#nerv writes fics

[nervouslywaitingforlife]

Oh, ho the Mistletoe

Pairing: LeoSil

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1.6k

Notes: Established LeoSil Relationship

Summery:

Snow has covered the field at NRC, leading the students to have fun on the now white pitch. Including Silver who spots his boyfriend in the forest on the school field.

⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆⊹₊ ⋆⋆꙳ •❅*‧

Don't really post fics here but this is a short, seasonal one so here. A small wintery LeoSil fic for y'all. Happy Holidays!

⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆⊹₊ ⋆⋆꙳ •❅*‧

"Ha! Deuce you mis- ack!" Ace stops his mocking after getting pelted by a well-aimed snowball from Deuce.

"What you gonna gloat some more?" Deuce says with a smirk on his face and throwing a new snowball up and down. Unaware of Jack right behind him who dumps an armful of snow on him.

"Are you going to gloat some more Deuce?" Jack says with a smile looking down at deuce buried under all of the snow.

"No fair you said you weren't going to join in!" Ace retorts seeing Jack pick up another pile of now for him.

"Well it looked fun so I- " Jack stops his explanation via a snowball on his face, but the snowballs don't stop there. As one hits the back of Deuce's head and another hits Ace's face.

"There we go that's how youse 'ave a snowball fight" Epel says with an armful of snowballs.

"Oh now you're asking for it" Deuce says already making another snowball.

Snow has made NRC pure white with the field in particular having a solid foot of snow. The students of NRC have decided to use up most of their Saturday relaxing as the snow still falls down, though slower than it had been the previous day and night.

The first years are having fun with a massive snowball fight, with snow forts being made everywhere and all types of odd shapes are being thrown and being called snowballs. The other years are doing their own things, some second years are joining in with the first years fun, and others are making snowmen. Some Octavinelle members have set up a hot chocolate bar that most of the third years are standing and talking by.

Some more individual activities are happening, Floyd is making "Snow Eels", aka running and sliding on his stomach to make long lines and calling them Snow Eels. Trey has made a ton of cakes, tarts and pies and is giving them out free of charge, he made them with most Heartslabyul members the previous few days in preparation for the cold days ahead.

One type of activity is with Kalim and Silver, who are standing in a semi-untouched part of the field and drawing into the snow with sticks.

"That looks good Kalim." Silver says looking at his friend's picture of a cute squirrel.

"Thank you Silver! Though yours looks really good as well!" Kalim says, making Silver look up as he was kneeling down to draw a robin that landed in front of him. It's a more detailed and realistic drawing than Kalim's but they both looked good.

"Thank you Kalim" Silver says standing up and looking around as he puts his cotton gloves back on as they kept catching on the stick when he was drawing.

Many different pictures dot the previously empty field, from Kalim drawing friends like Silver, Jamil, Lilia, and Cater, to Silver drawing animals from squirrels to crocodiles to lions. Silver moves his scarf up to warm his cheeks up,

Silver looks at Kalim and he's fully dressed, with boots, scarf, hat, and mittens. The whole nine yards, Jamil must be really worried about Kalim getting cold, though Kalim ditched a coat he was wearing as he was too warm. Thankfully Jamil hasn't seen any of it, busy being trapped by Jade and Azul at the hot chocolate bar.

Silver looks around as his eyes go to the forest by the field and sees someone there, Silver squints and sees a figure with his back on a tree, this figure has an orange jacket, dark hair, and a long tail. A smile arrives on Silvers' face.

"Kalim, I'll be back in a bit." Silver says, Kalim looks at Silver and the look on his face.

"Oh okay have fun, I'll be with Lilia! I can see him trying to make a huge snowman!" Kalim says with a big smile, he runs off waving to Silver. Silver gives him a wave back as he looks to the woods and starts walking there. Making sure not to step on any pictures on the ground.

The snow crumples under Silver's shoes as he walks towards the tree he saw Leona by, though as he looks for Leona he realises he can't see him.

'He must have walked deeper.' Silver thinks as he takes a step into the forest.

Birds chirp from above as Silver sees a rabbit poke its head from its burrow and smiles at it. Silver looks around trying to find head or tail of his boyfriend. He can hear some crunching of snow and stops and the crunching stops a few seconds after him. Silver looks behind only for a tree to be the closest thing to him, he looks at the tree before noticing a tail coming from one side. Easily recognisable as Leona's tail. A smile comes to Silver's lips as he advances to a tree.

The tail disappears but nothing comes to the other side, snow can be heard crunching as Silver goes to the side he saw the tail on, he stands where the tail was but can't see Leona. But he hears snow crunching from behind him. A pair of gloved hands come from behind and land on his stomach, putting him in a hug, something big can be felt on Silver's back and looking the the side slightly he can see brown hair. Silver looks above him and sees Leona above him, smiling down.

"You're warm." Leona says holding onto Silver, putting more of his arms on his boyfriend, holding on like he's a pillow. A smile comes to Silver's face as he turns around in Leona's loose hold and puts his hand together on Leona's back, hugging him.

Leona holds Silver tighter and Silver puts his head on Leona's scarf.

"You're comfortable." Silver says looking up at Leona and the tree behind him.

It's then that he can see something on the tree he was running around, a cluster of leaves with little white berries. One that is very in season right now and is sold out at Sam's.

"Mistletoe?" Silver asks looking at it with a blush before moving his head to look at Leona who smiles with a little laugh.

A blush comes to Leona's face as he sways Silver slightly.

"Am I not allowed to be festive?" Leona says with another little laugh, which Silver realises is a joke and smiles.

"You don't need Mistletoe to make me kiss you." Silver says as he gets on his tip toes to get to Leona's level.

Silver places a kiss to Leona's lips and Leona gives one back, their soft lips interlock as Leona brings his hands up and puts them on the side of Silver's torso. Both of their eyes close as they keep it to their lips. They break the sweet kiss and Silver returns to his own level, placing his head back to Leona's chest, and moves with Leona's little sways. They barely make a move as they stay in each other's arms, enjoying this little break of peace they have in their hectic lives.

"Just a few more minutes." Leona half mumbles as he talks into Silver's hair, knowing it will eventually end. He keeps one hand on Silver's torso and uses the other to touch Silver's hair, the soft snowflakes land on both of their heads, making Silver's pretty hair look more magical than it already is.

"There's plenty of time." Silver says not moving his head as he holds onto Leona tighter. It's still morning with an hour to two to go till it's midday.

Leona moves his hand from Silver's hair to his back, Silver looks up at Leona who has a soft smile on his face.

"If that's the case..." Leona says before holding onto Silver tight and starts falling back, taking Silver down with him.

Surprise comes from Silver who tightens his grip. His wide eyes lock with Leona's calm ones and his shock leaves at Leona's assurance of his action. Leona lands on the snow below him which breaks his and Silver's fall, the light snow gets pushed upwards and lightly covers them with snow. Leona loosens his grip and moves one hand back to Silver's hair brushing it gently and the other holding his back.

Silver undoes his grip as well but keeps his hand there as he just keeps holding onto Leona, enjoying Leona playing with his hair, almost sending him to sleep.

"Do you want to go to Savanaclaw and heat up nicely there? We can play a game of chess or two." Leona offers looking at Silver. After getting together, they've played more chess than they usually would with Leona actually having someone to play against him.

"Can we stay out here a bit longer?" Silver asks sleepily, slowly being lulled into sleep from the massage he's getting on his head and the comfy position he's in. He continues.

"It's nice out today, it's been a while since I've seen everyone enjoying themselves. There's a lot of exciting things happening and they all look so fun." Silver says trying to resist sleep, as he mumbles to Leona's scarf.

"There's plenty of time." Leona says, using the same exact words Silver said before.

That phrase wakes Silver up, he moves his head and the top half of his body up. He looks at Leona with a soft smile and Leona gives one back, Leona moves his hands so they're loosely on Silver's upper back. Without a word, Silver moves down with Leona's hands encouraging him as they kiss again. Their cold lips warm up at the feeling and their faces warm up. Leona's hand returns to holding Silver's hair as Silver puts one of his hands on Leona's cheek.

They split and Silver puts his head right next to Leona's, using his thumb on Leona's cheek. A hum comes from Leona as he looks at Silver as Silver does the same.

The forest is just as quiet as Silver entered it, though it's much warmer than when Leona walked in.

⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳ •❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆⊹₊ ⋆⋆꙳ •❅*‧

I was initially going to try and get chapter 3 of FU/D/IL up for Christmas but multiple factors like Uni, the Christmas season, lack of motivation, and rewriting a huge section of the aforementioned fic made me have to push it back.

But hopefully this makes up for it a bit. Hopefully you enjoyed it!

#im not putting this on ao3 though i may do if I ever expand on it #its v short #but thats intentional #leosil #i wish my fellow leosil shippers a very merry christmas #twst #twisted Wonderland #leona x silver #leona kingscholar #twst leona #silver Vanrouge #twst silver #nerv writes fics

[eddie4bat-president]

Hands. Who knew?

@steddiemicrofic written for the prompt: "edge" | rating: G | wc: 509 | cw: none

It catches him off-guard when it happens. Eddie has never really thought too much about hands. Sure, he likes how his own hands look covered in silver and he knows the effect dramatically steepled hands can have when prompting a party of adventurers on their next move in the face of danger. He's also had a girl here or there look a little too long at his hands from the edge of what the Hideout counts as a stage while he had been shredding his heart out; comparing their hand sizes afterwards in a move that always worked on him more for its boldness than the hand thing itself. His hands are just... part of him. An important part, for sure, they're what he uses to write and draw and play guitar until his fingers bleed but also a part he has never consciously wasted a thought on.

So he isn't ready for the way it makes him feel to have Steve push the palms of their hands together to compare while still talking about... something. Basketball, maybe. Something about holding balls? In the back of his mind there is a voice telling Eddie to make a joke but he can't make the thoughts connect. Eddie's hands aren't small by any means but Steve's are bigger. His fingers longer. They're peeking out from behind Eddie's. Thicker too. His whole palm wider. Radiating heat.

And while Eddie is still grappling with that view and the thoughts that follow, Steve continues to manipulate his hand whichever way strikes his fancy. Looking at his rings, tapping them one by one in a rhythm that makes sense only to him. Following the last one with his own finger while turning the whole hand so the palm faces upwards. He starts tracing the lines there - softly, so softly - following the outline of Eddie's fingers with the edge of his fingernail. Had Eddie's hands always been this sensitive? The threat of a shiver begins building at the back of his neck. Steve starts paying special attention to the calluses at Eddie's fingertips, tapping his own fingertips against them.

Eddie only becomes aware that Steve had fallen silent when he starts speaking again, "You know... I used to be good at this... knowing if someone was into me." Tap tap tap. A self-deprecating laugh, "or not into me, that's been happening a lot..."

A few more soft taps, like he's steeling himself for something, a determined look on his face though his gaze remains locked on their hands.

"But with you, I... I don't know. I can't imagine, like, platonically holding my buddy's hand. But everything you do is so out of the ordinary to me. Maybe you do?" Everything seems far away except for the heat of Steve's hands on his and his words echoing in Eddie's head.

"...Fuck it." Steve wraps his fingers under Eddie's, his thumb on top and makes devastating world-shattering eye contact while he presses the softest kiss onto Eddie's knuckles.

"Are you? Into me? Because I'm so very into you."

#this got away from me i'm not gonna lie #steddie #steddie microfic #prompt: edge #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #hey i'm talkin' here #i should probably invest in an actual writing tag #steddiemicroficfebruary #why is this so nerve-wracking

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [4/?]

happy friday, everyone! here is part 4 (5.3k words) as a little pre-valentines-day installment :) [part 1] is here! this chapter was a pain to edit; i think i deleted + rewrote about a fifth of it in the revision process

anyways, i promised this chapter would be the wedding, so... please enjoy the wedding

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

It’s a hectic morning.

Yves wakes up with the sinking realization that the medicine he took yesterday has worn off entirely. That is to say, he wakes up with the kind of unshakeable exhaustion he only feels when he’s coming down with something bad. His head is throbbing—sharp, cutting pain lances through his skull as soon as he finds it in himself to get out of bed.

All of that is inconsequential. He takes two pills from the cold/flu medicine blister pack with a generous few sips of water, brushes his teeth, washes his face in the sink with water cold enough to jolt him awake, and heads out.

He finds Aimee early, to ask her if she needs any help with anything. Then he makes himself available to the relatives that need him. There’s a last minute printing issue with the seating cards, so he goes through all of them again, finds the ones that are misprinted, talks extensively with the hotel’s front desk to explain what selection he needs to get reprinted and why, gets redirected towards the hotel’s business center, and finally gets them reprinted properly in one of the storerooms in the back. He lines the cards up and cuts them manually with a paper cutter he finds in one of the conference rooms on the first floor.

Then he takes a shuttle to the wedding venue to help set out all the seating cards according to a seating plan Genevieve texts him, but it’s windy enough outside that he has to find a way to weigh them all down. The venue has card holder stands, thankfully, but he doesn’t figure that out until he spends a good fifteen minutes asking around for them.

Then he waits twenty minutes in the cold for the shuttle back—the shuttles are thankfully in operation, but they’re running infrequently enough at this hour to be a slight inconvenience. By the time he gets on the shuttle, he’s shivering hard, even in his jacket, and his hands are almost numb from the cold.

The temperature certainly doesn’t help with the pressure in his sinuses, or with the sore throat that he’s had for a few days now. Perhaps it’s a blessing that the shuttle is near-empty save for him, because no one is there to question it when he ducks into his elbow with every loud, wrenching sneeze, or the coughing fit that almost inevitably follows.

When he gets back, he finds a sewing kit for Roy’s sister, Solaine—they don’t sell them at the convenience store downstairs, but he finds some in one of the tourist shops on the opposite end of the first floor of the hotel—for some last minute fixes to the way it’s hemmed. He delivers some safety pins from Victoire to one of his aunts, picks up breakfast pastries from the café across the street for his parents.

He takes a quick, hot shower, hot enough that the entire bathroom steams up because of it, and hopes that no one can hear the way every sneeze sounds so terribly, unnecessarily loud, even in the presence of his rapidly depleting voice. He rehearses his speech from memory and then rehearses it again, thinking through his notes on the pauses and the reflections. He irons his suit out, for good measure.

If he stops and lingers too long, it becomes quickly evident just how exhausted he is, just how unwell he feels when there’s nothing strictly keeping him on his feet. So instead, he makes himself useful where he can, busies himself with whatever he finds, if only because it’s the best distraction he can think of—if only because it’s the one distraction he has the luxury to take.

—

Lunch is a quick affair—he’s not especially hungry, and there will be more than enough food at the reception, so he grabs two pastries from downstairs, a coffee with two shots of espresso, and heads back up. Sitting down and eating them in the hotel room is somehow worse than running errands—like this, he can’t chalk his exhaustion up to his hectic morning, can’t attribute the heavy, shivery feeling that’s been following him all day the cold weather outside. 

Three more hours until the wedding. Anticipation always feels the worst, like this, when it’s nearly inseparable from worry—just a tangle of emotions in his chest.

He exhales.

Vincent is off—somewhere. Getting lunch, maybe, or getting ready for the wedding somewhere else. Yves has exchanged maybe all of twenty words with him this morning—do you know if our room has a sewing kit? Or, I’m going to stop by the café downstairs. Do you want me to get you anything?

Truthfully, Yves isn’t feeling much better today. His nose is running a little less now, thanks to the cold medicine, but the headache that he’s had all morning hasn’t gotten any less persistent. Even with his suit jacket on, he still can’t quite manage to get warm. He’s sneezing a little less, but each sneeze catches him off guard, harsh and sudden and embarrassingly loud.

But Vincent—who is, on average, unusually perceptive—hasn’t said anything about any of it. Yves tries not to think too hard about it. The less Vincent is worried about him, the better. Maybe he’s just preoccupied with other things.

He finishes his pastries at the small coffee table in the living room, downs half of his coffee, and then leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes.

His head hurts. He feels dizzy, even though he’s sitting perfectly still—as if the ground beneath him isn’t quite as steady as it should be—a strange feeling of vertigo. Surely if he sits here for just awhile longer, that feeling will go away.

He doesn’t fall asleep, exactly, but it’s a close thing. The discomfort doesn’t let up, either—no amount of massaging his temples seems to make the headache any better, and no amount of shuteye seems to do anything to lessen the exhaustion he feels. Maybe if he takes a nap he’ll wake up feeling passably fine. But he thinks it’s just as likely that he’ll get woken up early—by a phone call, or a text, or a knock on the door—to be told that he’s needed somewhere, and that alone is enough of a deterrent to keep him from properly falling asleep.

From somewhere at the edge of consciousness, he hears footsteps out in the hallway.

Someone’s here, then. He should let them in. But before he can bring himself to stand up and head over to the door, he hears the sound of the room card being inserted into its slot, hears the click of the door as it unlocks.

Someone—Vincent—shuts the door quietly behind him. When he spots Yves, he looks a little surprised.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” he says.

Yves blinks. His face feels unusually hot. “I got lunch,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, I fidished it, but if I’d known you’d be getting back, I would’ve gotten somethidg for you.”

“I’m surprised you made it back,” Vincent says, leaving his shoes in a neat line at the door. “Are you done putting out all the fires now?” Yves laughs, though it turns into a cough. “For the foreseeable future, yes. Sorry i— hhH!” He twists over his shoulder, away from Vincent, to cover the sneeze in a manner that does not come at the expense of his suit jacket. “hHh-! iiDDzschh-IEW! snf-! Sorry I’ve barely been around this mornidg.”

Vincent is his own person—Yves has no doubt that he’s entirely self-sufficient when it comes to travel—but still, Yves is the only person Vincent really knows here. He’s not sure he can claim he’d be good company in his current state, but he feels like maybe he ought to be around more often—to translate, or to serve as the conversational buffer, or something else.

“It’s no problem,” Vincent says, frowning. “You were busy.”

“Still. If we were actually datidg, I think this would make me a slightly terrible boyfriend.”

“If we were actually dating, I would understand that you have important things in your life to attend to,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “Like cutting sixty sheets of paper into even rectangles?”

“Is that what you were out doing all morning?”

“Among other things.”

“Then yes,” Vincent says. He stops just short of the coffee table where Yves is sitting. “Are you finally off of paper-cutting duty?”

“God, I hope so. Weddings are always so hectic, even if you’re only peripherally idvolved. It’s like everyone’s worried about things going wrong beforehand, but then when you finally get to them, they always go fine.”

“Have you been to a lot of weddings in your life?”

Yves considers this. “Cobpared to the average person? Probably.”

“Then you should listen to your own advice,” Vincent tells him. 

“What?”

“It’s going to be fine.”

Yves blinks. If Vincent can tell that he is nervous after a three minute conversation with him, then Yves must really not be doing a good job at hiding it.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” he says. He really is tired. Maybe another cup of coffee, or two, will help—he can hardly think of anything more mortifying than nodding off halfway through the vows. “I don’t think I’ll forgive mbyself if it doesn’t.”

—

It’s a near-perfect wedding.

The weather is as temperate as it gets at this time of year. It’s sunny out, and brisk enough that no one feels stuffy in their suit jackets and their summer dresses.

The wedding venue is like something out of a storybook—the white stone paths, arcing around a circular fountain, the water a clear, searing blue; the rows and rows of flowers that crowd around it. Flowers—roses, peonies, tulips, gardenias—line the walkways, strung up over arches in crisscrossing rows of sprawling green leaves.

When Aimee and Genevieve walk down the aisle, Leon grins; Victoire turns away to wipe at her eyes. When they say their vows, Yves feels a tightness in his chest, a fierce sort of pride. He knew, of course, that this moment would make him emotional.

But nothing compares to seeing them here, right here, smiling. Aimee’s hair is half up, half down, held in place with a half moon clip that winks white under the sunshine. Genevieve is wearing a long white dress—her hair is braided into a crown, threaded with flowers, a translucent lace veil settling over her shoulders. The afternoon sunlight trickles over them, gleaming. And Yves—

Yves has always believed in love.

Perhaps it’s overly idealistic—he’s certainly been told as much before—but he believes in it still. He believed in it even before he started dating Erika, and he believed in it after they broke up, too. It’s not so much the idea that people can be soulmates, more the idea that people can spend thirty or fifty or seventy years together and not tire of each other, the idea that the little mundanities of life might be made special in the presence of someone whose existence sublimates them endlessly into interest. The idea that two people who may not ever fully understand each other might try, ceaselessly, to get close. 

He remembers: hearing about Genevieve, over text and over call; at first peripherally, but then frequently. He regrets, sometimes, that he wasn’t there more for the both of them, that he could only help from an ocean away with celebrations and holidays and special events, that he still doesn’t know Genevieve as well as he’d like to.

But a part of him thinks, now, that maybe it was a privilege, too, watching from afar. Hearing about the dates secondhand, from Aimee, all of it filtered through her own excitement—hearing Aimee talk about everything that left an impression on her. It would have been different, of course, if he had really been there. But in a way, it is a little fitting that his first impression of Genevieve—his first mental portrait of her—was by someone who was already already half in love with her.

And he remembers: Aimee, unusually quiet one night over Facetime, sitting cross legged in the living room of their new apartment. The world, dark outside through the living room windows, even though for him it was only mid afternoon. The way she’d smiled, wistful, staring off into the distance at some point he couldn’t see. I think I might marry her, she had said.

She had said it like she was certain. He finds himself going back to that moment, to her certainty. He’s always wondered—how had she known? How had she been so sure of it, even then? 

But the way Genevieve takes Aimee’s hands, during the vow—the way her hands tremble slightly with it, the particular carefulness with which she handles the ring—all of it makes him think that he’s been right to believe in this, in them, in love. After all, what more convincing proof is there than this?

—

All in all, it is nearly perfect.

Nearly, save for how unwell he feels, how self conscious he is about not making it expressly known. Yves shivers through the entire ceremony, occasionally lifting the collar of his suit jacket to muffle a harsh, wrenching sneeze into the fabric. He’ll get it dry cleaned later. Beside him, Vincent looks to him, his head tilted in question—and, after Yves smiles apologetically at him—says nothing.

He makes it through, as a combination of everything—the adrenaline, the cold medicine, the four espressos he’d had this morning and the energy drink he’d downed right before the ceremony to keep himself awake. 

He doesn’t have a thermometer, doesn’t know what kind of temperature he’s running, but he has a hunch that it’s higher than it should be. It’s freezing outside—cold enough that he can’t keep himself from shivering, even when he tries—but no one else seems to be as cold as he is. He can only hope, now, that no one else notices him ducking into his jacket, periodically, to catch another sneeze, or wiping his nose on the back of his hand to keep it from openly running.

The world looks fever-bright, fuzzy around some edges but unusually sharp around others. He’s awake, but in the sort of uncomfortable, all-consuming way where it feels like he’s too nervous to get any sleep at all.

He feels only half-present during the cocktail hour, while Aimee and Genevieve take their pictures. He thinks he should make himself useful somehow—help with positioning props for photos or with setting up the proper lighting or whatever else—or, at the very least, converse with the relatives that he hasn’t had much of a chance to catch up with yet.

Instead, he sits, half hunched over at one of the side tables, and tries not to shiver too visibly. His head hurts with the sort of sharp, incessant pain that makes it near-impossible to focus on anything else. 

“Are you okay?” Vincent asks him. 

Yves looks over to him. Vincent looks concerned—his eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth set into a frown—and Yves—

Yves considers it, for a moment: telling Vincent the truth. That it’s taking everything in him to appear even remotely presentable. That a part of him is nervous that he’ll crash before he gives his speech. That he might have overestimated his own ability to get through four more hours of this, outside in the cold.

“Of course,” he says instead, with the best smile he can muster, because what else is there to say?

He doesn’t end up having any drinks, even though he’s usually a fan of cocktails. Leon offers him one, and when Yves shakes his head, shrugs and heads off to find someone else, which Yves thinks is probably the best. He’s a little too out of it to keep tabs on where all the others are—there are enough people that it’d be hard to spot everyone in the first place, but like this, it feels impossible.

And Vincent is… surprisingly, absent, for much of it. Yves considers texting him a couple times, just to see where he might be, but then decides against it. If Vincent has found something fun to do, then Yves definitely isn’t going to keep him from doing it.

Except, a small part of him says, he’d explicitly told Vincent not to worry about him. It doesn’t have to be your problem, he’d said, and Vincent had stared back at him, blankly, except was his expression really blank, then? Hadn’t he seemed a little hurt? After all of this is over, Yves really ought to apologize to him for all of the trouble—for making this whole wedding a lot more stressful than it should’ve been.

Vincent had known, after all, that he was nervous just this morning, even though Yves hadn’t wanted for it to show. And perhaps Vincent has always been perceptive, but Yves likes to think he isn’t always so obvious. Vincent is here to enjoy his vacation in France, first and foremost. Yves doesn’t want anything—not the fever he feels brewing, not the nervousness he feels regarding the wedding—to get in the way of that.

But right now, Vincent is nowhere to be found, so he tables the apology for later. For now, he just has to get through the entirety of the wedding. He spends a good part of the hour in the same seat, blowing his nose into cocktail napkins, wishing he had packed something warmer that would fit the dress code.

He makes polite conversation with whoever stops by, and tries—and fails—to ignore the fact that it feels like his head is going to split. Maybe he should’ve picked up some aspirin at the convenience store, too, though it’s not like he has the time to go back and get it now. And, anyways, as painful as it is, it’s really just a headache. How bad could it be?

—

At six, he finds his seat for dinner. A couple minutes later, Vincent takes a seat next to him. Yves turns to speak to him, only, he has to turn away to muffle a throat-scraping fit of coughs into his elbow.

The coughing fit lasts longer than he anticipates. When he looks up at last, Vincent is already in conversation with the person next to him, who Yves recognizes to be one of Genevieve’s friends—perhaps one of the ones he ate dinner with the night before, though Yves can’t be sure. Yves hunts down another cocktail napkin to blow his nose into—it’s starting to run worse now that the sun is starting to set.

When it comes time to give his toast, he’s afraid, for a moment, that he might forget what to say. That he might trip up mid-speech, despite all of the practice. That his current affliction might make itself clearly, embarrassingly apparent right when everyone’s attention is focused on him.

But the speech goes well. He gives his speech in French. His voice is noticeably off, but he hasn’t lost it entirely, and if he has to resort to clearing his throat as quietly as he can in between sentences, it’s a small sacrifice. Aimee giggles at the anecdote he tells about her in grad school, texting him about meeting Genevieve for the first time at a networking event. He throws in a couple inside jokes—references to things he’s heard his extended family laugh about during their yearly summer reunions, things that he can tie back into the wedding that he hopes might land well with this audience—and then he tells everyone about a surprise party he worked with Genevieve to plan, last summer, for Aimee’s birthday: how she’d stayed up late to make sure everything was carefully accounted for. How he’d known, then, from how seriously she was taking it, by how well she seemed to know Aimee already, that she would be the one. 

The jokes seem to land, for the way everyone—buoyed from the adrenaline of the wedding and in part thanks to the cocktails, he’s sure—laughs, and by the end, Genevieve is beaming, and Aimee breaks tradition to run up to him and give him a tight hug. After that, he asks everyone to raise their glasses in a toast—“To Aimee and Genevieve,” he says, “what a joy it is to see the team you’ve been rooting for win,” and the room erupts into clamor—into applause and cheer and the resounding clinking of glasses.

Then someone he recognizes as one of Genevieve’s closest friends stands to give her toast, and for the first time today, Yves lets himself relax in his seat. Only, it isn’t really relaxing—after all of the caffeine, he feels simultaneously exhausted and strangely, artificially alert, in a way that feels a little wrong.

The rest of the wedding should be smooth sailing, he thinks. The ceremony is over. His speech was fine. He just needs to stay through dinner and the cake cutting, and then he can ride the shuttle back with everyone else, and then—

—And then he’ll be back at his hotel room, where he can apologize to Vincent for perhaps being the very reason why this vacation hasn’t been as stress-free as it should’ve been, considering that it’s likely one of the few reprieves he and Vincent are supposed to get until busy season winds down.

He blinks, rubs a hand over his face, sniffling. He really does feel dizzy.

It’s usually like this. Yves thinks he should probably be wiser by now. If there’s anything he’s learned from past experiences—attending that end-of-semester crew meeting with the flu, or getting through the second half of finals week his senior year of university with a high fever—it’s that half a week of ignoring all of his symptoms is going to catch up to him eventually. 

Usually he’s better at defining what constitutes eventually.

He feels a familiar prickle in his nose—the kind that he knows once he gives in to will plague him for the rest of the hour. The cold medicine must be wearing off. Better to do this elsewhere—anywhere instead of here, on the courtyard, where everyone is eating dinner.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to Vincent. Then, without waiting for a response, he rises from his seat and heads off in the direction of the nearest restroom. There’s one in the main building, past the catering stations, the ballroom, the indoor bar.

“Hey, Yves,” someone—his sister—says, when he’s halfway to the building.

He stops walking. “What’s up?”

“You nailed that speech,” she says.

“In no small part thadks to you,” Yves says, forcing himself to turn and face her with a smile. “I’m glad we cut it down. And by we I mean, mostly you.”

“You were a hit,” Victoire says. “And it was funny. I liked the anecdotes you picked. I don’t think people would’ve minded if it were longer.” 

“Three mbidutes was the perfect length. Ady longer and people would’ve started losidg idterest— hHh-!” Yves thinks, a little frustratedly, that he always has the most inconvenient timing. “Excuse mbe, I— HHehh!” He lifts his arm to his face, twisting away. “hHhEH’iiDZSSchh’iiEW!”

When he turns back around to face her, Victoire is staring at him with the sort of calculating look that Yves is sure is not a good thing.

“You’re still sick?” she asks.

He blinks at her. “A little,” he says. “I’ll get some sleep todight.” 

She nods. “Does Vincent know?”

The question startles him into laughing, which he immediately regrets, for the way it makes him cough. “That I’mb sick?” he asks. “Yeah, I’d assume so. We share a room.”

“Assume? So you haven’t talked to him about it?”

“Whether or ndot I have a cold is not the mbost enthralling conversation topic,” Yves says.

“But you’re dating,” she says, as if that explains everything.

It explains nothing. “Yes, glad you ndoticed.”

“I just mean that — I mean, he got breakfast with us the other day, which you weren’t there for, and then we had the rehearsal dinner, which he wasn’t invited to. And during the cocktail hour, you were sitting alone.”

“I’mb not sure where you’re goidg with this,” Yves says, if only because he doesn’t want to be having this conversation right now. “But if you’re wondering whether—” He veers away again, pressing his arm to his face. “hh… Hehh-! hhHH’GKTT-SHHiiew!Ugh, sorry… Hh… HEHh’IIDZZSCHh-yyEEew! snf-! If you’re wondering whether we got into a fight, or sobething, then the answer is no.”

“It’s not that.” Victoire hesitates, for a moment, as if she’s still thinking about what to say. She probably is. She’s always been deliberate with her words. “It kind of seems like—well, like you’re doing that thing you always do.”

“What thidg I always do?” 

“You know.” She looks at him, her expression carefully, deceptively neutral. “Avoiding the people who care about you when something’s wrong.”

“I have ndo idea what you’re talking about.” Yves glances wistfully over to the bathroom. “I do really ndeed to pee, you know.”

He half expects her to press, but she just sighs. “Okay,” she says. “Don’t let me keep you.”

It’s a convenient out, and he takes it. The walk over is thankfully not too long—the bathroom turns out to be located just a couple hallways down from the entrance, but it’s hidden enough that it’s a little hard to find. For now, that’s a good thing.

He imagines the wedding party might move inside shortly after dinner, but as it stands, the building is mercifully empty. The restroom on the first floor is nicer than expected—warm lighting, floor to ceiling mirrors, polished white sinks on a black granite countertop. He braces himself against the countertop, suppressing another shiver. 

His nose is running slightly. He reaches over and grabs a couple paper towels from the dispenser, just to be safe.

It’s not a moment too early. It’s only moments after that he’s pitching forwards into the paper towels with a harsh—

 “HhH’iiDZSSCHh-IIEW!” 

The sound echoes off the tiled walls. Yves finds himself coughing, afterwards. The medicine must really be wearing off, then, for the way his nose is starting to run incessantly—for the way the discomfort prickles at his skin, suggesting a fever. It’s a good thing there’s no one here to see him like this.

“hHEHh’iIZssCHH-iiEW! snf-! hHEh… HDDt’TSSCHH-iEEW!” The sneezes are harsher than usual, too, and forceful enough to snap him forward at the waist. He stays hunched over for a moment, steadying himself with the side of the countertop, and tries, somewhat unsuccessfully, to catch his breath. 

The bathroom feels frigidly cold. He shivers, reaches up with trembling hands to try to button up his suit. His nose is starting to tickle again. It feels like he might be here forever, like one wrong breath might be enough to—

“hhH…. hHEH…. hhHEH’DJJJSHH’iiEEW!” The paper towels in his hand must be drenched now, but before he can get a chance to replace them, his breath catches again. “hhEH’GKTT-SHhhEw!” It’s immediately clear, from the subsequent twinge in his nose, that he’s not done. For a moment, he wonders if the sneezes will ever let up—if he’ll be stuck in the bathroom all evening, trying to keep his illness under wraps.

Before he can entertain the thought properly, he finds himself jerking forward again, his eyes snapping shut—

“Hehh… hEHh’IIZSCHH-YYEEW! hHihhH’-iiTsSHHH-YYEW!”

He blows his nose, as gently as he can, but the paper towel is rougher against his skin. When he looks up afterwards, blinking tears out of his vision, his nose looks noticeably red. 

It takes all the resolve in him to not just slump against the wall.

His next breath comes in wrong, and he finds himself coughing—harsh, grating coughs which seem to go on and on, leaving him feeling distinctly lightheaded.

He can’t stay here. He needs to make it back to dinner, where the others are waiting for him. He has to get back before Vincent starts wondering where he’s gone.

Yves squeezes his eyes shut. If he’s being honest with himself, he feels awful. Nothing he does seems to do anything to assuage the chill that’s settled persistently over him, the uncomfortable, shivery feeling that makes him want to curl up somewhere warm, sleep the next day and a half away.

Would it be so bad for him to stay here for just a little longer? To send a text to Vincent to let him know he’ll be back in twenty? It’s not the most comfortable of places, but it would be the easiest to explain if someone ends up finding him here. Anywhere else might suggest that he has a big enough problem to deliberately hide away instead of properly enjoying the festivities, like he should be doing, which is not the impression he wants to give off at all.

He tries to think of a convincing enough excuse, but nothing he can think of takes precedence over a wedding dinner, of all things. It should be fine if he goes back now, but any longer might be pushing things.

And, anyways, he feels guilty for even considering it. The others are waiting for him. He has to show up, and at the very least, be courteous where he has to, make pleasant conversation when he can. He has to make sure Aimee and Genevieve are having fun, and that Leon and Victoire are doing fine, and that nothing needs to get done logistically, and that Vincent is not there alone, surrounded by strangers speaking a language he’s just started to learn.

His head is pounding. He tosses the paper towels into the bin, leans his weight against the countertop, squeezes his eyes shut. The exhaustion from the past few days of on-and-off sleep must be catching up with him. His head is pounding.

He can do this. More aptly put, it’s not a question of whether he can. He has to do this.

He splashes his face with cold water, washes his hands in the sink, dries his face with another generous handful of paper towels, and heads towards the door. He feels almost too tired to stand, but that’s only a temporary concern. It won’t be a problem once he gets back to his seat.

Everyone is waiting for him, he tells himself. Soon, they might be asking where he’s gone. He needs to show them that he’s there—present and attentive and engaged, just like he promised everyone he’d be. No one expects any less of him, after all.

It’s with that in mind that he presses forward. He makes it down a couple hallways before he finds himself having to lean against the wall to catch his balance, shutting his eyes against the sudden wave of disorientation. He inhales, slowly. Exhales.

Fuck. Perhaps he’s dizzier than he’d expected.

“Yves?” He freezes. Vincent is not supposed to be here. Vincent can’t see him right now, not in this state. He forces himself to smile. “What’s up?”

“You disappeared,” Vincent says. “I wanted to make sure…”

His voice shutters, sounding distant and close by all at once. “...that everything was okay.”

“It is,” Yves says. “I was just about to head back.” “We can head back together,” Vincent says. It’s not that long of a walk—just a couple minutes, at most, to the exit Vincent presumably came in from, and then back down the stone path that leads to the courtyard.

“You didn’t have to come find me. I’m really fine.” Yves shifts his weight off from the wall. Takes a couple steps halting towards the exit, which is a mistake.

It all registers simultaneously: the darkness encroaching upon the edges of his vision, the surge of panic in his chest. The world, suddenly angled wrongly, tilts towards him. He thinks he is definitely going to owe Vincent an apology.

[ Part 5 ]

#sneeze fic #snz fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snzfic #spoilers for this chapter ahead: #(do not read these tags if you have not read the chapter yet) #(one more line so that this doesn't show up unless you click read more) #i... am sorry. i know the ending to this chapter is probably going to be controversial (glances at the poll i made awhile back) #but i really wanted to write it 😭 #(you are free to yell at me for this decision) #i almost lost my nerve and let this sit in my drafts forever because the wedding was incredibly difficult to write but #i finished editing it today after drinking something very caffeinated #yvverse #my fic

[osameowdazai]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Arthur Rimbaud/Paul Verlaine (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Arthur Rimbaud (Bungou Stray Dogs), Paul Verlaine (Bungou Stray Dogs), Original Characters Additional Tags: They get a dog, Pre-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, it can't be rimlaine if there isn't angst, France (Country), that's where the are idk Summary:

“Where did that come from?” He asked, gesturing to the dog that had followed him down the hall.

“Outside,” Verlaine said, unhelpful.

Rimbaud stared blankly at his partner for a long moment before they both said, at the same time -

“It's not staying.”

At least they were in agreement.

  In which, Rimbaud and Verlaine (temporarily) get a dog.

#rimlaine #bsd #I've never posted a fic anywhere #This is nerve-wracking #sol's writing #I'll try not to just delete this later

[nikholascrow]

whisper - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 902

Tw: physical abuse / parental abuse

(he gets comforted i swear)

Sirius was having a nightmare again. It seemed like he was always having those nowadays ever since he’d left Regulus in that house, even if he had his brother back now he couldn’t shake the fear, the guilt.

He was huddled in a corner of the kitchen shielding regulus from view as best he could as their faceless mother screamed. flashes of light bounced around the room

“SELFISH. UNGRATEFUL. DISGUSTING CHILD.” she howled every word punctuated by a flash of light.

Each spell missed, her focus disrupted by her anger, eyes wild with rage. Usually she was quiet when she was angry, cold, steely, and cruel. Tonight was different, tonight was red hot and desperate. Another flash of light and he was struck by searing pain, his vision went white hot. Someone screamed he couldn’t tell if it was him or Regulus. there was nothing but pain. endless unbearable pain.

his eyes flew open and he sat up straight, cold sweat dripping down his neck and back. Sirius drew in a shaky breath and pulled his knees up against his chest. He was in the Potter’s house, Regulus was just down the hall, they were safe, they were fine. Despite the fact that he knew his brother was fast asleep and completely safe, Sirius pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed tiptoeing out of his room and down the empty hall. Regulus’ door creaked open quietly and there he was, in bed with James curled around him smiling softly in his sleep, Sirius smiled too. He eased shut the door and stood there, one hand on the doorknob.

“Pads?” Sirius jumped Remus had somehow managed to silently creep out of his room into the hallway

“Jesus christ moony-“ Sirius hissed just above a whisper “what the hell are you doing up?”

Remus raised an eyebrow “I have a better question, why did I wake up at two in the fucking morning to you blundering down the hallway?” Remus didn’t look annoyed, just concerned.

Damn his incredibly pretty best friend and his extra sensitive werewolf senses. “Just checking on Reg and Prongs, someone had to make sure they were keeping it pg” Sirius forced a grin but it didn’t do much to hide the way his bloodshot eyes avoided his friend’s gaze.

“Another nightmare?” Remus asked softly it wasn’t really a question he already knew the answer but sirius nodded anyway. “wanna sleep with me tonight?”

“yes please-“ his voice was barely above a whisper but Remus seemed to hear him loud and clear.

Sirius followed Remus into his bedroom and slipped into bed next to him. He felt so small and weak in the big bed like he was sinking into the mattress and it would swallow him whole, then strong arms wrapped around him and the feeling evaporated. He buried his head in Remus’ chest and Remus ran his fingers through Sirius’ dark curls.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Remus asked softly it wasn’t demanding, it wasn’t required, it was a simple invitation, and it meant the world to Sirius.

Sirius shook his head gently

“You didn’t deserve it, Pads, whatever she did, neither of you deserved that.” Sirius’ bloodshot eyes were becoming glossy with tears again.

Sirius just buried his face deeper into Remus’ sweater and Remus’ free hand began tracing stars on his back. It calmed him and his eyes began to flutter as Remus whispered comforting words to him that contrasted the screams he’d woken up to. He drifted off to sleep in the arms of his best friend and the boy he loved.

#writing a fic to submit to someone was so fucking nerve wracking- #marauders #dead gay wizards #regulus black #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #wolfstar #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #remus john lupin #remus j lupin #sirius orion black #sirius o black #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar oneshot #nikos marauders fics #tw: abuse #fuck jkr

[runningupthatvecna]

the law of seat partners | part 3

part 1 | part 2

a/n: ok this chapter is honestly a wild ride from start to finish, really had to look into google maps to get the geographics right here, sorry if it's a bit inaccurate, the dimensions in the us are a bit difficult to grasp for my european brain lol. same goes for the bus interior and the structure of road houses. also this is gonna be super self-indulgent since i keep picturing eddie as someone with this wholesome, kind and super soft stray dog side of personality that you only get to see once you break through his shell and i'm basically just romanticising the shit out of him in this entire story. also i apologize if the whole part is a bit random, it's just that i didn't plan for this thing to even have more than one part lol. anyway, thanks for reading and please leave me comments and reblogs if you're enjoying this little series! there will be a part 4.

summary: you're still on that damn bus with eddie. he plays you some of his favourite songs and they turn out to sound really familiar. when you do finally arrive at the camp, you find yourself spending even more time with your favourite metalhead and he makes it just a bit more clear that he might really like you back. and yeah, everyone around you already seems to know.

cw/tw: first off i want to clarify that eddie and reader both are at least twenty! slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers overall, (brief) allusions to +18 adult content (minors go away!), sexual tension, lots of physical touch, reader being self-conscious, angst, not feeling good enough briefly, a bit of self-sabotage if you squint, a few more pet names, bestfriend!Steve being reader's rock once again, reassurance, eddie not committing a crime, no mention of y/n, no mentions of reader's physical attributes except hair.

-----

Lunch break acted as a reminder that the rest of your friends were also still there.

That's how lost you were getting with Eddie Munson and your legs in his lap.

The gang was once again standing in a kind of circle shaped form outside on the parking lot next to the bus. You had passed Chicago already a while ago and the blue sky hadn't exactly followed you to Wisconsin, but thankfully it wasn't raining either.

Without even thinking about it you had taken the position between Eddie and Steve.

Jonathan and Nancy were standing opposite of you, the former holding his beloved pentax in his hands, it dangling from his shoulder on a strap being the guy's default. Always ready to press the shutter, just so now.

Steve groaned a little, complaining about how his hair just wasn't looking good enough to be in a photo right now, but no one cared. As someone who loved taking photos – probably even more than the Byers boy – it was in fact one of your pet peeves whenever someone complained about having their photo taken. In your book, photos depicted memories. Why wouldn't you want to be in them?

"You gonna fill that film up today, Jon?", you asked with a grin, and the photographer just nodded.

"Alright, now that we caught Steve's mesmerizing beauty on film, anyone wanna go grab a bite?", Robin asked into the round while shifting her weight continuously from her toes to her heels and back, trying her best not to sound too desperate to get something between her teeth.

"Oh shit yeah, I'm dying", Steve replied after a quick yawn and stretch and the three freshmen boys agreed with heavy nods and exclamations of the words yes and finally.

Their boyish eagerness made Nancy chuckle just a little, and she continued by taking the hand of the older Byers boy and pulling him along with her, leading the way to the building for the rest of you.

Jonathan kept turning around every few meters to just take candids of everyone, trying to fill up the roll of film just so he could reload once you guys would arrive at the camp.

Everyone in the gang seemed to be willing to at least check out the offers from the shop, and like, get a slushie or something.

"M'lady?"

Eddie had squinted one of his eyes shut looking at you while holding his arm out for you to hold onto it, just so you both could follow the group.

"Oh, thank you good sir."

He was just a little taller than you, which made walking with your arm hooked into his quite comfortable.

You threw the knowing smile of his towards you right back at him.

And while you were following the rest of your friends, he leaned in to talk to you. Even more.

"Quite rude of Ms Kelley to interrupt our sacred listening session like that. I guess she just doesn't seem to value a good tune, huh?"

"We didn't even start the tape, Eddie."

"But we already had headphones on so we were about to, that still counts."

He poked a finger into your side while walking, trying to stop you from bringing another absolutely valid and logical argument to his silly remark, making you squeak and jump to the side a little instead, letting go of his arm.

You only could see Steve's head turn towards you, having heard your exclamation of surprise. More of his reaction was kept hidden from you though, since Eddie had decided to continue poking, so you were left with no choice but to run, giggling like a toddler.

"Eddieeee, stoooop", you yelled in a higher pitch than your normal voice, trying and failing miserably at the attempt to hide between Robin, Will and Lucas.

You could hear your friends laugh, the sight must have been hilarious.

There was no escaping Eddie the freak Munson.

You had almost reached the motion sensor of the front door when he grabbed you by the waist, pulled your back flush against his front and apparently felt no hesitation encasing you in his arms entirely. He let out a short, low hum at the feeling and it sent a shiver straight through you.

You were slowly getting warm at the frequency you were having physical contact with him, but having so much of his body touching yours in this way did not leave you unaffected in the slightest.

His embrace made your heartbeat speed up, but it also transported this really comforting, almost soothing wave of feeling protected.

And it had you yearning for him. And it was essentially confusing you.

"Say that I'm right", you heard his deep voice mumble, the side of his head pressed lightly against yours.

You could feel the warmth radiating from his body. The way he smelled. The way he held you tight.

Yeah, bye.

"Huh?"

You wanted your voice to sound equally low to his, but it didn't come out quite as such.

"Ms Kelley disrespects the law."

He couldn't be serious.

"Eddieeeeee!", you laughed at his silliness and the great amount of dramatics he put into his persistence with referring to his law of seat partners rule joke thing.

The long haired boy let go of you since the others had caught up. You just saw him grin at you, before Steve swung an arm around his shoulders, pulling his best friend through the sliding doors, while you felt Max grab your hand.

The road house your teachers had decided to stop at consisted of a restaurant, bathrooms of course and a small convenience store, the latter being the destination of Max and you, while the others ventured out into the restaurant, trying to find something warm and edible to stuff themselves with before they would join the both of you.

"Are you having a good time? With him, I mean", Max dropped at you, slowly strolling through the aisles of products that ranged from sweets over car supplies to toothpaste.

The widest grin was plastered over her face as she eyed you curiously.

The question surprised you a little. And maybe you hadn't really been aware of your surroundings for the last few hours, for obvious reasons.

"Hm? Oh yeah, he's being so sweet", you replied to your friend, "not sure what's gotten into him today though, he's never been like this."

Max gave you a questioning look, clearly asking you to elaborate.

"I don't know, I mean he's always throwing arms around me and stuff, but this, I don't know, this feels different", you continued, not being able to meet her eye, "I mean, he's always nice to me when we're around each other, but he seems so much m–"

"He likes you."

Max interrupted your sentence.

"What?"

"It's so fucking obvious. Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

I mean, yeah sure you had taken notice of the way he had been gazing at you with his baby cow eyes all day today. Actually, ever since he met you all those months ago, now that you're thinking about it. But why would you read anything into that?

You felt warmth spreading over your cheeks.

Did Eddie Munson really like you? Like that?

"He's just being nice, Max."

Only now you shot her a look, trying to tell her what you were too self-conscious, even anxious about to say out loud.

Guys never really seemed to see you as someone they could like. You were so used to the vast majority of them treating you as one of their bros, if they even treated you like anything at all, so when there was someone showing interest in you in other ways, it freaked the living hell out of you. To the point of denying yourself something potentially nice. Or more like, someone nice.

"Just nice? He is never that nice to me! I think you're just way too much in your head about this. You know you like him. And he likes you back, it's crystal clear to me, in fact, to all of us."

Wait. All of them? Had he talked to anyone about you?

Now you were the one giving her the questioning look, and before you could say anything, Robin popped up next to the both of you with a pair of wide eyes along with raised eyebrows.

"Okay, what are we buying, hm? I need more cookies, Steve and Jonathan ate all of them already", she informed you, walking off to find her restock of baked sweets, just as quickly as she had appeared.

You giggled lightly at the similarity of her and your snack situation.

Max only gave you a grin and a wink through her sky blue eyes before following Robin to the cookie section. The boys and Nancy returned from their feast not long after and you had tried your best to bring your focus to the task at hand: finding something snackable that wasn't too much of an overload, but also essential for the remaining time on the road.

Steve grabbed and pulled you away from the others on the way outside, back to the bus. The thirty minutes were almost over and no one wanted to risk being left in the middle of nowhere aka Bumfuck, Wisconsin, nor having a search party consisting of Ms Kelley and Mr Clarke out roaming the area.

"Hey there", Steve looked at you while walking by your side and throwing an arm around you.

He truly was your best friend and so you just happened to know everything about each other's lives. He had always been your rock throughout high school and mainly responsible for having you be part of the gang. He knew about your issues and always tried to give you advice.

You let your arm sneak around Steve's back, around the height of his waist.

"Everything alright with you, honey?"

You glanced up at him just nodding and he shot you a knowing look, before turning his head around to wink at someone.

The grin on his face widened before turning his attention back to you.

"Uh yeah, I'm having a good time, thanks for checking on me", you replied to him while holding onto the box of chocolates you had ended up buying.

"Munson treating you right I hope, yeah?", Steve inquired further.

You could feel your heart jump a little at the mention of Eddie's name. What you also could feel was the eyes of the long wavy haired boy on your back. He had run after Dustin who had pinched his ass on the way out and you just assumed they were a bit further behind you and Steve.

"A bit more than usual, yeah. I don't really understand why, though. Max said he likes me? But–"

A little frown now covered Steve's lightly freckled face.

You stopped. He stopped. And kept his arm around you. And then you sighed, when his big brown eyes found yours and the way he looked at you changed into a worried brow furrow.

"I think I'm terrified, Steve. I don't know how to behave around him seriously and I don't know how to handle all the affection. That's all so new and I don't want to disappoint him because he deserves someone who's able to give him everything he wants and he's already making himself vulnerable by letting someone in close like that and what if he's gonna realise that I'm just really weird for not being used to–"

"Hey, hey sweetheart, slow down", Steve put a stop to your little ramble, a soft tone to his voice, "you're overthinking. You like him, isn't that right?"

You just looked up at him, almost a bit teary eyed since you were realising a lot of things at the moment, and dealing with your own insecurities and issues was just not easy. Especially in a situation where you couldn't retreat or flee.

And then you nodded.

Steves frown shifted into a grin.

"Then there's absolutely nothing to worry about. Eddie right there is probably genuinely surprised that you're not shying or running away from him, like everyone else. Just look."

Steve pointed in Eddie's direction which made you turn your head. Next thing you saw was the metalhead chasing after Dustin again, both of them running through the group trying not to bump into anyone, all the way over the expanse of the parking lot like two headless chickens, his dark mane flowing in the wind which carried the laughter and giggles of the whole group over to you.

The sight made you laugh a little.

"I mean, not that he really ever tried to get close to someone, like, he doesn't have to try for people to be sort of intimidated and even scared off by him, but that's besides the point. Anyway, I just know for a fact that you could never disappoint him. I'm very sure he's gonna be fine adapting himself to your pace", Steve explained and then paused to take a deep breath.

"It's up to you of course, but I'd just hate to see you get in your own way just because you're too much in your own pretty, little head."

You had snapped your head around again, and Steve lovingly ruffled your hair a little, the way he always did when he tried to tell you that he'd always be there for you and the situation you'd found yourself in would turn out just fine.

You would be just fine.

Deep down you knew Steve was right.

"Yeah, yeah I know. You know how I can get sometimes", you replied to him, reciprocating the same look Steve was now giving you. The depth in his brown eyes was radiating warmth and it helped you calm down your racing thoughts. Steve had known Eddie for a bit longer and was closer with him in general, which was one of your reasons to believe the words of your best friend. In this moment at least.

-----

It was time for the tape.

You took off your shoes again and pulled your legs up to rest your feet on the barrier, this time right in front of you, facing more towards the window.

The boy next to you was still trying to catch his breath from shaking off some energy, pulling a squished paper bag with greasy spots out of the back pocket of his jeans and placing it on his lap, before he lost the vest and leather jacket. He then proceeded to sit down, take both of your headphones and held yours out to you.

"Alright, unlike Ms Kelley, let's obey the law again, huh?"

He let out a deep chuckle when you nodded with a smile.

"Oh hey, and I got you some extra fries, just in case you get hungry."

He handed the small paper bag to you.

Did he just carry fries in his ass pocket?

The thought made you snort.

Oh Munson.

"Did you pay for them?"

"Yeah of course I did. Is that all you think of me, sweetheart?"

There they were again. His dark brown doe eyes blinking at you all sweet, the purest form of Eddie he was willing to show you in this moment.

He was clearly letting you in. Showing himself to you. Letting you read his eyes, hoping you would take the hint which he secretly was yet too insecure to speak out.

He was the town's freak after all and getting his hopes up had never really turned out too positive for him. It had painfully taught him to better keep everyone at a distance.

It took every little ounce of willpower that you could find in yourself to not melt into a puddle, right there in that seat.

And if that wasn't enough already – him being thoughtful enough to think of you while devouring his own lunch – he pressed play on your walkman, before you could give him any sort of response to the fries situation.

The fact that the opening chords of Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tears for Fears now filled your ears, your absolute favourite song, was sending you into another dimension.

How did he know your favourite fucking song? Did he ask Steve? He must have asked Steve.

He had asked Steve specifically about your music taste.

So many thoughts were flooding your brain at the same time, you were having trouble catching up.

The boy next to you just grinned at your visibly delighted reaction. And then he leaned in a little and you felt the heat once again rise to your cheeks.

"Is that good, that's a real good song, yeah?", you heard him ask, a very light sultry tone to his voice, after you quickly pushed one of your headphones behind your ear.

"Yes Eddie, immaculate choice right there", you praised him in a similar tone, before giving him a genuine giggle, unable to hide the way he was undeniably making you all flustered and earning another warm chuckle from him in return.

The way his cheeks turned into a beautiful shade of rose almost made your heart combust in your ribcage. At this point he was practically beaming with pride, reveling in the fact that he had elicited praise out of you. And it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

You lightly nudged your shoulder into his, which made him lift his arm, a gesture for you to lean into his figure.

"Come here, you."

That head of yours landed on his shoulder and you let him drape his arm over your torso like a seatbelt. A (still very) warm hand was placed between your waist and hip and you were pretty convinced it was going to burn a big hole right through the fabric of your shirt.

He just had to touch you, right?

His boldness however gave you enough of a confidence boost to return the gesture. At this point you needed to tell him, too. Make him feel the burn on his own skin. So you just hugged his arm, pulling it close and nuzzling the side of your face into the soft fabric of his hellfire shirt covering the skin between bicep and shoulder.

With every song you went on listening to, it became more clear than ever that Eddie Munson must really have gone all the way to Steve Harrington's house to ask him for a list of your favourite songs. Which he could then put on a mixtape. For you.

That's what you do for friends, right?

Yeah, right.

For a few songs you both just sat there in utter peace as you watched the landscape outside the window pass by. The wide plains of Wisconsin, fields of crops, forests, small gatherings of houses, farms, barns and horses and cows and sheep. The sky was slowly losing its light grey cover, which had you anticipating an actually nice sunset later.

He had leaned his head against yours, which made his warm breath trickle down the side of your neck down to your collarbone. And you had felt the goosebumps spread all over your arms underneath your longsleeve.

You were feeding off of the warmth radiating from Eddie's body once again, and the ringed hand on your waist had started rubbing up and down softly and slowly.

When Eddie felt you leaning more of your weight into his side, you could hear him let out a satisfied little sigh.

Every second of this part of your little road trip, whenever he tried to search for some form of physical closeness, felt like a fever dream.

And you didn't want to wake up just yet. How about never?

-----

Golden hour announced itself by coating the trees of the forest, the earthy paths for walking, the accumulation of dark wooden cabins and the water on the vast lake in gradients of yellow and orange.

Said lake would look more like the sea to you, it made little waves that were lightly crashing onto the shore of a small beach of a bay around which the camp was located, and it was so vast in fact that you were unable to see the opposing shore on the horizon.

You had just woken up from another nap which you had slipped into after one, two, you actually don't know how many hours of watching the endless fields and forests pass by through half-closed eyelids. Listening to The Romantics, New Order, Fleetwood Mac, The Cure, Genesis and of course Metallica, on Eddie's account.

Still surrounded by the warmth of his body, still tucked in between torso and arm. His hand however had sneakily breached an invisible barrier, now resting comfortably beneath the hem of your shirt on the skin of your waist. You didn't dare to check, but the hole in your shirt was certainly there now, burned through.

Even Ms Kelley's announcement of your arrival didn't bother any of you to move or shift positions. Or god forbid, separate your bodies.

You only slightly turned your head to watch Mr Clarke leave the bus in the corner of your eye, probably to head into the administration office of the camp with the intention to make your arrival known to the staff and to pick up keys for about 40 students.

From what they had told you pre-trip, you were gonna be sharing a cabin with Nancy, Robin and Max, since the plan foresaw keeping the middle schoolers separate from the older kids. And of course there couldn't be any cabins accommodating groups of mixed genders.

Which is precisely why Eddie was going to share his cabin with Jonathan, Steve and Dustin, while Lucas and Will had the honours to be joined in theirs by Gareth and Jeff.

Before letting you go to take the headphones off and gather all your things, Eddie's grip on your waist tightened a bit as he pulled you minimally closer for just two seconds, the vibration of his chest against your back telling you that he was humming softly.

You already missed him, and you hadn't even left the bus yet.

The structure of the camp was simple. There were ten cabins, each of them intended to accommodate up to four people comfortably. A row of them was spread out along the shore of the lake directly by the water. Another row spread out further towards the forest. Both separated by the same earthy pathway stretching and winding itself through the entire place, connecting the cabins to the rest of the camp. There were little houses with sanitary facilities not too far from the cabins, a little square with lots of seating opportunities intended for bonfires, barbecue and other gatherings, the office house, the beach further down the path past the cabins, and a pergola kinda situation with benches for mealtime and a corner with outdoor couches and further more cozy seating.

The cabin you were designated to spend your next 6 nights in was one of those directly by the water. Excitement spread through you at the thought of falling asleep to the peaceful sound of the lake water lightly hitting the shore at night and cicadas singing their songs after sunset. Frogs croaking and birds chirping away. The ambient background noise of a forest by the lake.

You had always been a dreamer.

"Top one's mine!", Robin exclaimed as she was the first one of you to enter, throwing her bag onto one of the top beds that were part of two bunks standing opposite of each other in each corner, a window with light beige and pastel floral curtains separating them.

You were loving the rustic atmosphere. The log aesthetic gave off the biggest summer cottage vibes, so taking in the interior of your small home for the next few days made you smile.

There were two closets with multiple drawers, enough space for accommodating clothing of four people.

The bag hanging from your shoulder landed on the bed below Robin's, while the other two silently agreed on Max above, Nancy on the same level as you.

The beds themselves were about the standard bunk bed size, nothing too fancy, but of course all wooden, fresh bedsheets folded into a neat pile along with a towel decorating the mattress.

While you were getting to making your bed (you knew that you'd thank yourself later), your mind started wondering if you could fit maybe even two people in there. For science, of course.

All of you had agreed to meet at the fireplace once everyone had dropped off their stuff, and when you and the girls arrived there, six pairs of eyes were already awaiting you.

The boys had probably just messily thrown their belongings onto their respective beds, not giving a flying fuck about pulling the covers over the duvets or maybe even taking power naps after the journey.

So yeah, night number one ended with all of you sitting by the fire that Mr Clarke and some guy from the staff team had set up. Conversations about everyone's most anticipated activities that were planned and scheduled for this week were held, your friends' former earth and science teacher telling stories about his first time field tripping back in the day.

Once again you were sat between Steve and Eddie, the metalhead's leather jacket around your shoulders, because he had insisted you'd take it. A sly grin on his face directed at you at the gesture, before turning his attention to the mutual best friend on your other side.

The younger kids had been tucked in by Ms Kelley already, since their curfew had been set to 9pm. Yours was at eleven.

You admired the multiple strings of fairy lights that had been hung into the lower maze of branches long ago, illuminating the earthy pathways throughout the whole camp to keep the kids from stumbling off into some bush or having to pull out flashlights.

At least until midnight, cause that's when the lights were going to be turned off.

-----

Your first full day at camp. The teachers had taken the whole group to a hike through the forest and up the hill at the end of the bay, overviewing the stunning scenery and you had taken a few moments away from everyone to take in the enormousness of the vision opening up in front of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to wrap your head around the moment, taking a few deep breaths, feeling the freshness of the air surrounding you.

Slow down.

The sun made the deep blue of the sky reflect on the lake, a shimmer on the surface in the distance, sparse trees and bushes covering the top of the hill you were standing on, a bit separately from most kids.

The light brush of a hand against yours caused you to shoot open your eyes, jumping lightly at the sudden delicate yet profound touch.

"Uh, sorry I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I can also leave again if you want another moment to yourself?", you heard him say, an apologetic tone to his voice.

The rough facade now showed cracks.

Traces of softness, a great amount of empathy and hints of sensitivity were shining through them. He had always been a little more gentle with you than with everyone else in the group, but this telltale sign of trust he was instilling in you over the last hours? That was new.

So new. And so new to you.

Your head turned towards him, eyes squinting a bit because yeah, it was quite bright up there with almost no trees to throw shade, and of course clumsy you had forgotten your sunglasses on the little nightstand next to your bed.

"Eddie no, it's okay" was the only thing you managed to get out, brushing the back of his hand with the back of your index finger, in silent search for more contact, trying to support the words that had just come out of you.

It was just Eddie. You tried to remember Steve's words from lunch break yesterday. He's gonna be okay with adapting.

He turned his back on the sun, more towards you, and the light formed a halo around his head.

Given his reputation back in Hawkins, it looked hilariously absurd.

"Did you have a good first night?", you asked him then, in such a tone indicating your expectation of a sincere answer, while his shadow was covering half your face so you wouldn't have to stare into the late afternoon sun.

"More or less. You know how Steve snores", Eddie said before continuing his dramatic act, "plus, it was really lonely. I think there should be an additional paragraph in the law about an extension from bus seats to beds, you know? I think that would make a real difference and save me from eternal doom and misery."

He returned your previous gesture with his own index finger, his eyes finding yours, giving you a sheepish grin as your cheeks started imitating the colour of very ripe tomatoes.

Your entire body bloomed with electricity from just one light touch. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it was ridiculous.

Yes, there had already been touches that were way more direct than this, but there was something in the way and in the lightness of his touch now, that had your head spinning.

The lightness basically fuelled whatever this thing between the two of you was.

Ms Kelley's voice announcing the beginning of your descend ripped the both of you out of whatever moment you were having right there, and it sucked.

You could have stood there with him for the rest of eternity, if it meant being looked at by his warm, reassuring eyes, making you feel as if you were the center of the universe. It felt like his gaze was reaching the deepest corner of your soul.

And your brain started going 200 kilometers an hour, thinking about the allusion Eddie had just made. He was starting to consume your every thought at this point.

As a collective you managed to return to the deep green veils of the forest around an hour before sunset.

Slowly the day was coming to an end and since it had been a rather warm experience for everyone, the teachers had kindly granted you an evening dip in the lake.

High schoolers only though. Thank fuck.

Honestly, you probably would have gone for it anyway.

The beach included a small wooden pier leading into deeper water, which the boys delightedly acknowledged before using it to gracefully yeet themselves into the cold wet.

They also didn't deem it necessary to strip themselves of their clothes beforehand.

Too much enthusiasm and even more longing for relief from the day's heat and physical efforts. Who knew Michigan could be this warm already in May?

The girls and you had preferred to change into actual swimwear before joining the boys on the beach. A wise decision.

Because now you found yourself standing on the pier together with Nancy and Max, watching Robin follow Steve and dive in head first.

You were silently hoping the water was deep enough for her to not hit her head.

Next thing you saw approaching you on that pier was Eddie, dripping wet everything and soaked to the bone, some worn out jean shorts and dark blue Metallica shirt as well as his dark curls sticking to his skin like glue.

He left a trail of wet footsteps and sprinkles and splashes of water on the dry wood, grinning at you almost eerily and you threw him a similar glance back, because you knew he just wasn't anticipating your abilities to foresee the future when you jumped out of the way the second he started running towards you, trying to pull you into the water with him.

He landed face first, while everyone who had just witnessed that scene bursted into laughter, including you.

"You wish, Munson", you shouted at him and his poorly executed attempt once he had resurfaced, his appearance now reminding you of a wet poodle with his wet dark curls that were sticking to his reddened face, a piece of some green sweetwater plant decorating the top of his head.

You weren't ready to hit the water just yet, which is why Nancy and you decided to just plop down on the pier for a moment with crossed legs, while Max joined Robin and the boys.

Observing the scene happening in front of you, there were Dustin, Lucas and Jonathan, all of them fusioning their powers to swim after a screeching Will who was trying his best to escape being cruelly dunked by his brother and friends, Robin trying to stand on Steve's probably slippery shoulders while Eddie and Max were aiming for the same acrobatic performance.

Nancy next to you let out a chuckle at the sight before turning her head in your direction, "today was so nice, don't you think?"

With a nod you replied to her and leaned back on your arms behind you.

"Yeah it was beautiful! You just don't get those views in Hawkins."

"Yeah, absolutely not. The closest thing you're getting there is Lover's lake with a bunch of drunks fishing in their tiny boats, and that's about it", she paused, "are you in with us for the flower crowns tomorrow?"

Midsummer was still a few weeks away, but that didn't stop you from plucking and braiding.

You and the girls had been having this fantasy of spending this excessive amount of time in nature with flower crowns on your heads, inspired by Scandinavian summer solstice traditions. For weeks you all had been painting this picture in your conversations, anticipation bubbling up every time the topic came up. The picture of the four of you with the flowers of summer in your hair, in the deep green shades and distinct scent of the forest surrounding your every breath these days, had rented a big part of your mind, long before you had stepped on the bus, bringing you here.

"Hm? Oh yeah, definitely."

Losing yourself a little in the thought again, you hadn't yet taken notice of how two figures from the group of people in the water in front of you were missing.

You would learn soon, though.

Because before you knew it, a pair of strong, wet hands hooked themselves in the space of your armpits, lifting you up to stand, while another set of arms wasn't too shy to grab both your legs off the ground, wrapping themselves around your knees.

"Let's get you nice and wet, shall we?", you heard Steve's voice come out behind you in an absurdly husky tone, while–

"Time for your bath, princess!"

Eddie.

You were so taken by surprise, you couldn't even get anything in form of a verbal protest out.

The only thing you saw before your vision went black due to your reflexes was Eddie's mischievous grin between strands of his dark and wet curly mane, Steve's pearly whites being flashed at you equally prominent. Their laughter got muffled by the water invading your ear canals, and the sudden shock of the cold liquid surrounding every inch of your sun warmed skin was forcing a gasp out of your lungs.

When you returned to the surface, both of the boys held onto their bellies, high-fiving one another and still laughing on that pier like two fucking dipshits at you as well as at Nancy who apparently got to suffer the same fate as you, being dropped into the ocean mere seconds later.

With the back of your fingers you wiped the water out of your eyes along with strands of your hair that were clinging onto your cheeks for dear life, while you gathered back clear vision.

Unknowing to the two boys, Jonathan, Lucas and Dustin were currently in the process of sneaking up behind them. With big splashes both Eddie and Steve were forced to ungracefully breach the waves next to you, letting out equally surprised gasps for air before they had to instinctively hold their breaths.

You burst out into another laughing fit when the metalhead slowly appeared next to you just as soaked as half an hour ago, his hair now covering his entire face.

You took one stroke towards him while Jonathan and Dustin landed in the water not too far from you, shortly after being followed by Lucas and Max cannonballing their way in to join everyone.

The laughter and giggles filled the warm air, and you took both your hands to wipe Eddie's mane out of his face, just to reveal his brown chocolate orbs and a dorky smile, gazing at you from underneath.

The ground of the lake where you were finding yourself was close enough for you both to stand on, which made not sinking a lot easier.

"Thanks, sweetheart" was the only thing he brought out before putting a hand on your waist, pulling you closer before wrapping both his arms around your middle, while you responded by wrapping yours around his shoulders.

You thought he was going to bury his face in the crook of your neck with how close he was leaning in just now, connecting his lips to your skin, but all he really did was briefly running his nose over the side of your neck in an upwards motion. Giving you a little nudge while letting out another one of his hums.

It was almost like he wanted to do more than that, it was almost like you could feel him holding himself back. It was almost like you wanted him not to.

His warm breath hit the wet skin on your collarbone and it sent a slight shiver right through your system at the sheer thought of what exactly he was holding back.

And just when you felt him let go of you a bit more, you saw your chance at taking at least a little bit of revenge on him. For conspiring against you with Steve Harrington.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, found purchase on the ground, and your own weight forced him to go head below surface once again.

"Oh darling, that was an unwise decision", was all you heard before he returned the favour, his entire weight on yours as he drowned you beneath him, just before bringing one of his unnecessarily muscular arms around you to pull you back up again swiftly.

Soon after a few more dunks that you practised on Steve and Dustin, your swimming session came to an end when the sun had disappeared behind the trees and the sunset-ish colours of the horizon had faded into several shades of purple and blue.

After fresh showers that helped with rinsing off the lake water and smuck and sweat of the day, the older boys had decided to drop you off at the flower cabin, a nickname for your particular accommodation facility Lucas had come up with during the first bonfire.

To say goodnight or something.

Eddie held you in his grasp, pressed you into his chest for a second, letting you know that you meant something to him, shooting you one last glance, a hint of wistfulness in it, before disappearing surprisingly quickly into the dusk of the forest, towards the cabin he shared with the others.

You hugged Steve and Jonathan goodnight as well, the latter wearing a smirk on his face and you instantly wondered about the reason.

When you looked at your own pillow, you stopped wondering. A polaroid photo had been placed there for decoration, and you let yourself plop down on the mattress to inspect it more closely.

Jonathan had only recently started shooting polaroid in the first place, and the sun had delivered enough light for him to avoid using flash for this one, which had the colours of everything come out more natural.

The photo showed Eddie in his bus seat. You in yours, resting with his arm wrapped around you, his head on yours, both with your headphones on, both passed out. Steve, Dustin, Will and Robin behind you with widened eyes, tongues out and peace signs up.

Unable to hide the smile that spread on your face, you placed the photo on the little nightstand accompanying the bed.

Everyone knew. You knew. Eddie probably knew. But who would say it first?

-----

taglist: @josephfakingquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @spellbounddd, @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint, @mystars123, @gothmingguk, @kennafild, @chloe-6123, @michaelfuckinglangdon and @bakugouswh0r3

#eddie munson x reader #the law of seat partners #part 3 everyone wow #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fluff #please be kind #and reblog #and let me know your thoughts #pls #this was a wild ride and took me a lot of nerves #nora writes

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

#Doodles #SCII #Helix #ZEX #Dexter Favin #And a drabble-fic under the cut #I ended up writing that the night after I read - I was a bit too inspired while busy so it's a little on the unfocused side haha #I would've cleaned it but I worry it wouldn't make it out of that stage! Please enjoy it for now <3 #This set is mostly periphery ideas - inspired by events rather than directly shown ♪ I suppose the first two kinda count tho #But they're more directly of the little scene I wrote ouò Poor ZEX </3 #And Dex! He's usually so capable! But he's stretching himself so thin ahh it's hard to watch in the best way #Of course he doesn't want to give ''Max'' over to just anyone - anyone at all really - both of their trusts have bottomed out #But how much could he reasonably care for him in that state? When he's still being actively haunted and most importantly - Not Max #He needs helps he needs support he needs to sleep and shower but a second with his eyes off Max and - then what? He'll immolate from fear #It's hard to imagine him crying but pushed to this extreme? To the thought of losing Max utterly and completely? Hhhhh #I do also just love him being possessive even outside of how terrible the situation is - he's always had his glimpses but this situation #Brings out the worst in him <3 In terrible ways #Really his method is just setting ''Max'' up nearby and prompting him over the sound of the shower like that's not nerve-wracking at all #Like he already doesn't answer half the time if that #As for the mini fic I was really interested in Dex's line about indulging ''Max's'' delusions #Apart from the fact that they're not delusions - not that anyone believes him outside of the Institute - what it means to indulge is weird #I saw one example of how to handle delusions that stuck with me - how not to deny them outright while also not reinforcing them #Since it's not actually helpful to be told ''That isn't Really happening to you'' when to you - to ZEX - it really is! How invalidating #And so rather to take the approach of ''I don't see/feel/hear what you are - I can't find any evidence of it myself'' and extrapolating #Dex taking the approach of ''What reality are you experiencing right now?'' and trying to build from there! #Unfortunately ZEX has already been treated like....well like all that - he's not in the mood for games even well-intentioned ones #He /knows/ he's in a human body. He can feel that and see that and understands that. It doesn't change who - what he /is/ #The idea of a completely broken ZEX is so sad to me :( He's so strong and prideful and vivacious - Max really is another him </3 #It's not the same but he was saved from death! To fall into torture... But even despite that I want to see him succeed! As much as he can #Even in that small and shaking way I want to see him be hateful and spiteful - angry. Powerful <3 Fighting ♥

[lynpheas]

i have a paper to write but. i cannot stop thinking about musa and stella. their dynamic is SO underrated…

they both have such strong personalities except musa is a lot more understated and subtle while stella is more exuberant and outgoing!! but in a subversion of expectations, stella is so down to support musa being in the spotlight — like in their s2 red fountain performance where stella did backup vocals/dancing while musa sang her heart out.

they both have familial issues & come from very different backgrounds, which simultaneously threads them together through a commonality and then sets them apart. for example, they both understand somewhat unconventional family dynamics and the absence of a parent, their mothers. stella’s parents were so busy arguing and just generally being unhappy in their relationship that they overlooked stella and how they made her feel and how their actions affected her. the loss of stella’s mother in her life is something we can infer that stella has had very little room to openly discuss with her parents, and so she has all of these internalized and idealized hopes for a future that we know will never come to pass. but she’s navigating these feelings without proper support from luna and radius. similarly, after musa’s mother’s passing, musa’s father reacted to his grief without taking into account how these events affected musa. ho-boe blamed music for matlin’s passing and so he rejected it completely, imposing that will upon musa and straining their relationship because of it. musa’s only avenue of feeling close with her mother is through music, but her feelings are disregarded and so she has to navigate this relationship with music and also her late mother all on her own.

however, for stella, she is a princess and her parents are merely divorced; so, although she rarely sees her mom and her parents don’t get along, she still has the option to go see her. i think you could say, on top of needing to be charismatic and charming as a leader, stella’s exuberant personality might’ve developed as a result of her wanting more of her parents’ attention, to be seen and understood by them. i think the 4kids dub may say otherwise, but i think it’s fairly clear that musa comes from a more modest background. and contrastingly to stella, musa has completely lost her mother and so their connection is almost…spiritual? and introspective. without her father’s guidance and understanding, musa would more have to retreat into herself. still, both of them are individuals with strong senses of self—their specific familial situations have simply informed their coping strategies and the personalities they’ve developed.

with or without that background in mind, i also just love the way stella and musa’s personalities play off of each other! because of their strong personalities, they’re prone to disagreement and small clashes. musa’s more sensitive, while stella is—although well-intentioned—more thoughtless with her words. i find musa to be more measured, but perhaps equally as blunt at times. these personality differences might result in small but realistic bumps and tiffs within their friendship, but they also have a shared understanding of one another that gives their relationship a strong foundation. and again, despite musa seeming more chill and stella seeming more prone to wanting the spotlight, stella is absolutely musa’s cheerleader!

#textp #winx club #stella #musa #and i just think in terms of fic this is such a fun dynamic to write #they feel like such real teenage girls #just stella maybe saying something that rubs musa the wrong way #musa snapping a little #them just getting on each other’s nerves #but ultimately understanding each other and loving each other #and learning how to navigate the minefields of each other’s emotions and triggers #i really need to write my fucking paper good lord #BUT THEY <3 #also it’s 4am so i do not think this is coherent at all

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday (+ bonus poll)

thanks for the tags @jamespearce9-1-1 @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks (please go check their works if you haven't... sooooo good!)

alright folks, the Lutalia smut fic is done! It just needs to finish up with my beta and it'll be ready. So, one last very nsfw snippet (and a please help me name this thing poll!) under the cut before it posts. Prev snippets here and here

Lucy stops what she’s doing altogether to tsk loudly in admonishment, though there’s no heat behind it. “So impatient.”   “Mmph. Yeah. Yes. Want you.” “You already have me, darlin’,” Lucy teases. Her hands curl around the backs of Natalia’s thighs as a reminder of who’s in charge. She uses the leverage to shift the angle, delving her tongue between Nat’s inner lips, fucking into her. It does nothing to ease the pleasant ache in her jaw and adds to the  sloppy mess of spit and wetness on her chin.  The feeling is simultaneously divine and unholy, but ultimately temporary. The mild possessiveness flares back to life, suddenly making Lucy wish there was a way to permanently mark Natalia. Something that would warn others not to dare approach what’s hers. Not that Lucy is interested in having Natalia as hers, per se. She just doesn’t enjoy the thought of anyone else ever having her.

no pressure tagging @disasterbuckdiaz @heartshapedvows @wikiangela @fortheloveofbuddie @monsterrae1 @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @loserdiaz @your-catfish-friend @statueinthestone @buddierights @911onabc @hoodie-buck @the-likesofus @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @eowon @honestlydarkprincess @spaceprincessem @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @rmd-writes @apothecarose @welcometololaland loml @lizzie-bennetdarcy @vanillahigh00 @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @exhuastedpigeon @underwater-ninja-13 @messyhairdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @callmenewbie and anyone else who wants to share (also i redid the tags because they were wonky so if you got tagged twice i’m sorry!)

fic taglist @lemonzestywrites @maygrantgf @buckbuckgoose

#hippo writes #lutalia fic #baby needs a name #hippo polls #lutalia #lucy x natalia #wip wednesday #furthering the lutalia agenda #BUT #every snippet makes me wanna puke from anxiety and nerves

[anistarrose]

We've all heard of mischaracterization of characters in a ship to further that ship, but also... what about mischaracterization of their wingperson? There are too many examples to list, but for one thing...

What about when fics keep making the wingperson, being treated as the "voice of reason," tell their best friend or family member "obviously your crush reciprocates romantic love for you, or they would never have done (insert act of intimacy or devotion) for you" — but the act of intimacy or devotion is literally just something the wingperson themselves would absolutely do for a friend or family in canon? Something that the wingperson, and the character being told this is proof of romance, would themselves do out of platonic love for each other in a heartbeat?

You ruined a perfectly good mutual pining fic is what you did. Look at it. It's got unexamined amatonormativity.

#that's not to say you can't write good fics on characters feeling insecure- #-about platonic/familial bonds in comparison to romantic ones! #i enjoy those! there are some really good fics based on that concept! #but fics where characters implicitly putting down platonic intimacy are treated not as insecure #but instead as the only one with a *brain* for seeing the “obvious romantic truth”... those get on my nerves so much #i don't need to say the characters/ship i'm talking about. it's obvious #but i assure you i only complain because i love said characters/ship and think they deserve so much better

[thetangycheesemanwithaplan]

Everyone knows that Chimney isn't the best person when it comes to keeping secrets. He tries, he really does but the words often slip out before his brain has caught up with what's happening. It is amazing how quickly a witty comment can let the cat out of the bag- and that's exactly what Buck and Eddie are hoping for.

#911 #911 abc #eddie diaz #chimney han #buddie #evan buckley #Leo writes #i did it #i did a thing #my first fic in forever #so many nerves #ao3 #fan fiction

[essektheylyss]

migraine day means sketch time feat. the newest addition to my list of "wizards that live in my head rent-free"

I only noticed today that Suvi has a little smoking incense holder in her hair and I'm not gonna lie, I'm obsessed with it.

#it's the lapsed catholic tbh. yes I WAS an altar server. #spent way too much time on this for how rough it still is but I also didn't really open csp intending to do anything serious so #it's fiiiiine #do not know why I have nO problem sitting doing art for a couple hours with a migraine but writing? forget it lol #worth it tho suvi's design slaps. the cheekbones on this woman. #suvirin kedberiket #worlds beyond number #my art #I know I say it every time I post literally any art but. wild that I could fully be decent at art if I was at ALL capable of consistency #aggressively sitting here like 'do not over-render do not over-render do not over-render—' #gee megs you know how you'd manage that more consistently? ACTUALLY FUCKING DRAWING— #me? posting this during off hours before I lose my nerve? more likely than you'd think #yes I can yeet whatever fic directly onto ao3 but art is SCARY this ain't my medium alright

[pretty--in--purple]

#that boy was on his LAST nerve #100% if he’d met mori or hirotsu or someone he’d have joined the mafia instantly #if I ever write bsd fic it’ll be a pm!atsushi fic w this premise #bsd #bungo stray dogs #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #nakajima atsushi #armed detective agency #bungou stray dogs #bsd memes #sky (the blogger) originals

[apoptoses]

Something that's been on my mind is seeing the idea that in order for smut to be valid to write it has to have a purpose. It has to say something about the characters, it has to serve as a tool for the plot, it has to have some deep meaning beyond the sex acts involved.

And honestly, that's not true no matter how much some very vocal people might insist that smut without a 'purpose' is just porn and porn is shameful to make and consume.

It's okay to write smut because you think the concept is hot. It's okay to write it just because you want to give your readers jerk off material about their favorite characters. It's absolutely, 100% fine to write smut for smut's sake.

And sure, you want it to be in character, you want to write it so that you can't just file the names off and replace them with anyone. But you can just write something because you think character X should fuck character Y in this very specific way and have that be the end of it.

Call it smut, call it porn, call it whatever. Write the stuff you want to write. You don't have to do literary gymnastics in order to make it 'valid' for anyone, and you especially don't have to make excuses to yourself to justify writing it in the first place.

#*grandpa simpson voice* back in my day we called it pwp and we tagged it that way and the people LOVED it #i fucking love writing smut and like yeah sometimes plot happens in the build up #but make no mistake about it #nine times out of ten i wrote the fic because i wanted to write the filth #the plot was incidental #and mostly for dirty purposes anyways to create anticipation #there's a reason i have daniel wracked with nerves in the build up to every thing i do #so that it's a release when he does give in and commit the act #but all that build up is 100% psychosexual in nature #anyways i feel sad seeing some people try to always insist their smut has a point so it's okay to write it or draw it or whatever #make the filth celebrate making the filth just go for it!! #anne rice did for four entire books!!! #and she wasn't ashamed and didn't need them to have literary value #on fanfiction #writing stuff

[crazycriter]

there's only been fluff on the treech tag as of late and can i say i'm loving the change

#treech happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #last angst fic was the treemina/everlark series that was happy ending 🥳🥳 #hannah ily for that #then. last pure angst fic was the nerve rip #i acc kind of hate the nerve why do i write like that #nvm treech happy :D #frankie yaps

[buckactuallys]

yearning from wanting you

for @clusterbuck

Afterwards, when Buck is lying half on top of Eddie, come sticky between them, and Eddie can’t bring himself to stop touching Buck, Buck murmurs, “It doesn’t have to be a one night stand. This was good, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, probably the best sex he’s ever had, actually.

“So it could be…a friends with benefits thing. People do it all the time.”

Probably not with their best friend, Eddie thinks, but then again he doesn’t think there’s anything they could break by making this a regular thing that wouldn’t have already broken after last night.

“Sure,” he says, hoping it comes out sounding casual. “Friends with benefits sounds good.”

~

while christopher is at camp, buck and eddie strike up a friends with benefits situation. it doesn't really get complicated until the kid comes back.

buddie. 18k. read on ao3

#buddie #911fic #buddie fic #911 #pia writes #helloooo here is the secret fic that was secret because it’s my love letter to emma 💞 #ngl this trope was a nerve wracking one for me but i hope it turned out decent #also i was so scared i wasn't gonna finish this in time that i overcorrected hard and finished it more than a month early lmao #so i have been sitting on this for ages now i'm kinda excited to get it out in the world