritation before he spoke again, “Careful, little lamb.” He murmured.
Little lamb.
Harry despised the nickname Louis had given him when they’d first met nine months prior. Little Lamb to the slaughter, Louis had said mockingly.
Or The Originals AU that no one asked for.
🦇 Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule {T, 93k}
“Thank you,” Geoff says, taking a sip of his tea. “What did you tell him?”
Louis has a sip as well, lets the tea burn down his throat too quickly, too hot, and he feels it all the way down to his stomach. “The truth. Essentially,” he replies after a moment, licking his lips, relishing the slightly bitter taste of the brew that’s never quite strong enough for Louis’ liking. At least it’s not decaf. “That my dog scented it. That I didn’t touch the body. That I came here first thing.”
Geoff nods pensively. “Did he believe you?”
“Probably not. There’s only so many people who can drown on dry land before it gets fishy.”
or: Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.
🦇 The Devil In My Brain by @princesshalo {E, 74k}
“Jesus Christ!” Louis yells as he jumps back in reaction to Harry once again popping up out of nowhere.
Harry doesn’t even flinch.
“Quite the opposite.” He jokes, holding out one of the drinks for Louis to take. A freshly sizzling vodka Red Bull; his favorite.
Louis’s initial reaction is the thought you remembered.
His rational brain says, “No thanks.”
“Louis.” Harry says it like a concerned parent, the tone of it matching the way his mum used to say Boo Bear, you have to eat your vegetables to grow up big and strong, and that ignites something feral within him.
“Satan.” He counters, same tone coupled with a glare and a pair of arms crossed over his chest.
Louis used to be good friends with Harry, until he woke up alone and immortal with no one to blame but The Devil himself.
🦇 Tied to Fate by @littlelouishiccups {E, 52k}
After his estranged father’s death, Harry inherits a castle in England that has belonged to his family for generations and he knows nothing about. When he breaks up with his boyfriend, Harry decides England is the perfect place for a small vacation. He isn’t prepared to meet Louis Tomlinson, a ghost who once lived in the castle and has haunted it for over five hundred years. He’s even more unprepared to fall in love with him.
🦇 we should open up (before it's all too much) by @disgruntledkittenface {M, 43k}
“I’m not–” Harry breaks off, his voice strangled as he clutches his phone in his hand. He takes a breath and looks up, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill over at bay. “Louis, I’m not very good company these days. I–”
“Harry,” Louis interrupts, his raspy voice soft and soothing. “I get it. Sometimes it’s just easier to be alone, yeah?”
Harry nods, blinking back the last of his tears.
“But it can get lonely,” Louis states. Harry nods again even though it wasn’t a question, finally looking back at him. “So why don’t we try being alone, together?”
Struggling with grieving and depression since his dad died, Harry has never felt so alone. It’s too much to cope with on his own, but he feels like a burden when he tries to open up with people.
Then he meets Louis.
🦇 The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by @helloamhere {T, 31k}
“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.
Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade.
“I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.
OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!
🦇 Where the World has Come Together by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {M, 26k}
For the crime of elven blood running through his veins, Louis Tomlinson spends his days protecting the human kingdom he’s been cast out of. Forcibly tied by magic to the very walls that encircle the city, he and the other guards do what they can to find some semblance of a life.
Then, against Louis’ wishes, someone new is added to their number. How is he supposed to share living quarters with a monster?
🦇 The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror {E, 25k}
Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.
🦇 Campus Creatures by @kingsofeverything , YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf {E, 25k}
It’s senior year for werewolf Louis Tomlinson and vampire Harry Styles, and as presidents of their respective fraternities, they’re determined to do it right.
Though what that means is anybody’s guess.
🦇 In the Strangest of Ways by SunTomato / @sun-tomato {NR, 17k}
Louis Tomlinson is a historian with English Heritage, specialised local history and folklore.
When he is hired to research the origins of a mysterious music sheet, he soon finds he’s not the only one at the manor; a dark presence keeps following him around. The more time he spends at the historic site, the clearer it becomes that something tragic happened here.
And when the haunting sounds of a melancholy piano piece accompanied by the vague shadow of a beautiful male figure appear, Louis is determined to find out who this beautiful man was and what happened to him…
🦇 it's time to find your wings again by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed {T, 12k}
The first reports are dismissed, as tall tales or folklore. As mental illness, poor Bathilda, she’d gone loopy. As people simply getting scared in the dark woods and seeing things, making things up. Magic isn’t real. Mythological creatures aren't real.
But then the first one is caught. A faun, that little Meg from around the corner swears has attacked her in the woods, and everyone comes to the marketplace to see the faun be hanged for its crimes. Louis doesn’t want to go, but at the same time, he finds himself unable to stay away. Not when this proves what he’s wanted to believe all along, that magic is real.
Louis is twenty when he starts working at the prison. His fascination for supernatural creatures had turned into something most closely resembling loathing over the years, due to the many stories of their evildoing, and although he still doesn’t believe in hanging them for their crimes, he does believe in keeping the town safe. In making sure that his siblings get to grow up without fear of being kidnapped or hurt. As the oldest son, it feels like his duty to make sure that no creature in the wide area will ever pose a threat to anyone.
🦇 Far Afield by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird {T, 11k}
Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.
🦇 Just Your Jinx by @larryatendoftheday {T, 10k}
Harry Styles may or may not have accidentally jinxed his extremely fit new neighbor, and it's not so easy to make things right.
🦇 Babe, There's Something Lonesome About You by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey {M, 8k}
Louis is a hedge witch, who lives a lonely, solitary life. He's quite happy with his shop in Door County, selling New Age magics to the tourists. He also has his cats and his birds to keep him company. But his best friend Liam thinks he needs someone around, and he's got just the person: Liam's friend Harry is coming to the area for the tourist season and since Louis has all this space....
🦇 Somethin' Old and Red by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {NR, 5k}
There was a ritual with these things. He’d pour a splash into a wine glass —his favourite little joke was telling humans he loved a nice glass of red every now and again— then sat down in his living room and listened to music while he drank. Every time he changed the record —or, what was it they called them nowadays? 8tracks? MP3s? Playlists? It was difficult for Harry to keep up with the technology, especially as much as things had changed over the last few decades— he would change the music before refilling the glass. He liked to savour his meals. He could get at least two evenings out of a bag that way, which worked very well for Harry’s schedule. His wine glass was in front of him on the counter, and he was ready to pour.
🦇 The Hidden Hills Restaurant by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose {E, 4k}
“Are you sure you want to hear about this? Wouldn’t you rather hear about what I’ll do to you? How often? How long? How many fin—“
“I like to get to know my potential clients before agreeing to anything,” Louis says and lays down the menu. He’s thinking of steak. Something meaty, juicy, and hearty.
Harry’s arched eyebrow at the word ‘potential’ doesn’t escape Louis’ notice.
or the one where Louis is a personal feeder and Harry is the vampire to be his next client
🦇 Rapture by @allwaswell16 {E, 3k}
It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.
Or, a vampire Harry fic because what says the holidays like Victorian vampires?
🦇 Just a little taste by @lunarheslwt {G, 3k}
“Little dove,” Louis crooned, making Harry shiver a little, affected, “you’re shaking. Do you want to bite?”
Harry stilled. He knew what Louis was asking. He knew Louis probably could sense how in dire need of comfort he was. He knew Louis was offering. And yet-
“No,” he whispered, even as he felt the strong urge to let his lips trace the well-known path to the spot he usually bit into, “I could hurt you.”
“Harry, my darling, you haven’t hurt me once in the numerous times you’ve needed to bite. Today will be no different. You know it’ll do you good.”
Harry sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, torn. In the end, it was an offer he was too weak to resist.
“So…do you want to? Little taste?”
“Yeah,” Harry rasped out, “please.”
Or, Harry is a vampire that comes home one night, grappling with the darkness that comes with being one. Louis offers him unwavering love, acceptance and the one thing he needs but is reluctant to ask for; permission to bite for the sake of comfort and safety seeking.
#ficrec#supernatural#hlcreators#hljournal#trackinghappily#trackinghome#1dficvillage#lunarheslwt#allwaswell16#amomentoflove#nonsensedarling#patdkitten#larryatendoftheday#quickedween#wearethesame#disgruntledkittenface#itsmotivatingcara#benzos#whimsicule#itjustkindahappened#guttertrash#littlelouishiccups#suntomato#yesisaworld#kingsofeverything#mugglemirror#ladylondonderry#helloamhere#princesshalo
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Tea Party | Jungwoo
summary: fluff, drabble, bf!jungwoo plans a surprise tea party date that your childhood self dreamed of <3
wc: 766
a/n: Happy Jungwoo Day!! 💚
You honestly couldn’t believe what you were looking at. The fact that your sweet sweet boyfriend would do all this for you, just because he loved you, was almost more than your heart could handle.
It was about two months ago when Jungwoo first got the idea. You two had found yourselves looking through childhood photos and stumbled upon one picture that made you smile more than all the others. In the picture you were having a little tea party with all your favorite stuffed animals, wearing your favorite dress that you practically lived in at the time, and in the middle of choosing which fake pastry that you should have.
Ever since Jungwoo saw how your eyes lit up when you saw that picture, he knew that he had to throw you a tea party. A tea party that your childhood self dreamed off, with real tea and real treats. It took him some time to plan everything out, so by the time he asked you out on a surprise date, your childhood tea parties were far from your mind.
As per his request you're wearing your favorite dress while he wears a handsome button down. As you two walk hand in hand through the park, your mind wonders on what exactly he has planned.
You were just about to tell Jungwoo that you were enjoying the walk because it was such a nice day, when you saw everything. You stop in your tracks while Jungwoo keeps going, and you watch him sit down at one of the two open seats. You have the biggest smile on your face as you start to walk again and as you get closer you notice all the details he put into this date. He had picked out the prettiest china set to enjoy your tea with and he picked out your favorite pasties, but the best part by far was who else was joining you in your tea party. There are five seats in total and three of them are filled with your favorite childhood stuffed animals, the very ones that were in the picture.
You were honestly speechless that Jungwoo planned out this sweet date. “Jungwoo…” You wanted to say so much, but that was all that came out. “Do you like it?” He asks, as if there was even a possibility of you not loving the idea of a tea party date.
“Of course I do Jungwoo! Come here.” You say as you walk over to him and embrace him in the tightest hug. He hugs you back just as tight and sways you back and forth, pressing sweet kisses on your cheek until you have to pry yourself off of him in fear of him ruining your makeup. He sneaks a few more kisses before he slides your chair out and motions for you to sit.
You watch him as he pours your tea for you and prepares it the way he knows you like it. You look at all your options of baked goods and decide to go for the chocolate croissant, splitting it with Jungwoo.
“You can’t just tear it apart y/n. This is a fancy tea party, we must use a fork and knife.” Jungwoo says, making you laugh as he takes the liberty of cutting the croissant in half. While you wait, you sip on your tea and enjoy the view of the pretty day, Jungwoo really couldn’t have planned for a more perfect day.
“I need to get some pictures before we're done so I can look back and remember how sweet my boyfriend is.” You say, but Jungwoo was already two steps ahead of you pulling out a polaroid camera from his bag. “I thought you might want to take some pictures.” And so, you two had a mini photoshoot in the middle of your tea party. You both took one of each other, Jungwoo promptly placing the one he took of you in his wallet. You took one where you both held one of your stuffed animals and then another of you two kissing across the table.
Afterwards you find yourselves getting lost in conversation, absentmindedly sipping on the tea and soaking in each other's company. Jungwoo went all out on this date and you appreciated every aspect of it, but any and every date with Jungwoo was amazing and special no matter how planned or how spontaneous. He always has a way of making you feel like the most precious person in the world with every gaze, every small touch, and every whisper of sweet nothings.
#happy jungwoo day!#jungwoo#nct#nct 127#fluff#k-pop#drabble#imagine#nct scenarios#fanfiction#fanfic#jungwoo x reader#jungwoo x y/n#jungwoo x you#established relationship
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A Tooka for a Puppy (Wrecker Comfort Fluff)
Idk if this has been done before, but I just really love the idea of making plushies for Wrecker, so I wrote a mini fic about the idea.
This is a reader insert but the relationship between you and Wrecker isn't explicitly romantic, can be read as platonic. Also the title is based off the fact that Wrecker is a giant puppy <3
Nightmares were not unheard of on the Marauder and unfortunately, you had grown too familiar with what each crew member sounded like when the woke from them.
It was your lookout shift and, though you had been curled up with your favorite blanket in the pilot chair, you knew you needed something to drink if you were going to make it the rest of watch. You were glad you had gotten up when you did.
Just as you were pouring your drink, you heard a clatter, the muffled sounds of ragged breathing following
You were by Wrecker's side in an instant. Even as you stroked his back- his usual calming method, he scrambled around his bunk for something, desperate and still breathing hard. It took the better part of ten minutes to calm him down enough to ask what he was looking for.
"Lula," he had said, voice graveled and shaken, "I keep thinking I lost her in the middle of the night. Forget I gave her to the kid."
Wrecker had one of the kindest hearts in the galaxy, that you were sure. He practically begged you not to mention his nightmares in front of Omega.
"Don't want her to try 'an give Lula back. She needs her more than me."
It made your heart ache. No one ever gave Wrecker enough credit for his deep wealth of empathy.
You had to do something. If he didn't have Lula, maybe a whole new tooka was in order. It took several days, even though you were between missions at the moment- sewing supplies weren't exactly common on the Marauder. Some things from the med-bay's stitching helped and as for material...well, the aforementioned favorite blanket, its fabric was a decent enough mimic of tooka fur.
Now you were standing in the hallway to the bunks, waiting for Wrecker to switch off his watch shift with Hunter. You heard his thudding footfalls first, then a loud yawn as he ducked through the door way.
He blinked a little when he saw you but quickly had that cute smile on.
"I've got a surprise for you."
Wrecker's face was alight in an instant, he loved getting presents, especially since they were so rare. "Oooo! What is it, what is it?!"
Slowly, and maybe a little sheepishly, you pulled your hand from behind your back, "I know she's not Lula, but, I thought maybe a new Tooka could help you sleep better."
He all but froze as he stared down at the stuffed animal. As if he were afraid it was made of glass, he raised his hand, not even daring to grab it as he just brushed his fingers along the fabric.
"You...you made this?"
You nodded.
"For me?"
A little chuckle, "Yes, Wrecker. You were so sweet, giving Lula to Omega even though you still need her, I just wanted you to have-"
Before your sentence was even finished, big arms scooped you up and hoisted you off your feet. Wrecker all but buried his face in your shoulder as he spun you around, that boyish laugh bubbling in his throat.
Though, even when the motion slowed, he stayed like that a moment longer, arms wrapped around you and forehead braced against your neck. When Wrecker finally pulled back you thought you saw a glimmer of tears in the crinkled corner of his eyes.
You smiled back at him, and pressed the doll into his hands. He hugged it to his chest- but his face fell just a bit as his thumb ran over the fuzzy material.
"She looks like that blanket you love!" he gasped, mind putting two and two together.
You shrugged, "Eh, I've been needing to get a new one for awhile, figured it could make a better tooka than a cover."
His expression said he didn't quite believe you, but, because this was Wrecker, he just pulled that determined grin. "First chance I get, I'm gonna get you the BEST blanket in the galaxy!"
That made you laugh, there he went again, thinking of others, "Thanks, Wrecker."
"No, thank you! " he pulled you into a one armed hugged this time, cheek resting on your head as he said, "You're the best."
A content sigh left you when you returned the gesture, enjoying the soft warmth of the embrace. "Nah, you are big guy."
#I love the order of those gifs cos it looks like Omega gave him Lula#and he immediately just started hitting Crosshair with her XD#wrecker x reader#wrecker x you#wrecker x y/n#platonic wrecker#though like I said it can be read as#romantic wrecker#wrecker fluff#bad batch wrecker#clone x reader#sw#deeja writes
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I played crutchie in newsies, here are some of the things that happened
- the refuge was constantly referred to as "little boy jail." "I wish you were in king of new york" "can't, little boy jail." "yeah when i got rolled onstage for letter from the refuge-" "HAHA, LITTLE BOY JAIL!"
- an ensemble member came up with the hypothetical question "if you were starving and had no food, would you eat crutchie's leg?" he then proceeded to ask every single cast member this question. I now know which newsies would eat crutchie's leg and could provide a list if asked. jack kelly would he told me HIMSELF.
- someone accidentally called me crunchy instead of crutchie. various variations of that nickname ensued, my personal favorite being "cankle"
- somebody put me on the spot and asked me to name my crutch. I panicked and said pickles.
- jack kelly himself greeted me every rehearsal by pointing at me and saying "bum leg." what a wonderful friend.
- the theatre we performed at had a covered area outside that could be accessed from backstage. this area had a sign over the door that said "area of refuge." three different people asked me to pose under it and took a picture of me.
- our director had us practice the prologue together with her to guide us exactly two times, the first was in a practice room the size of a closet (i knocked a framed photo off the wall and my director and i blamed our jack immediately) and the second was in the theatre bathroom like ten minutes before the opening show (jack had to hold a mini piano so our director could play the notes for us. he looked very silly.)
- we had a medda wig that we didn't end up using. it was blonde and very long and jack put it on after the closing show. i begged him to sing hopelessly devoted to you. he didn't. :(
- Jack Kelly got sick the day before the show. It set off a chain reaction of understudies. our directors pumped so many concoctions and vitamins into him. he looked deathly ill and was sitting in the corner breathing through this crazy miracle cure device that looked So Scary but he magically got better it was beautiful.
- we aren't cowards like disney so when crutchie returns from the refuge jack and crutchie have a Big Hug and like five minutes before the closing show our director came up to me and was like “yeah i was thinking we should probably cut that, i don't know why they would hug like that, its almost a little weird.” and i was like “oh no i play crutchie like he’s gay don’t i” (I did and it was a little bit on purpose) so i thought that she told our jack too, but she didn't. i was fully prepared to give him a fistbump and he almost knocked me over with the hug.
- "care to let this young man’s artististry shine a light into your closed doors?” -our pulitzer three times
- stress dreams. everyone had them. in mine i forgot to climb onto the scaffolding during the overture AND i forgot to bring my crutch onstage. our director had a stress dream that our jack showed up really late to rehearsal in a three piece suit.
- sprace was canon. that's it. they called each other stage boyfriend offstage.
- entire cast swayed our arms back and forth during something to believe in. sometimes we turned on our phone lights like it was a concert.
- one time our davey lost his voice and wasn't singing during rehearsal so his understudy, who also plays race, was running back and forth between doing a weird voiceover over davey’s shoulder for all his singing parts and doing all his race parts. he was darting across the stage for the entirety of seize the day it was great.
- "And all the newsies run up the stairs, across the scaffolding, and down the other set of stairs and offstage.”
“Ms Sarah I only have one working leg.”
- up until tech week we didn't have our newsies banner newspapers for once and for all, so during rehearsals for that number we got out the giant bin of stuffed animals. the number just was so much more beautiful when it was performed by a bunch of angry looking teenagers holding small stuffed animals. like ten of them were frogs (or supposed to be frogs. vaguely frog shaped.)
#newsies#livesies#crutchie#crutchie morris#newsies musical#sprace#jackcrutchie#this was a life changing show#i got to keep my crutch#the entire cast signed it#its my most prized possession#lmk if you want the list of who would eat crutchies leg
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tomjake age regression but one of them tries to do something and accidently makes a mess?
( either one can be caregiver and little )
Regressor! Tom w/ Caregiver! Jake
Tom didn’t mean to regress while Jake was at work, it just sort of happened. He was around the age of six year old, so it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if he hadn’t promised Jake that he’d cook dinner.
Tom had actually forgotten all about that, until Jake texted him, asking how everything was going. That was Tom’s cue to stop watching cartoons on the couch and go start dinner.
Even when he wasn’t regressed, Tom wasn’t exactly the best cook, to say the least. So, he wasn’t sure what he was going to make, it was just going to be whatever he found in the kitchen.
“What are we gonna make?” Tom asked his stuffed dog, which was tucked in between his arms. “Gotta be something yummy. I want Daddy to like it.” He muttered as he looked through the fridge.
Tom hummed to himself, before putting his ear up to his plushie’s mouth, since he “heard” it say something.
“We should make spaghetti?” Tom questioned. “I think I can make spaghetti! I always help Daddy make it, I can do it all by myself!” Tom squeal to his plushie.
He got out what he needed to make the spaghetti and placed everything on the counter. Tom then grabbed two pots and placed them on the stove.
“Stay here, okay?” Tom said to his stuffie as he placed it down on the counter next to him. Of course, the plushie stayed there while Tom grabbed the jar of sauce and opened it.
Giggling, Tom dumped the sauce out into the pot, a tiny bit of sauce splattering on the stove, only making him giggle more.
Tom got out a spoon and began to mix up the sauce, which was kinda pointless since he didn’t add anything to it. Still, he mixed it for a while until he got bored with it.
“Gotta boil the water!” Tom told his plushie, before grabbed the other pot and filling it up with water.
When Tom was bringing the pot of water back to the stove, he had realized that he had lost track of time since he saw Jake walking into the kitchen, which had startled him.
Tom jumped, gasping as he had accidentally dropped the pot, that was filled to the top, of water. The water soaked Tom’s clothes, as well as the floor.
Jake’s eyes widened as he quickly rushed over to Tom, who was whimpering and on the verge of tears.
“Shit! Tom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jake apologized, placing his hand on Tom’s shoulder as he looked at the giant puddle of water on the floor.
Tom looked over at Jake, his eyes teary and his lip quivering. Jake could tell he was small, the dog stuffed animal on the counter and the fact that Tom never even turned on the stove were also factors that led Jake to this conclusion.
“Hey, don’t cry. I’ll help you clean up the water, okay?” Jake spoke softly. “I’m sorry..I tried to make dinner..” Tom mumbled, looking down at the floor.
“I know you tried, and I’m very proud of you for that.” Jake said. “But you should’ve told me that you were little. I would’ve come home earlier and you wouldn’t have had to make dinner.” Tom didn’t respond, he just whined a little.
“Can you go grab some paper towels for me so I can clean up the water?” Tom nodded and went to grab some paper towels.
“Thank you, buddy.” Jake smiled as Tom handed him the paper towels. He began to clean up the mess, with Tom standing behind him and watching.
As he cleaned up, Jake could hear Tom starting to cry. He frowned as he looked at the taller man.
“Baby, why are you crying? Everything’s fine.” Jake spoke. “I made a mess..ruined dinner..and my clothes are all icky..” Tom whined, before tugging at his wet clothes.
“Tom, it’s just water, it’s not that bad of a mess. I promise you didn’t ruin dinner, and once I’m done cleaning up, I’ll help you change your clothes.” Jake told him. Tom only gave a tiny nod in response.
Jake placed a bunch of paper towels down, letting them soak up the water as he stood up.
“Come on, Tom. Let’s get you changed, I’ll pick up the paper towels when we’re done.” Jake held Tom’s hand and led him to the bedroom.
“Did you have a nap today?” Jake questioned as he searched for some clean clothes. “No..just watched tv all day.” Tom responded, making Jake chuckle. It was obvious to him that Tom was tired, he rarely got upset over something like this.
“Thank you for being honest. Maybe we can go to bed a little earlier, hm? I’m feeling a bit tired too.” Jake said. “I wanna play.” Tom responded as Jake started to change his clothes for him.
“We can still play, just not as much as we usually do, okay?” Tom nodded in agreement, causing Jake to smile. “Let me go finish cleaning everything up, then I’ll order something for us to eat. Sound good?” Tom smiled a little.
“Sounds good.”
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The Bright Side S01E02: Play by the Rules
S01E01
Cold Open
The family of three was having lunch in the kitchen when El piped up for a question.
"Steve, how does a girl get a guy to notice her?"
Jim scoffed. "You're askin' Mr. Hairspray over there for boy advice?"
"This coming from the guy who hasn't had a date since the 70's", Steve said.
Jim huffed and straightened the pages of his paper. "El, your brother is mighty fine at dating girls. Not so great at keeping them. I don't know if that says anything about the girls or Steve though."
"I could keep them just fine if I wanted to. I just haven't found The One yet."
"But you'd know if you saw her?", El cut in, getting them back to topic. "The One?"
"I think I would. Why you got a boy you like?", Steve smirked, ready to tease.
El just blushed, not ready to reveal who it was yet but Jim was already prepared to shut it down. He'd been ready for a while now.
"You know my rules. No boys in the house."
Steve raised a brow and looked to Lucas and Dustin sitting with them at the table. "You let these dorks over all the time."
Jim looked to them as he picked up his beer. "They don't count."
End Cold Open
----------------------------
At school, between classes, Max boarded up to El's locker. "We still on for tonight?"
"Of course. I wouldn't miss it", El beamed.
"Good, because this is long overdue. Just you and me. No boys. Music, magazines, and movies."
Meanwhile, just down the street, Mike was looking on with a disapproving expression.
"This can only end in tragedy."
"Dude", Lucas closed his locker. "It's a sleepover. They're probably just gonna paint each other's nails and kiss whatever guy is in a magazine. You know? Dumb girl stuff?"
"Girls don't just do stuff. They talk. That's the danger", Mike said.
"And what's the danger in El and Max talking?", Will asked. "They do it all the time."
"Yeah but not alone. Not without us. So who do you think they're gonna talk about?"
"I really don't think Max is gonna talk about us when we're not there", Dustin said.
"She will if it's to talk shit", Lucas sighed.
Mike looked vindicated. "Exactly! Max is gonna talk shit about us to El."
"Why do you care so much?", Will asked.
Mike took too long to answer and Lucas zeroed in on why. "Mike's got a cru-ush~", he sang, prompting Mike to punch him in the arm.
"Shut up! No I don't! El is still new. She doesn't know we're the losers yet."
"She literally stopped you from getting a swirly on her first day", Dustin said. "I think that ship has safely sailed."
"This is all stupid anyway. We've got out own plans to iron out", Will said as the bell rang.
"Girls man. They drive a man wild", Lucas said sagely.
"It's times like these I'm glad my girlfriend is back in Utah", Dustin said on their way back to class.
------------------------------------------------
Max and El sat on the bed as Jim inspected the room for boys. Even going as far as checking under the bed and poking the stuffed animals in her closet with a broom.
"Is this really necessary?", Max asked. "The only boys she knows is those nerdlingers."
"Alright. I'm gonna lay down the rules and don't give me any sass", Jim said, arms crossed with the broom. "No loud music. No boys. No prank calls. No boys. In bed by nine. No boys. No sneaking out. And did I mention no boys?"
"I'm not feeling a lot of trust right now", Max said.
"I'm not raising a grandkid before I turn fifty", Jim said. "Oh, one last thing." He took out a small box and laid some tacks sharp side up on El's window sill.
Jim left El's room and went downstairs to sit on the couch and settle in for some Friday night primetime. He had a good view of the front door and a window that should reveal anyone sneaking in or out of El's room.
Steve came down, mumbling and grumbling to himself as he took his keys out of his pocket.
"And where are you off to? Hot date?"
"Hardly. I lost a bet to Jonathan of all people. So I gotta take the kids to the arcade. What are the chances they get bored and ready to go home after 10 minutes?"
Jim chuckled. "I won't be waiting up."
Thankfully, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will were just next door and ready to go already when Steve knocked on the door of the Byer's home.
"Good luck", Jonathan grinned.
"Last time I challenge you to beer pong. How'd you get so good anyway?", Steve asked.
"Having a terrible dad has its perks. He taught me when I turned 14."
"Hey, my dad taught me too."
Jonathan made a face at the thought of Hopper teaching Steve beer pong as the boys bum rushed out of the house and towards the door.
"Come on! We're burnin' moonlight!", Dustin commanded as he made a claim for the front passenger seat.
With a sigh, Steve went towards his own vehicle and started towards the arcade. Meanwhile, the girls night was already in full swing.
"Blonds or brunets?", Max asked while tossing some popcorn into her mouth.
"Brunets", El answered.
"Same. So does that mean anyone in town's caught your eye yet?"
El blushed and curled in a little on herself, trying to hide behind the open pages of a magazine. But the sound of disbelief Max made proved it was all in vain.
"Who? And please tell me it's not Jack Maine."
"Jack? The captain of the baseball team?"
"All the girls fawn over him, it's honestly disgusting." Max popped another corn in her mouth. "So who is it? Anyone I know?"
"He's-no one." El got up and began pacing. "You don't know him. He's from out of town. Actually, a whole other country. Actually, he doesn't exist."
"No no no, Dustin's computer girlfriend from Utah doesn't exist. But this mystery guy...", Max grinned.
El was frozen on the spot but that didn't stop Max from standing up from the bed.
"What if you don't tell me, I just guess?"
"Guess?", El asked but Max took it as permission to get started.
"You're obviously embarrassed by it, so it's gotta be someone I know." Max began to circle around her. "Is it...Carter Baxton?"
"No", El shook her head.
"Hmm, Ricky Odell?"
"The guy who tried to stick Mike's head in a toilet?", El gave a look of disgust.
Max paused in front of her and looked into her eyes, then pointed a finger at her. "If you have a crush on Lucas..."
"It's Mike!", El blurted out, then immediately covered her mouth.
Max's eyes were wide. "Oh my god."
Jim nearly broke the door down, broom in hand. "Where is he?! Where's Mike?!"
--------------------------------------
The arcade was busy that Friday night. Steve had basically resigned himself to getting some nachos and a soda, then plopping down while the boys gamed themselves silly. He knew there'd be a moment when one of them came up and asked for quarters, but he was keeping a tight hold on his wallet. He was a driver only.
And sure enough, about half an hour in, Dustin came up, eyes already prepared for begging. "Steve-"
"Nope. I'm not giving you money."
"But I'm sooooo close! Not just to a high score but to a personal best! Are you gonna stand in the way of a boy and his dreams?"
"It wasn't on my schedule for the evening, but I think I can squeeze it in."
"I don't know why I asked. You wouldn't understand. I guess that hand eye coordination is only good for ball in hoop games?"
Steve raised a brow. "You think I can't play an arcade game?"
"Play? Sure. But win one? Get a high score?" Dustin crossed his arms. "Doubtful."
"I'll have you know I'm a champion Pac-Man player."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
That was how Steve ended up in front of the Pac-Man console, all the boys around him. He started a game and they weren't expecting much. Pac-Man was fairly simple. Eat the dots. Avoid the ghosts. But it was mesmerizing when someone was able to keep that going for long enough. Long enough for Dustin and Lucas to start cheering him on. Then long enough for the more quiet Will to start cheering. Then long enough for Mike to start backseat gaming and cheering too.
When Steve cleared the game and his score came up, his posture relaxed but he still didn't seem satisfied with how he did. It was great, but it didn't break the high score.
"Who's Munster?"
"Oh that's gotta be Eddie!", Mike said in awe.
Steve's brow raised in recognition. "Eddie 'the Freak' Munson? How do you know him?"
"Ran into him a few times at the library", Will said. "He said as soon as we get to high school we can join his club."
"Yeah and he'll still probably be there too", Steve scoffed. He cracked his knuckles. "He's about to be a two-fold loser 'cause I'm comin' for his score." He took a five dollar bill out of his pocket without even looking. "Here. Get me a soda."
Dustin smirked. "Will do!"
He grabbed the money, fully intending to get Steve the smallest soda available and pocket the rest for his own gaming. Steve was already back in the zone as he made a new game and attempted to break Eddie's record.
-----------------------------------
Max led the charge down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab more snacks, looking like a girl on a mission and not just in searched of cookies.
"Um, hello?", Jim looked up from the glass of water he was drinking, wrapped up in a bathrobe. "I thought I said in bed by 9 it's-" he checked his watch-"9:15."
"This is serious business", Max said while opening a fridge.
"Serious", El echoed.
"I thought I laid down the rules very clearly."
"Mr. Hopper do YOU want a smarmy son-in-law? Because that's what's at stake here", Max asked while nearly slamming a pickle jar onto the counter.
Jim looked between the girls. "This is boy stuff?"
They nodded.
Jim looked to Max specifically. "And you...are anti-smarm?"
"When it comes to boys, yes."
"Proceed." He took a sip of his water. "Get her a guy who likes fishing on the weekends too."
Max bit into the pickle while grabbing a soda. El got a bag of chips and a juice for herself before they headed back upstairs. Once the door was closed, Max started counting things off.
"Mike is controlling, and obsessed with image, which is hilarious considering he's on the bottom of the social food chain."
"Mike has never tried to control me. And isn't everyone worried about how they look?"
"It's just always a bad idea to date in a friend group. Messes with the whole dynamic."
El opened the chip bag. "Is that why you haven't asked Lucas out yet?"
Max froze mid-bite. When she chomped down, she pointed a finger at her. "Are you some kind of mind reader? I didn't tell anyone that."
"I figured when you were about to ask if I was crushing on him. You looked ready to deck me if I said yes."
"I wouldn't've punched you over a boy", Max denied. "Maybe a bit of cold shoulder though. Don't you dare tell a soul, I swear if you do-"
"Girls have a code, remember? I won't talk about how you feel about Lucas, if you never tell about Mike."
"I still can't believe you like him. Out of all of them."
"Mike's not so bad. What makes Lucas better anyway?"
Max suddenly got a dreamy smile on her face. "Well he's more mature for one."
"Lucas!?"
"Yeah!"
Jim came through again, with the broom. Again. "Where?!"
--------------------------------------
Steve's hands were braced against the sides of the console as he finished another game. He was so close to Eddie's score. Just a few points away. It was such a small gap he could taste it. He rubbed his face and then pulled his wallet out of his pocket again.
"You makin' your own cup factory?", a voice came up from behind.
Steve turned, first looking at the six empty drinks by his feet and then at the loud slurping noise coming from Eddie Munson. Steve frowned.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Munson?"
"I like coming in at last call to see who's gotten close to my record", he smirked, swirling the ice around in his drink.
"Whatever", Steve stuck his hands in his pockets like he didn't care. "Wait, last call? What time is it?!" He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly 11.
"Just about time for the night to really come alive", Eddie said. "And shouldn't you be getting them home?", he tilted his head and saw the four of them at the air hockey tables. They were pretty much the only ones left in the arcade.
"Their moms are going to kill me. Hey you wieners it's time to go home", Steve called out.
He was met with protests but they were all weak and punctuated by tired yawns. They'd probably all conk out as soon as they sat in his car. He heard Eddie whistle from the Pac-Man game.
"Just four points away Harrington. That's almost as close as the game last week. That's gotta burn, huh?"
"Didn't know you went to the games, Munson."
"I don't", Eddie said smoothly. "I just read the papers. Keep your enemies close and all that."
"Yeah, right." Steve gathered the kids and brought them outside into the cool, fresh air and Steve realized how tired his eyes were after staring at that screen for hours. Eddie followed them out and a very annoyed employee finally locked the door behind them.
Steve got inside and this time Will was in the front. Eddie squeezed his top half through the door and switched the dials on Steve's radio then turned up the volume, making a loud guitar and drums ring out.
"Dude! What the hell!?", Steve shouted, covering one ear while turning it down.
"To keep you awake for the journey home. Be sure that these little ones are returned safely", Eddie said, putting on a strangely theatrical voice. He closed the door and patted the hood, telling Steve he was good to go.
"I told you", Steve said as Eddie waved them off. "Freak."
"He's the coolest", Dustin yawned.
Episode 3
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At least I’ve got you
Regulus keeps getting surprise visits from a dog?
“Oh for fucks sake- REG! Your stupid dog’s back.”
“How many times do I have to remind you that he’s not mine?”
“Well maybe try reminding him, this is the like the tenth time he’s wandered in here now!”
Regulus peeks his head out of the bathroom to see Barty angrily stuffing the contents of his desk into his book bag, whilst simultaneously sending irritated looks over to the familiar black dog now resting casually on Regulus’ bed.
The dog bares his teeth and growls slightly towards Barty when Regulus finally steps out but the minute he does so, the dog’s head snaps towards him with an excited bark, and any previous aggression vanishes as his tail begins to wag.
“I’m going to the library with Evan, I’ll see you later.” Barty huffs out, practically stomping out the room, “and that thing better be gone when I get back!”
The door slams on his way-out causing Regulus to roll his eyes, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say the dog lets out a little huff of laughter at Barty’s dramatic exit.
“Back again, are we?” Regulus asks approaching the now clearly appeased animal with a soft smile. The familiar creature lets his tongue wag out and smiles widely as Regulus begins stroking his head.
He isn’t quite sure where exactly the dog always come from.
The first time Regulus ever saw him was after one of the less fortunate quidditch games a few weeks ago, they had lost rather pathetically, and he had stayed behind in the changing rooms not wanting to deal with the aftermath of it all.
He remembers it had been a particularly rough day, with not only his mother having sent him a humiliating howler at breakfast about not screwing up at his game but also since it had been Sirius’ birthday. Regulus had refused to even glance in his direction following the silence after the howler had ripped itself to shreds but he knew he was watching him, half the bloody hall was, he just couldn’t bring himself to look back. Too afraid of what would follow, what he would see.
Afraid it would be a stranger.
He knew perfectly well the extent to which he was no longer a part of Sirius’ life, he didn’t need the reminders.
Regulus had been sat in the changing rooms long after everyone else had already left, head in hands and still in his kit when the dog had wandered in, at first he had looked around in confusion wondering where the owner was, but no one had followed the animal in. And when the dog placed its head on his lap, Regulus felt no desire to really go looking.
It was sort of ridiculous but in that moment, Regulus had needed someone, anyone really, to prove to him he wasn’t as alone in this world as he felt. The whole day had felt like one punch after another, and for whatever reason, when the dog looked up at him, it felt like he understood. Like he was telling him it was all going to be ok. He knows logically that can’t be true but, in the moment, he felt some odd form kinship with the dog. And call him crazy but he thinks the dog felt it too. Why else would he keep coming back?
Ever since that day whenever Regulus has had a bad enough day that he can’t hide it in his expression, the dog always somehow shows up and offers him that small amount of comfort that keeps him from feeling like he’s fallen over the edge. It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now but for better or worse this dog has managed to keep finding his way back to Regulus when he needs him, and Regulus has undoubtedly grown very attached to him.
He tried hard not to, but these days there aren’t a lot of people he feels comfortable talking to about the things that play on his mind, and something about the dog just makes him feel safe enough to open up in a way he just can’t seem to with anyone else.
“How do you even get in here?” Regulus asks lying down next to him.
The dog responds by placing its head softly on his shoulder.
“I feel like I should have a name for you by now.” Regulus says laying his head against the dog, “never really been quite good at names though,” Regulus murmurs stroking the dog’s head, “how do you feel about.....Noir?”
The dog lets out a huff in response.
“Ok clearly not,” Regulus laughs, the smile dying on his face when the next thought appears, “you know who’s great at names? Sirius.”
The dog’s ears perk up at that, they always seem to whenever he mentions his brother. He had been on Regulus’ mind all day, they had run into each other in the hallway earlier and Sirius had been holding hands with that friend he’s always staring at, Lupin. They looked at each other in a way that friends just don’t. It was so plainly obvious. To all of them it seemed since Sirius had ripped his hand away the second he had spotted Regulus. Regulus had immediately turned in the opposite and despite hearing his brother call for him, he had continued walking.
He knew. Of course he knew. But he wasn’t going to be able to say the right things. He never has. So he’d rather say nothing at all now. It’s easier this way, spilling his heart out to an animal who doesn’t really comprehend anything he says.
It’s not real.
“He used to play this game when we were younger,” Regulus starts as the dog perks up, “where he’d look out the window and make up stories for every person who walked by the street, he’d give them names and backstories and explain why they were out that day, it was all so ridiculous. He used to do it to cheer me up whenever mother got angry.” Regulus feels tears begin to prick in the corners of his eyes as the longing for a person who no longer thinks of him begins to build up in him, “I still do it sometimes, when I go home. I try to think of the kind of stories he’d make up for people but they’re never as good. One time this kid with long hair walked past and I nearly ran outside because I thought it was him,” Regulus laughs through his tears at the absurdity of it. “It wasn’t.”
When he looks back at the dog he’s surprised to see there are tears in his eyes as well.
“It’s ok,” Regulus whispers, stroking him again in what he hopes is a comforting motion, “I actually saw him today.”
The dog raises his head from his shoulder to look down at him, eyes unblinking.
“I think he’s happy. He looked happy.” Regulus admits, the dog looks away from him for the first time and gazes towards the window, “I didn’t know what to say to him, I know he must’ve been scared not knowing what I was thinking, but I’ve never known what to do with his fear. Which is a shame since he always knew exactly what to do with mine.”
The dog looks back at him then, he almost looks sad.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get to tell him, but I’m glad he’s happy. Even if I don’t get to be a part of any of it.” Regulus whispers, “one of us should be.”
The dog whines and for a moment Regulus thinks he’s crying. The sight of it for some reason is too much for Regulus to handle.
“I think you should get going buddy,” Regulus says wiping at his own and sitting up, “Barty and Evan will be back soon, and I don’t think they’ll be as happy to see you as I am.”
The dog sniffles and crawls into his lap, his front paws come all the way up to Regulus’ shoulders and he leans his head against Regulus’ chest. There’s only one person Regulus has ever accepted a hug from and as he sits there in his room holding on to the small creature that can’t possibly understand the comfort he provides him, Regulus wishes not for the first time, that his brother was here.
“It’s ok,” Regulus whispers into the dog’s fur, “at least I’ve got you.”
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Surprise Gift
(Redacted Audio) Milo Greer x GN Reader
Milo comes home excitedly looking for you which only puts you on edge. Not because you feel like whatever Milo has to say is bad but because you know him well enough to know when he has something up his sleeve. He has a surprise for you and thankfully it’s a very good one.
No Warnings
A/n; this is entirely self indulgent. i’m not making a master list for redacted stuff yet, but you are welcome to request for it if you want, and if i do end up writing enough i’ll make it it’s own masterlist. (this is the main reason i made a misc masterlist a few days ago)
“Sweetheart! Sweetheart, where are you?”
Milo’s voice echoed off the walls of your shared apartment. You heard him laugh afterwards, one of those laughs he does when you know he’s planning something. It made you nervous to know what exactly he had planned. Milo wouldn’t do anything bad of course but just knowing he had something up his sleeves made you think.
You sat down what you were doing and made your way out of your bedroom. You found Milo in the living room with a very large bag sitting on the coffee table. You narrowed your eyes at him skeptically. Upon seeing you and the look you were giving him, Milo strode over to you with a giant grin on his face. He wrapped his arms around your waist forcing you to put your own around his neck.
“Hi there,” Milo spoke, pulling you closer to him.
“Hi…?” You responded, still skeptical of whatever he was trying to do.
“Don’t act like that, you don't even know what's going on yet.”
His words made you huff. He was right, but you knew Milo and that was more than enough. He leaned over to kiss you. You wanted to lean away from him, make him explain himself before you got lost in kissing him. But Milo was too sweet for his own good, and kissing him was always too good to pass up. You felt him smirk into your lips. One of those smiles that if it was you making it Milo would have called your ‘shit eating’ grin.
“I know enough,” You said as you pulled away from each other.
A grin was still plastered on Milo’s face as he grabbed your hand and led you to the couch. He gently pushed you to sit down, to which you gave him another skeptical look but fell against the couch.
“If there’s another cat in there Aggro is gonna be mad.”
“I can't believe you’d even suggest that I would bring home another cat! And in a plastic bag?” Milo said with his faked hurt voice. “What kinda monster do you take me for?”
You laughed at his words, which only made Milo roll his eyes. He held his hands out to calm your laughter and you quieted yourself for him to continue.
“I have not brought back another cat, but I have brought you something I think you'll like even better.”
There was a pause. You both stayed quiet, neither of you making a sound. Your eyebrow raised at him but apparently he was waiting for some other kind of reaction from you because he didn't continue until you spoke.
“And?”
“And,” He grumbled. “It's a gift for you, so I hope you like it.”
He picked up both of the bags and held one out to you. You huffed with a smile but took the bag from him and looked inside. In the bag was a stuffed bear. It had brown fur and it wore a little red sweater with a heart on it. There wasn't anything outstanding about the little bear, but you immediately smiled at it. A little laugh left your lips as you looked back up at Milo. He smiled back at you, his face lighting up as soon as he saw yours.
“You like it?”
You assumed he knew the answer to that by the way he said it but you nodded back anyway. You pulled the bear out of the bag to get a proper look at the little guy. Its shiny black eyes stared back at you in a cute way and you couldn't help but smile again at the bear.
“Good, I’m glad, because I may have bought us matching ones.” Milo said, pulling an almost identical bear out of the other bag he was still holding.
You laughed again at the bear Milo held. It was the same stuffed animal you held in your own hands, the only difference was it was wearing a brown sweater with a heart on it instead of a red one. Milo laughed with you, holding the bear out for you to give the once over and presumably give your approval of.
You shook your head at him as you sat your own bear down next to you on the couch and stood up to get closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him closer to you, leading to him wrapping his arms around you with the bear still in his hand.
“So you really like it?” He asked again.
“I do. I really like it.” You said, meaning it completely,
“Good because I wasn't gonna take ‘em back.”
He laughed again and pulled you flush against his chest. Your hands resting in the small of his back and his draped across your shoulders. You were as close as you two could get in this position and yet Milo still held you like you were going to run away from him.
“There were actually werewolf stuffed animals that I thought about getting but…” His voice trailed off for a moment in a laugh, but then he quickly picked the sentence back up again. “Well I thought that might be a bit much.”
You laughed in response to his confession, “Yeah, maybe a little.”
You leaned in to kiss him, to which he eagerly met you in the middle. His lips met yours quickly in a soft kiss. One that made your head spin for a moment at the amount of emotion behind it. His lips were soft and the closeness of your bodies only amplified the feelings the kiss was making you feel.
“You’ve been working so hard lately, I figured you deserved something as a gift.” Milo said as you pulled away from the kiss.
Your arms still held each other close, and your mind could only think of how sweet he was for getting this for you. You smiled at him. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
He smiled back at you and leaned in for another kiss. This was one of those surprises you liked.
#.written-word (fics)#x male reader#x gender neutral reader#redacted audio#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted milo#redacted sweetheart#redacted milo x gn reader#redacted milo x male reader#milo x sweetheart#milo x male reader#milo x gn reader#redacted writing#milo x reader#redacted x reader
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It's okay. Let it all out.
engineer x reader one shot
today has been a horrible day and I want to uh go to sleep forever and never wake up but that's ok here's a self indulgent one shot
reader is VERY self indulgent. they have stuffed animals n shit and yeah. No established relationship, engie is your best friend.
also I didn't mention this but engie has his goggles and hardhat off, his hair is growing and so is his beard but its mostly like...in the process. Yeah.
Specific Tags: comfort, best friends to lovers, first kisses together, tiny l bomb / confession and making out. angst to fluff.
Warnings: depressed reader because they just like me fr
♡ im sobbing as im writing this, so sorry for any errors because there aint any way i got time to check this back ♡
There it is again, that shitty feeling that lingers in their brain out of buttfuck nowhere. Those thoughts that eat them up inside, putting them on the brink of suicide. Where did they come from? Who knows. When did they start? Honestly, they lost count.
The cruel things come and go, yet each time they come back, they come back just as harsh if not downright evil, ruining their mentality.
It wasn't even a bad day. But here we go again, the self deprecating thoughts are rushing in because of something that really is out of your control. You know it's out of your control, but that doesn't mean just because you know it doesn't suck.
The tears don't stop, They never do as you clutch onto your stuffed animal tightly. It's like a routine for you to do this, think, cry, and sob. In the morning, you go back to normal, pretending to be your happy and charismatic self again. So you're letting it all out. You'll probably forget about this later like you always do.
Why am I like this? Why was I born into this place just to suffer every day? Why do I feed onto these insecurities I have? Why do people even like me? Why does anybody even bother-
knock knock knock
That knocks you back to reality, startled by the sudden noise.
"Reader? It's me, Dell."
You flinch, wiping your tears away and inhaling deeply to calm yourself down before finally being able to reply.
"...come in."
He opens the door, "Oh, honey..." He notices the marks of old tears that have streamed down your cheeks, a frown appearing on his face with brows furrowed in worry. That automatically made you cry again, that pitiful look on his face. This is exactly why you wanted to be alone. You didn't want to worry him, but again, the tears could never seem to stop.
He quickly walks towards you as you try your best to wipe the tears, yet they keep on pouring. He sits next to you on the bed as you clutch on tighter to your plushie. Sobs and gasps are muffled from your face being covered by the plushie.
He places a hand to your back, making you look at him as he signals you for a hug. You place the plush behind you and envelop yourself into his embrace. "That's it, let it all out, darlin'...I'm here for you." He holds you tightly, his warmth being warmer than anything you've ever felt.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
As the time goes by, you've calmed down and finished crying. Though he doesn't stop his gentle rubbing of your back. You pull back from his chest, tears have stained his shirt but the look on his face tells you he does not care.
"You alright now, sweetheart? Do you wanna talk about it?" He asks, a soft smile on his face. You consider it, but shake your head no, knowing you'd just start having a mental breakdown infront of him. "Okay, that's okay." He says, tone just as soft as his expression.
"Can we just stay like this? I'm sorry if I'm...intruding on boundaries." You mutter out, voice sore from your crying. "Of course darlin', you don't hafta' ask." His smile widens, making you mirror it too. Gosh, it's such a contagious smile.
You place your head on his shoulder, wrapped arms loosening their tight grasp as you melt into his embrace once again. Your eyes close, letting yourself be in this comforting position.
"I just want you to know that I care about you, honeybee, and you are such a strong soul."
Then they open again, surprised by the sudden affirmation.
"And your heart, is the kindest I've ever met."
You feel the urge to cry again, but you don't.
"Whatever it is that's bothering you, I promise you that you can get through it. Because you are something extraordinary."
He goes on, whispering soft affirmations to your ear making those horrid thoughts go away. And as he does, the comfort of it all makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This makes you feel deep love for him.
You already recognized your crush for him a long time ago, and you know you were sobbing a couple minutes ago, but your heart is racing once again, and this time it's because of a man and his sweet ass personality.
You can feel your cheeks heat up as he speaks, his voice is low, yet gentle to one's ear. A voice so kind, it's as if you're in a dream.
Your emotions are going haywire right now for some reason, that small gesture he's doing is making you feel so much love and admiration for him it's driving you insane.
You look at him with a red faced, puzzled expression. He grins in amusement, "You alright there honeybee?" That does it, you can't contain it anymore. "Your all red in the face. Are you-"
"I am SO in love with you."
You cut him off, his eyes widening.
"And-and I've liked you for...so long. I know this is not the proper situation for-a dumb confession that you probably won't accept but I...I like you. I like you a LOT."
You pause, looking away from him.
"And-when you do things like this, I just can't handle it, you know? So, just... go ahead and tell me you dont feel the same, I know you dont." You look back, now your eyes are wide.
His expression is one of pure admiration, his eyes half lidded and a big goofy smile on his face, cheeks dusted with a rosy tint.
..oh. it seems you were wrong. It seems he does like you back.
You want to speak again, but the words are stuck in your throat. He places a hand to your cheek, and stares into your eyes.
"I like you too, sugar."
He leans in, kissing you. You kiss him back, feeling him smile into you when you do. It's short, but it's something that tells you the deep love he's felt for you all this time.
"Gosh, I've been waiting for that for so long...you have no idea." You smile and kiss him again, and this time it's longer. He bites your lip, making you gasp and open your mouth, your tounges entertwine.
He tastes like heaven. The pure sweetness is so much that it's almost overwhelming. There's hints of beer and a smoky smell to him, but what can you expect from a man who always works in his workshop.
When you pull away to breathe, his breath is so close to your face that it makes you go insane. He still has that dumb smile on his face, he's absolutely entranced by you.
"I never knew that I'd be such a lucky man, holding you and tasting you like this." He kisses you once more before he continues, "I'm so happy you feel the same." He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and smiling contently.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
this actually did make me feel better!! yay.
if u want an aftermath,,,ill make one :)
but wooo!!! sorry if the romance stuff was rushed lmao I'm not too good at these long angst to fluff stuff...plus I'm rusty,,,haven't written these in a bit. Mostly just short one shots for multiple characters.
I hope u enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. Engie lovers unite I want this man so bad
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A couple of summers ago I was walking along the edge of the island to see what I could see in the water, and mainly to scare frogs. Frogs have an inelegant way of taking off from invisible positions on the bank just ahead of your feet, in dire panic, emitting a froggy "Yike!" and splashing into the water. Incredibly, this amused me, and, incredibly, it amuses me still. As I walked along the grassy edge of the island, I got better and better at seeing frogs both in and out of the water. I learned to recognize, slowing down, the difference in texture of the light reflected from mud bank, water, grass, or frog. Frogs were flying all around me. At the end of the island I noticed a small green frog. He was exactly half in and half out of the water, looking like a schematic diagram of an amphibian, and he didn't jump.
He didn't jump; I crept closer. At last I knelt on the island's winter killed grass, lost, dumbstruck, staring at the frog in the creek just four feet away. He was a very small frog with wide, dull eyes. And just as I looked at him, he slowly crumpled and began to sag. The spirit vanished from his eyes as if snuffed. His skin emptied and drooped; his very skull seemed to collapse and settle like a kicked tent. He was shrinking before my eyes like a deflating football. I watched the taut, glistening skin on his shoulders ruck, and rumple, and fall. Soon, part of his skin, formless as a pricked balloon, lay in floating folds like bright scum on top of the water: it was a monstrous and terrifying thing. I gaped bewildered, appalled. An oval shadow hung in the water behind the drained frog; then the shadow glided away. The frog skin bag started to sink.
I had read about the giant water bug, but never seen one. "Giant water bug" is really the name of the creature, which is an enormous, heavy-bodied brown bug. It eats insects, tadpoles, fish, and frogs. Its grasping forelegs are mighty and hooked inward. It seizes a victim with these legs, hugs it tight, and paralyzes it with enzymes injected during a vicious bite. That one bite is the only bite it ever takes. Through the puncture shoot the poisons that dissolve the victim's muscles and bones and organs-all but the skin-and through it the giant water bug sucks out the victim's body, reduced to a juice. This event is quite common in warm fresh water. The frog I saw was being sucked by a giant water bug. I had been kneeling on the island grass; when the unrecognizable flap of frog skin settled on the creek bottom, swaying, I stood up and brushed the knees of my pants. I couldn't catch my breath.
Of course, many carnivorous animals devour their prey alive. The usual method seems to be to subdue the victim by downing or grasping it so it can't flee, then eating it whole or in a series of bloody bites. Frogs eat everything whole, stuffing prey into their mouths with their thumbs. People have seen frogs with their wide jaws so full of live dragonflies they couldn't close them. Ants don't even have to catch their prey: in the spring they swarm over newly hatched, featherless birds in the nest and eat them tiny bite by bite.
That it's rough out there and chancy is no surprise. Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac. But at the same time we are also created. In the Koran, Allah asks, "The heaven and the earth and all in between, thinkest thou I made them in jest?" It's a good question. What do we think of the created universe, spanning an unthinkable void with an unthinkable profusion of forms? Or what do we think of nothingness, those sickening reaches of time in either direction? If the giant water bug was not made in jest, was it then made in earnest? Pascal uses a nice term to describe the notion of the creator's, once having called forth the universe, turning his back to it: Deus Absconditus. Is this what we think happened? Was the sense of it there, and God absconded with it, ate it, like a wolf who disappears round the edge of the house with the Thanksgiving turkey? "God is subtle," Einstein said, "but not malicious." Again, Einstein said that "nature conceals her mystery by means of her essential grandeur, not by her cunning." It could be that God has not absconded but spread, as our vision and understanding of the universe have spread, to a fabric of spirit and sense so grand and subtle, so powerful in a new way, that we can only feel blindly of its hem. In making the thick darkness a swaddling band for the sea, God "set bars and doors" and said, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further." But have we come even that far? Have we rowed out to the thick darkness, or are we all playing pinochle in the bottom of the boat?
Cruelty is a mystery, and the waste of pain. But if we describe a world to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and light, the canary that sings on the skull. Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous. About five years ago I saw a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star.
The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing from a limb and not falling, accelerating thirty-two feet per second per second, through empty air. Just a breath before he would have been dashed to the ground, he unfurled his wings with exact, deliberate care, revealing the broad bars of white, spread his elegant, white-banded tail, and so floated onto the grass. I had just rounded a corner when his insouciant step caught my eye; there was no one else in sight. The fact of his free fall was like the old philosophical conundrum about the tree that falls in the forest. The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.
Another time I saw another wonder: sharks off the Atlantic coast of Florida. There is a way a wave rises above the ocean horizon, a triangular wedge against the sky. If you stand where the ocean breaks on a shallow beach, you see the raised water in a wave is translucent, shot with lights. One late afternoon at low tide a hundred big sharks passed the beach near the mouth of a tidal river in a feeding frenzy. As each green wave rose from the churning water, it illuminated within itself the six-or eight-foot-long bodies of twisting sharks. The sharks disappeared as each wave rolled toward me; then a new wave would swell above the horizon, containing in it, like scorpions in amber, sharks that roiled and heaved. The sight held awesome wonders: power and beauty, grace tangled in a rapture with violence.
We don't know what's going on here. If these tremendous events are random combinations of matter run amok, the yield of millions of monkeys at millions of typewriters, then what is it in us, hammered out of those same typewriters, that they ignite? We don't know. Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle, curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what's going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise.
At the time of Lewis and Clark, setting the prairies on fire was a well-known signal that meant, "Come down to the water." It was an extravagant gesture, but we can't do less. If the landscape reveals one certainty, it is that the extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation. After the one extravagant gesture of creation in the first place, the universe has continued to deal exclusively in extravagances, flinging intricacies and colossi down aeons of emptiness, heaping profusions on profligacies with ever-fresh vigor. The whole show has been on fire from the word go. I come down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire; that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames.
Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
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Little One
CG!Eddie Munson x Little!Reader
SFW INTERACTIONS ONLY!
Warnings: Parents fighting, Bigspace but only for a few paragraphs, Mentions of drugs (weed, alcohol)
Summary: Y/N's parents won't stop fighting, Eddie takes care of them and instantly puts them in a smaller headspace.
This was written for my very lovely little one, I love you more than anything sweetheart.
This is my first fanfiction so please don’t be mean
The fighting and loud screaming lasted for hours, it went on for so long you began to lose track of how long it had actually been going on for. You don’t remember what started the fight, you doubt their parents even remember either.
You tossed and turned in your bed desperate for any shut eye you could get to escape from the loud noises that came from the living room. You wanted to run away and hide in the chest of your boyfriend, but you refused to call him or go to his trailer considering it was extremely late and he was most likely asleep. He needed his sleep, and you weren’t going to bother him.
A few more hours pass and you were still awake, listening to the muffled argument your parents were still having. You looked over at your alarm clock which read, 6:27. You couldn’t believe this had gone on all night, at least you could see Eddie now.
You slowly opened your window, trying to not make any noise, and climbed outside. You ran as fast as you absolutely could until you got to Eddie’s trailer door. You paused, wondering if he was busy and contemplating bothering him. As you were lost in your train of thought the door was opened by the messy haired brunette.
“Y/N? What are you doing here? Are you alright sweetheart?” Eddie questioned with worry traced in his calming voice.
The petname he used immediately made you slip into a smaller state of mind. Your hands found themselves wrapped around Eddie’s torso, gripping onto his Hellfire shirt for dear life. Eddie’s worry began to increase when you started shaking and crying, not sure what to do he led to to the couch that reeked of weed and alcohol and sat you down. To most people they would have gagged at the smell of the whole trailer, but to you it smelled comforting.
Eddie wrapped a blanket over your shaking body and sat next to you, placing his hand on the small of your back. You tried to talk but the only thing that managed to come out of your mouth was shaky whispers and whines that Eddie couldn’t understand no matter how hard he tried. Then it suddenly hit him with what was going on.
“Are you feeling small puppy?” He softly questioned as he rubbed your cheek lovingly.
You sat there, not wanting to answer him, but your wide glassy eyes told him that you were in fact feeling small. He quickly got up and started digging through the kitchen cabinets until he found your small F/C bottle. He filled it up with milk and put it in the microwave for exactly 30 seconds, then added a tiny bit of vanilla and sugar just the way you like it. Then he ran to his room to search for your paci and your favorite stuffed animal that he got for you on your birthday last year.
After retrieving the items he was looking for he gave you your stuffed animal and moved you so your head could rest on his lap comfortably. When you both got comfortable, he began to bottle feed you. It was something he insisted on every time and you would always argue with him telling him you were a big kid and could do it yourself, but secretly you wanted him to hold the bottle for you. This time you were too exhausted to protest.
When you finished your bottle your eyes began to shut. When Eddie knew you were fully asleep, he gently picked your sleeping body and set you on his bed. He got your special F/C blanket out from under his bed and laid it on top of you. He made sure you were comfortable before carefully laying down next to you.
“I love you, little one.” He whispered before shutting his eyes and drifting off to sleep.
#eddie munson#x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson x reader#cg eddie#little reader#stranger things#sfw
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Little Jon and Osul snippet that I started for Jon week but isn't going anywhere now.
--
The boy looked small in Jon's favourite shirt.
When he had returned home and they had gone through his closet only to realize that of course none of the clothes he'd worn at twelve fit him four lonely years later, a part of him had wanted to just throw them all out, stuff them in a plastic bag and let his father haul them into space. But a quick glance at his mother, frozen with a red hoodie in her hands, and then one down at the tee in his own, soft and worn and so familiar made him reconsider.
So instead they had packed them up carefully, folded them gently, and stored them in the guest room with the toys nobody would ever play with again and the shoes he'd outgrown and the homework left unfinished before his life had ended.
His father never would've gotten rid of them like he'd imagined, anyway.
Looking at them alone made the Man of Steel tear up.
None of them had stepped into the room much after it was made into a shrine to a lost little boy.
Until two different children had moved in, lost in such a different way, not much younger than he had been, and they had never seen toys like the ones stuffed into the guest room closet, worn anything but chains.
Now they lived in Jon's old clothes.
Now the faded tee hung loosely from Osul's skinny shoulders.
It was a startling sight.
It was …
Osul flopped down on the sofa next to him, in his hands the star-shaped puzzle box Jon's father had made for him.
He didn't look up from it when he said: "I have a question, Jor-El."
Jon paused his game.
"I told you, Osul. Jon is fine. Or … just Jor, if we must stick with Kryptonian names."
The child nodded slowly.
"Can I still ask my question?"
"Of course. Always."
Jon tilted his head in curiosity, watching Osul fiddle with the box, avoiding his eyes for a moment longer, until he looked up and grabbed his shirt to pull the wrinkles from the half-gone image and asked: "Who is this man?"
And Jon couldn't help but snort.
Osul furrowed his brow.
"I'm sorry, kid. It's … it's just sometimes I forget that you're not exactly from around here, y'know? I'm sorry. Most people know who that is, is all."
"Well, who is he?"
"He's a character, from a comic book. Well, manga more specifically. And an anime! That's a bit like Looney Toons. I mean … not in content. It's just also animation. His name's Naruto. He's one of my favourite characters."
"I've seen him on your clothes, too", Osul acknowledged, nodding again. "Why are we wearing him, though?"
"'cause", Jon said, shrugging. "'cause he's cool. Because I like him. Because you're in my old clothes."
It stung, just a little bit.
"You wanna check out the anime with me? I have it all on DVD, my best friend got them for my last birthday. So you know about who you're wearing."
Osul chewed his lip.
"I think … I would like that. If you have time. I didn't mean for you to stop playing your game."
"Oh, buddy. I always have time for Naruto."
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