#At least not very often. I think I get at least one comment every chapter and I'm so grateful for the interest <33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[oblivions-dawn]

I wish I could interrogate every reader and ask them EVERYTHING ABOUT CHARACTERS EVENTS FUNNIES EVERYTHIIIIIIING

[an-ruraiocht]

90% of the time when i see reviews and posts saying "this book needed editing" i don't think the reader have any idea what editing actually entails. usually this is actually code for one of several "problems" with the book:

it's too long, or it's slower paced than this reader's preference. they believe "editing" would mean making it shorter

it has a heavily descriptive style, which the reader doesn't like. they believe "editing" means paring every sentence down to hemingway-style prose with no adverbs

it doesn't follow the very rigid "save the cat" style 3-act story structure, disrupting the reader's sense of narrative tension. an editor, they believe, would've made sure it did

there were a few typos or formatting errors, and they believe it's the editor's job to catch these (it's not, it's typically the proofreader and the typesetter who have responsibility for that kind of thing)

and finally, most often:

the author had different narrative priorities than the reader, who thinks an editor would have made the author change their priorities.

the thing is, there are actually issues with editors in trad publishing being overworked to the point where things aren't getting the thorough, thoughtful editing that they need to be the best version of themselves. there are plenty of badly-structured, poorly-researched, and clumsily written books out there. moreover copyediting is typically freelance and perhaps because of that, this is the area where i see the largest number of issues: continuity issues, grammar issues, factual errors etc that someone should've spotted and didn't.

but this is not typically what people's "this needed an editor" reviews are focusing on. most often it just means they didn't like the book and they've decided editing is an all-powerful force that would have transformed it into a book they liked. but that's not how it works. and disproportionately what this comment means is that the book doesn't match what current fashions have decided is The Correct Style to write in

"this book needed an editor" if it's traditionally published, it had one. like. by definition. it was an editor who bought the book. that doesn't mean the editor did a great job but they definitely existed. there were probably at least two (acquiring editor who does the dev edits; copyeditor who does copyedits), and the proofreader, and a bunch of other people besides.

also i think people think editors are the ones who like. implement the changes. but they don't. they give comments and recommendations and ask questions and the author is the one to act on them. the editor will not rewrite the book. they will not fix the problems themselves, they will highlight the problem and the author will figure out a fix for it, or they will decide they don't agree that it's a problem and leave it as it. and a lot of the sentence-level style stuff is entirely on the author so if they don't have an ear for the rhythm then nobody's going to fix that for them. editors do a lot less than people seem to imagine they do, tbh

anyway

for reference—

structural/developmental edits: is this chapter in the right place and does the plot make sense and is the characterisation consistent and effective

line edits: is this sentence in the right place and is it as stylish as it could be

copy edits: is this sentence grammatically correct and consistent/factually correct within the story/its world and do the spellings follow the publisher's stylesheet

proofreading: are there any typos in this sentence and was the formatting preserved correctly when it was typeset

[chaotic-archaeologist]

https://nypost.com/2024/08/28/world-news/boy-4-accidentally-smashes-bronze-age-jar-that-was-at-least-3500-years-old/

Your thoughts?

Personally, I'm kinda sick of museums being required to cater to kids so much. If you're going to do this open air exhibit, kids who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves just shouldn't be allowed in. The glass is there for this very reason.

Actually, I'm with the museum on this one. Is it unfortunate that the vase was broken? Yes. Was the vase a valuable piece of the past? Also yes. But I think the museum did something very cool by not having the artifacts behind glass and are handling this with good grace and the sense to make this a learning opportunity.

Sometimes we overlook the fact that museums often attempt to arrest or freeze artifacts in time. They are kept in controlled conditions to prevent them from deteriorating and even treated to reverse damage. Many things on display on museums are elevated beyond their original value, alienated from their original purpose, and closed off from interaction.

It's incredible that this jar survived as long as it did—and its age is what makes it special—but at the end of the day, it is still a jar. It has now experienced the thing that happens to pretty much every jar that has been or will be. After all, decay is an extant form of life. (If you want to read a very well written and interesting take on decay and archaeology, check out this article by Caitlin DeSilvey.)

The article I linked above provides some important context and the update that the museum is planning on using this as an opportunity to teach about the conservation process. The jar's story is not over; it is being pieced back together and in this next chapter in its life it will be able to tell two stories: one of its life and the other of its rebirth. The museum's approach embraces that, exactly like the Japanese art of Kintsugi.

I also agree with the museum's decision not to punish the child or his family. Things go wrong in museums all the time despite their highly controlled environments, and this is why they have artifacts insured. Sometimes the thing that happens is a child, and by and large museums do not seek damages.

I would encourage you to rethink your stance on museums and children. Museums are for everyone. Children have a right to experience museums and what they have to offer just like anyone else. There are also many studies that discuss how going to museums benefits children.

In this case, perhaps the exhibit design was slightly flawed, but the four year old boy accidentally knocked the jar over because he was curious about what was inside and wanted to investigate. Curiosity is exactly what museums should be encouraging. In an ideal world that curiosity would have been channeled into some other kind of engagement, but the folks who work in museums have a lot on their plates and cannot plan everything perfectly all the time. Even if they could, they often do not have the resources to do so.

Finally, the AP article mentions that the boy and his family were visiting the museum to get away from Hezbollah rocket fire. Regardless of your opinions on the current conflict, everyone deserves to have a safe place to exist. That museums can serve as those spaces is an honor.

I commend the Hecht Museum and the people working there. They 1) successfully provided a place of learning and refuge, 2) opted not for a punitive approach—which is often the default Western model for justice—but a compassionate one, and 3) are using this twist of fate to create programming that will further engage the public.

@museeeuuuum and @museum-spaces would you care to comment?

-Reid

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 3/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 2100+

A/N Note: I was typing away for the next chapter to come, so chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow (it will also be longer too)! Thank you again for all the support and love you've shown me for this series :) Love all you guys!

_________________

Bucky’s POV:

Why’d I think she’d be able to handle an adult conversation as soon as I started getting serious? When will I fucking learn?

I waited until Y/N shut her door before I went back out to the living room. She drove me insane, but I decided to keep up the habit of staying up late for her. 

During one of her drunken nights at one of Tony’s galas, she had revealed that she preferred sleeping when someone else was awake. In exposing her reason why, it made me sympathize with her trauma. 

“It’s like having a night watch. If someone else is aware, I can put my guard down. Not that that even happens often enough, but oh well,” Y/N drunkenly swayed the side of her silk dress from left to right as she watched the people on the dancefloor.

I knew the feeling of never being able to fully settle into sleep or relaxation because you’d seen all the horrors in the world. We knew what lurked out there and the consequences of someone getting the jump on you.

So, from the first night here, I would stay up in the living room until midnight, sometimes later. Like clockwork, soon after 11 pm, she’d startle awake from a nightmare. I could hear her breathing and heart rate thanks to my enhancements, and I may or may not have channeled them into her room, given the nightmares she’d had in the past. 

So far, there were none so bad to the point I had to go in and check on her, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tuned in to her room and checking every night in case the tides turned. 

Even on the nights she frustrated me like tonight and made me reconsider why I was about to talk to her about… this. This chemistry that was starting to feel closer to real than fake. A feeling I can’t seem to shake, and now I’m wondering if I’m imagining it. Especially when she can’t seem to turn off her annoyance for me even when I think we finally have met in the middle to some extent.

Then again, I lead on that I don’t understand her when it’s quite the opposite. Her story is not far from most of the people who are recruited into our team. A form of a hostage situation where her choices were taken, and she was conditioned to serve some sadistic asshole until she was freed by her own doing. At least her own variation of that… Anyone coming from that kind of situation tends to bond easily over the trauma. 

Not Y/N though…

I never start by being rude to someone. I mean, I’ve been told I’m intimidating and can come off as a terrifying giant assassin, but people in the same field who have seen far worse don’t tend to take that personally, considering almost everyone I work with knows my backstory and the reason behind my resting-assassin-face. 

But Y/N, for some reason, was very standoffish with me from the get-go. For the first few months of us knowing each other, she ignored me, left the room when I came in, found an excuse for another partner on missions, and a list of other things that quickly made me believe she wanted nothing to do with me. 

I may have reciprocated her behavior here and there, growing her annoyance with me even though I didn’t know where the annoyance had begun. I couldn’t help it, given the nasty looks and pure irritation that steamed off her when she looked my way.

I think the sentiment behind her feelings towards me still stands. But then her comment tonight, “I don’t hate you,” got to me.

I threw the laptop I had tried to use to distract myself again to the side. The TV was on, but all I heard was the patterned thumping in my chest starting to grow. 

“No. I want to know fucking why,” I grumbled, standing up abruptly and stomping down the hall to the master bedroom.

The door was shut, and from how she looked, she may have already tucked into bed for the night, but oh well. We were going to talk this out. I couldn’t go another day trying to decipher these feelings and confusions. 

I heard a “Jesus!” from the other side after my metal arm rapped three strong knocks in the center of the light sage-colored door. I banged again when I didn’t hear movement to follow up with it. 

“Calm down, Paul Bunyan! No need to chop the damn door down. I was seconds from sleep,” she groaned before the door flung open, and she squinted up at me with the hall light bringing brightness to her near pitch-dark room. “What? What is it?” Before I could start my sentence, she tensed and looked around me vigilantly. “Shit. Did something happen?” 

I shook my head quickly and instantly saw her shoulders go back and the grogginess return. 

“I want to talk.” 

She screwed her eyebrows up at me. “Dude. Seriously?” 

“Seriously, dude,” I replied sarcastically, pushing past her into her room, turning on the light, and hearing a protest I was too annoyed to listen to.

“It can’t wait until fucking morning when my brain isn’t at 2%?” she crossed her arms, watching me from the doorway. 

“Be real. Your brain doesn’t go below 75% even when you’re sleeping,” I answered, knowing the reality of never being able to shut off fully. Being constantly aware and on the edge of your seat, ready to pounce. 

She eyed me since it wasn’t a diss, and I could see her debating whether or not it was a compliment. 

“What do you-” 

“You say you don’t hate me, but it sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it. From day one, it has felt the very opposite of that,” I cut her off with a harsh laugh at the end, getting right to the chase. 

I’m standing at the end of her bed, arms crossed, and keeping an intense stare on her. Her stance straightens, and she shuffles her weight on her feet, arms mimicking mine. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said in a guarded tone. “What changed?” 

“I can’t go on with this if I don’t know,” I answered honestly, motioning between us. 

“I argue you have to go on with this either way,” she popped a hip, leaning against the threshold of the door frame. 

“Y/N,” I level my eyes at her, and I can see her take in the seriousness in my features. “Just tell me why.” 

She looks at me with a tilt of her head as if considering her options in how she wants to approach this conversation. 

“We just don’t- mesh well…” she says slowly as if trying to sell it, but even she knew she was lying out of her ass. 

“Bullshit. Try again,” I shook my head once and kept my eyes trained on her. 

“Bullshit? You wanted to know-”

“I wanted to know the truth. You’re selling bullshit, and not very well, might I add. Be honest. Now.” 

She huffed a laugh before blinking at me. 

“We’re the same ranking if you’ve forgotten. Therefore, I won’t be taking commands from you, especially with that tone. But since you’re so hellbent on knowing my reasoning, maybe consider how you talk to me.” She took three slow steps closer to me as she spoke. “So ask me again without being a military servant, and maybe I’ll consider staying civil with you.” 

She is one of a very select few kinds of people actually able to intimidate me. Her story was one to compete against mine. Though not many knew all the details since she was adamant about people being in the dark about it, we all knew what she was capable of. Her enhancements, although similar to mine, were not nearly as strong in most aspects. However, that didn’t deter her from being able to take a man quadruple my size down and keep them there.

I knew enough about her brain to know that it was one of the sharpest ones I had come across in my time. Everyone on the team had enough experience in this life to be able to manipulate a lot of situations, but Y/N was the queen of manipulating a situation to work out better for her and her team. It was like she was five steps ahead constantly, and it could be intimidating at times- not going to lie. A strategy someone in our field would think they had down until they saw her ridiculous efficiency at work. Hence, why she was her own kind of weapon for our team.

I give a single nod in acknowledgment, knowing my intensity would be matched and not work in my favor. 

“You say you don’t hate me, and after these few weeks, I’m starting to believe you somewhat. However, our history keeps me from following that hope,” I answer. 

She seems to take something from my confession and lock it in her mind for later use. 

“Our history is complicated,” she replies, looking me up and down subtly and then moving to the side of the bed where the sheets were disturbed. 

I now notice the detail that only one side of the bed was disrupted while the other stayed perfectly made. My own detail to lock away for later. 

“But why? Who said it had to start like that?” My hands go up. She gives me a look like I should know the answer to that and I raise my eyebrows. “You think I’m to blame for our bickering and aimless fights?”

She scoffs, “I wouldn’t say aimless. There are definitely targets to be hit.” 

“Cut the shit.” 

“No shit to cut,” she counters quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg under her and shrugging. 

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation, and you’re acting like an angsty teenager.” I deadpan, attempting to keep the twitch in my eye at bay.

“And you’re acting like a crotchety old man who demands my respect,” she shouts back. “Ever think maybe that could be the reasoning behind our never-ending feuds?” 

“How could I? You don’t talk to me unless you're dissing me, fighting me, or attempting to make me look bad,” I give a large fake smile. 

“Take a fucking hint then, Grandpa,” she enunciates her curse. 

So I do. I backtrack our conversation and come to a conclusion. Maybe it's not an accurate one, but it's an idea nonetheless. 

“You think I demand respect from you? When have I ever told you that you have to have respect for me?” I asked, more confused than angry now- but definitely not low in anger either.

She stares at me, contemplating her answer. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t get into this,” she waves between us minutely, diverting her eyes to the bathroom door on the wall to the left.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight if-”

“Not much different than most nights. Welcome to the crew,” she huffed, shifting to adjust her blankets over her in an irritated mood. 

“Why are you so against talking this out?” I growl, forgetting all sense of mental clarity and stomping to her side of the bed, aggressively throwing her blankets off her. “Stop trying to go to bed and talk to me like an adult.”

“An adult?” She takes in a high-pitched breath and stands straight in front of me. “You’re the one who just threw my blankets off like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get a cookie after dinner! Sorry to break it to you.” Her finger jabbed into my chest. “But I owe you nothing, Barnes! I owe no explanation. I owe no respect. I owe no reason for how I choose to act around you.” 

I was pissed. Royally pissed, and yet… I couldn’t seem to see past the pure sadness in her eyes. The actual pain that she tried so hard to hide, but in her state- the state I had put her in- she was losing the battle. She was losing it and yet not breaking her eyes from mine, knowing I could see it.

My intensity shriveled slowly as seconds passed, and she didn’t try to fight the tremble on her lip. 

“What did I do?” I asked softly, my hands instinctively coming to her arms, but the touch made her break the eye contact and turn fast, making my hands drop. “Y/N, what did I do?” 

And I meant it. What had I done, and how could I change it?

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

[elexuscal]

The "Top" fics in fandom are not the "Best"

I've seen a couple of posts here in there implying that the ways to find the best fics in fandoms are just to go to ao3, and sort by 'Most Kudoses', 'Most Bookmarks', 'Most Comments', etc. I've also seen some folks say they feel like their fics are failures if they don't make it to the front page(s), or at least near there.

But the simple fact: this is not true.

Now, I'm not saying that the top-rated fics in a fandom are bad.

Far from it! They're often very popular for a reason. Well written, fun dynamics, cool plots, etc. A lot of my own favourite fics have made it to the first page when you sort by "Most Kudos"-- but then, a lot of mine also haven't.

Why?

Because those selections are inherently biased.

What do I mean by that? Just that there are other factors influencing what stories accumulate the most comments/kudoses/etc in a fandom, meaning none of these serve as a neutral metric of quality.

I'm going to explain some of these biases briefly, just so folks get a sense of what I mean:

Age Bias This, I think, is the easiest to grasp. A fic that is three years old just has had more time to gain views than a fic that's three days old. Also, consider that pretty much any fandom needs time to grow. If you're in the first days/weeks/months of a fandom, there probably just isn't that much content being made. If there's only 10 fics on the archive, then 11th one stands out. It'll get a lot of attention. But if that same fic were to come out a couple years later, when there were 11 fics published in a single day, well, people are more likely to miss it. If you doubt me, take a look at the front page of 'Most Kudos' for a fandom of your choice. You'll probably see a lot of the stories there are on the older side- and this is exactly why.

Multi-Chapter Bias There are a lot of ways people find new fics to read, and one of the most basic is just: look at the front page of the most recent updates. Now, this way of sorting fics is exactly what it sounds like. A list of fics in order of when they were most recently posted/updated. But, obviously, if a fic has multiple chapters, it's going to appear on that front page way more often. A 50 chapter epic has 49 more chances to get seen this way than a one-shot. This issue becomes even more intense when you consider the Most Comments sort option. For a one shot, a person is probably likely to only comment once. Maybe if they really love the story and revisit, they'll leave a second or third. But multi-factor fics? By design, people come back every update. And that means a lot of people leave comments every single time. (Or at the very least, after big plot developments and twists!) This is what leads to long-running multi-chapter epics dominating the 'Most Comments' rankings in most fandoms.

Popular Pairing Bias Again, this is just obvious. Some pairings are more popular than others. A rare-pair fic can be just as soulful, hot, and well-written as a story featuring the fandom's powerhouse fic, but if only 30 people are interested, well... [shrug] Less people will click on it, kudos it, and leave a comment. To a lesser extent, you can expand this to any trope. 'Coffee Shop AUs' just seem to be more popular than, say, '1930s Mobster AUs'. That effects what tags people search, and what fics they find. But shipping is such an important element of many fandom cultures I thought it would be the most illustrative.

Positive Feedback Loop Bias And honestly, this is maybe the real clincher. Because I've established some of the things that can cause a story to start gathering lots of kudos, comments, and bookmarks in a first place. But once that starts, you get a positive feedback loop going. Because what's one of the first things a person does when they're looking for good stories in a fandom? They sort by 'Most Kudos'. And then they select the first story on the list, and they like it. So they leave a comment and kudos and... Yeaaaah.

So... What do we do about it?

Well. Nothing really. This isn't really a problem. It's just something to be aware of.

Any attempt to put metrics on something as subjective as art is going to fall short. So don't go rating the quality of your own stories about how well it performs, and don't go chasing those coveted top spots. You'll have a lot more fun if you just write stuff that you enjoy, make some friends, and recognise a lot of factors influence fanfic statistics beyond just quality.

Searching via most comments/kudoses/bookmarks remains one of the easiest and quickest ways to start diving into a new fandom. It's often the first things I do, and found stories I love that way.

That said: I highly encourage you to search for fics beyond just that method. Here are some of my suggestions if you want to figure out ways to get started:

Search up Fanfic Rec Lists. Lots of people put them on their blogs, and websites like TVTropes even have that as a whole feature

Ask for fic recs! Seriously! Post about it in the fandom's tumblr tag, join Discord communities, etc, and just say, "Hey, I'd love to read a story where... [insert the general themes, characters, or plot points you like". People will be EXCITED to share.

Search by specific tags Like, do you really, really love time loops? Search the 'Time Loop' tag in your favourite fandoms. A lot of specific tropes, AUs, etc. are canonized, so you can find a lot of stuff up your alley that way

Browse the most recently updated fics Yeah, I know, it's old school. But seriously, you can find some awesome stuff there-- including stories from new authors just starting out, who could really use a boost!

And hey... if you find some stories you like... Consider writing some fic recommendation lists of your own. Spread the love!

[p3sephone]

My baby. (Dark! Ex! Wanda Maximoff x reader)

Prologue

Summary: you are Wanda's ex and you broke up with her a long time ago. Then Wanda decides it's a good idea to become your neighbor and take her baby back, one way or another.

Warnings: this is a dark! Serie about Wanda Maximoff that will contain dark themes such as violence, breaking in, non-con and similar stuff in the future chapters. Every chapter will have its own warnings to be safe. This is pure fiction and this character does not belong to me. Minors are NOT allowed, only +18. Any kind of interactions such as reblogs, comments or likes are much welcome and appreciated. ��

Prologue warnings: breaking inside, little use of magic.

"I'm home!" you exclaimed with a smile on your face, closing the door behind you. You were happy to be back, you had a wonderful surprise for your roommate. You were sure that she hadn't suspected anything, after all you hadn't mentioned anything in these weeks and you knew how difficult it was. You had lost count of how many gifts and surprises you had ruined because you often spoke before thinking out of excitement.

But this time you didn't think, as you walked briskly towards the living room. The lights were on, she was surely sitting there on the couch watching some movie. You were already anticipating the scene. Your smile quickly dropped as the gift bag slipped from your hand and fell to the floor. The personalized mug inside had surely broken into a thousand pieces, but that was now the least of your problems.

Your roommate was lying there, apparently asleep, but you knew that wasn't the case. Not when Wanda was sitting on the other side of the couch with her arms crossed, then looking straight into your eyes. She had a small smile on her face, sly and arrogant you would say, but you could see all the hatred hidden behind her eyes. You were together, as teenagers, a long time ago. Wanda had lost everything, you too: you had regained everything and left Wanda behind, and Wanda had lost what was left of her, left with total nothingness. Considering that you had left her too. Or at least, that was what Wanda thought; in reality, your version would have been very different from hers, but you weren't really sure she wanted to hear it and even less that she was interested. "What are you doing in my house?" your own cold tone surprised you. It was as if someone else was talking to you and you didn't know how your knees could still hold up. But Wanda wasn't stupid, she could feel how your heart was beating like crazy, this still allowed her to act arrogant. She stood up from your couch and walked over to your boyfriend’s sleeping form, approaching you and freely ignoring your question.

“Is this your house? Our apartment was better.” It was a suggestion, obviously. It wasn’t the first time Wanda had tried to make you change your mind and tell you that the two of you were meant to be together, and at first you believed it. The first, the second and even the third time. Then you finally realized that she would tell you anything and lie shamelessly just to have you back by her side and reduce you to an object again.

You had loved that woman, but it was over. And she had to understand that.

“No, this house is better, with my roommate who I sincerely hope will wake up soon.” You made a suggestion and she immediately took it, laughing in your face.

“She’ll be fine, I just put her to sleep... I wanted to be alone with you, I missed you.” she said playing with your hair, and you could almost see the sincerity in her now slightly sad face. But you couldn't fall for it again and you had certainly been through too much because of her.

"But I haven't missed you, Wanda. Get out of my house."

You had caught her attention now, her fingers slowly stopped playing with your hair finally letting it go. Now you saw the real Wanda. Her hateful gaze with a red aura was intensely scrutinizing you and you swore they could see much more than your eyes or your face. Her eyes immediately became clear again and Wanda gave you a sweet smile, waving her right hand and using her magic. You remembered what that magic had done to you, you still had the scars.

"I can also go out, after all we will see each other every day. It's a pleasure to meet you again, neighbor!" she teased you giggling, then walking out of your door without you even accompanying her. You stood there in shock, standing numb in the doorway to the living room, watching the front door close and then the couch, where your roommate was now starting to wake up.

The nightmare had begun again.

[suzdin]

Two for One: Part Five

Neighbor!Dave York x Human!Max Phillips x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, ANGST!, mentions of drug use/abuse, alcoholism!, family death, invasions of privacy, breaking and entering, mentions of murder/violence, oral (f receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Max, threesome, anal, vaginal, breath play, alcohol and nicotine consumption, double penetration, anal creampie, dirty talk, I think that’s it

Words: 6,375 (sorry it’s short)

Notes: holy shit I don’t even know what to say other than I’m very grateful and touched by how many of you have reached out to me, and that I’m so so so sorry it took me this long to add a new chapter. Hopefully it’s worth the wait. I’m hoping to be more regular in the future! I did my best to remember who to tag, yell at me in the comments if I forgot you 🥴

—

You aren’t sure why, but with Dave gone, it feels wrong to see Max. At least, outside of your workplace...

Were it the other way around, you don’t think you would experience the same level of cloying guilt you feel with Dave, but then again, your relationship with Dave was far different than what you had with Max: while you kept Dave at arm’s length, with Max, you kept him even further than that, a begrudging admission of your lack of self control, something that you hate to admit runs in your family. You with your alcoholism and overactive sex drive; Garrett with his addiction to narcotics. Your mother’s former addictions to the same things as you and your brother, at one point or another, waxing and waning for decades as long as you can feasibly remember.

You can’t help but smirk to yourself as you imagine scientists studying your family like captive apes, which isn’t too far off. They would probably learn a thing or two about addiction. Not that your mother believes in science enough to volunteer for such things.

So, that is how things go for those few days that Dave is out of town. Max respects your need for space, surprisingly so, affording you little more than a few minutes in the bathroom each day you’re both in the coffee shop at the same time, ending in either a belly full of Max’s cum, his fingers buried deep in your pussy until you see stars, or both.

And he still insists on ending every interaction with those strangely intimate and delicate embraces, each encounter getting longer and softer with each passing day. Almost like Max wants to be close to you, but isn’t sure how else to go about it, only knowing that it’s something he needs—no, craves.

You won’t lie, you had started looking forward to those hugs too, needing them more than you’d realized. He never kisses you, though, no matter how long he holds you in his arms afterwards, something that leaves an oddly empty pit twisting inside of you that you can’t find yourself able to shake.

Your coworkers definitely know about your little bathroom receptions, thankfully looking the other way when Max comes strolling in like Don Juan in his pursuit of you. Even, much to your surprise, Audrey, whom you often found shooting dirty looks your way when she thinks you’re unawares, but has sense enough to keep her mouth shut. At least in front of you.

You played it cool around your boss, Maurizio, who seemed to be none the wiser, Max often chatting him up as a distraction when you had to straighten your clothes or smooth down your hair or make sure you didn’t have any remnants of jizz lingering on you. Sweet talking was definitely one of Max’s strong suits and Maury ate that shit right up.

Your nights after your shifts ended with you and Dave on the phone, talking — or doing other things — for hours on end, and you had to admit that his voice in your ear at the end of a long day was a welcome gift and distraction.

You asked about each other’s days; you lamenting about the stressors of your job, even divulging the part about the shipment of mocha syrup being two weeks late and how you’re down to only two bottles, and that you’re pretty sure Audrey and Vincent hate you, but leave out any bits about Max being the reason.

He tells you all about the day to day activities with his girls, everything from the inevitable meltdowns, to what they did and where they went, even letting you talk to his eldest — Molly — for a few moments when she insisted on knowing who her dad was talking to if it wasn’t Mommy, and although it felt awkward and forced it was still very sweet and amiable, leading you to wonder if this was all leading to something bigger between you and Dave… although you’d known each other only a very short time, it was suddenly feeling very real.

Did you want that?

You didn’t know, and not knowing scared you. That’s why, you realized, you hadn’t completely pushed Max away, in case things went awry. And they often did in your case, leaving behind a flaming trail of gnarled and smoldering wreckage in its wake.

And maybe you were starting to like Max, too. Just a little. As much as you tried to deny it.

At the very least, you could admit you looked forward to his daily visits more and more as the days slogged on, which was saying a lot.

As the upcoming week drew ever nearer, Dave’s communication dwindled and subsequently ran dry, which had you a bit worried. He had texted you about some vague work thing he had to do. You didn’t ask what it was, since it was none of your business.

Yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from worrying when the messages slowed and eventually stopped. Had you done or said something offputting?

You do your best not to linger in your own head for too long, keeping yourself busy with mundanities.

——

Dave was careful not to stay in touch with you unless absolutely necessary while he was actively on target. Whatever he could do to prevent you from being tied to the crime, even if only via digital footprint. Not to mention to keep himself from being tied to it, in whatever way possible.

He had left the crime scene with the intent to drive through the night without stopping until he reached Boston. His mind had not diverted from the original plan; however, with his dick painfully engorged and straining against his pants every step of the way, your face at the forefront of his mind, he found himself having to stop more than once to relieve the ache. You made him feel crazy. Crazier than he’s ever felt before. And he simultaneously loved and hated it.

With your videos playing on a loop, seat reclined back as far as it could go, he spills across his stomach again and again as he grunts your name through clenched teeth, hot spend collecting in the hollow of his navel.

Sunrise is approaching and he still has a couple of hours to go before he reaches you. He can’t wait to be with you. He can’t…

——

As you force yourself to drag ass into another long, miserable shift at work, barely conscious, your hair a rat’s nest, Dave is having to force himself not to be lead-footed all the way home. Being pulled over by a cop is the last thing he needs right now.

He texts you around 7AM, asking if you’re working and how you’re doing, although he already knows you’re not home, from the camera loop he periodically checks. He has to ask, though, to be as inconspicuous as possible.

You feel a wave of relief when you see Dave’s name pop up on your phone. But with a storm bearing down hard on the city (what your mother affectionately and irritatingly refers to as ‘tornado weather’), business unexpectedly picks up and you’re too slammed with soaked and pissy customers to respond in a timely manner.

You’re even too busy for Max when he comes in, passing him an apologetic glance right before your hands slip and you splash blistering hot coffee down the front of your shirt. Behind the dejected, puppy dog eyes he’s giving you, you almost think you see concern flash in those dark brown irises of his.

Not like that’s possible. Right?

—

It takes Dave longer than anticipated to make it back to Boston. Between the instances he had to pull off to relieve the strain in his pants, and subsequently take a power nap, he hits the city a little past 9, and by the time he makes it through the infuriating drag of traffic and rain, he pulls into his spot close to 10.

He draws in a deep breath as he stares up at your apartment window, dark now, pulling himself out of the driver’s seat, barely having enough energy to make it through the downpour and up the stairs to his apartment.

But as soon as he deposits his bag on the living room floor, he’s inexplicably hit with a second wind, adrenaline coursing through his veins when it occurs to him how close he is to you once again.

He hastily stuffs his lock picking kit down his pants, grabbing a rain slicker from the closet, despite already being drenched to the skin.

He knows you aren’t home. He’s confirmed and re-confirmed it. But needs to be in your space. Just long enough to smell you again, be with you without being with you until you can officially be in his arms again. He wants to lie on your bed, wrapped in your scent like a cloak as he dribbles down his fist, surprising you later by picking you up from work so you don’t have to walk home in the rain.

Which reminds him — he texts you again, asking when you get off, hoping that you’re just busy and not ignoring him.

He makes it inside your apartment in record time, the old wood of the interior crackling from the pressure disturbance, almost as if beckoning him inside.

He locks the door behind him and toes off his shoes, glancing around the small, dark space, which smells of stale cigarettes and… you.

He only needs a couple of hours. That’s all. Just long enough to hold him over until he can see you, smell you for real, touch you. Fuck you until your eyes roll back into your skull and you see stars.

He strips off his dripping clothes and drapes them over the back of your kitchen chairs to dry, at least somewhat, crawling into your bed and pulling the comforter up past his shoulders.

He presses his face to mattress, inhaling deeply, immediately growing hard from your lingering scent. Your coconut shampoo, your vanilla body spray. You.

As he slips his cock free from his boxers, he can almost feel your curves against his fingertips, the softness of your lips against his.

He begins to pump himself slowly, knowing he risked it all for you. Just so that sad fuck you call an ex can’t harass you anymore, his cock tightening further as he recalls the way Jonathan looked when the life drained from behind his eyes.

He did it for you, and he would do it a million times more if he could.

—

Your work day finally begins to slow after the lunch rush, the rain slacking off to a more tolerable, humid drizzle.

You let the others know that you’re retiring to the alley for a much needed cigarette break, and to not bother you for fifteen minutes unless it’s a life and death emergency. And even then, still don’t.

You already have a cigarette perched between your lips and a lighter clutched in your fist before you even hit the alleyway, thankful for the small awning even with the calmer precipitation.

You ignite the cig, pocketing your lighter as you take a seat on the milk crate you use as a stool, drawing in a long, much needed puff of smoke and toxins into your lungs. Fuck, it’s been a day.

You fish your phone out of your pocket so you can shoot Max a quick apology for not being able to see him earlier, immediately becoming distracted by the sheer volume of text messages you’ve missed since the start of your shift, Max momentarily forgotten.

Two of the messages are from Dave, which you’re relieved to see and respond to right away. One is from an employee letting you know they’re going to be half an hour late to their shift, which you ignore for the time being, not wanting to deal with it just yet. And the other eight are from your mom.

You sigh, taking another drag from your cigarette as you begrudgingly click on her name, anticipating the usual slew of bitching and moaning, reminding you what a terrible, awful daughter you are for abandoning your family; or, on the other end of the spectrum, kissing your ass and pleading for money.

As soon as your eyes scan over the messages, your world is swiftly rocked off its axis, your fingers losing their strength as your hands begin to tremor.

Your phone and cigarette crash to the ground, the former cracking as it hits the concrete, the latter snuffing itself out in the little bit of rain that’s left.

You wedge the heel of your palms against your eyelids and begin to weep, but you can still see the words behind your eyes, already haunting you, wishing you could scratch them out of your brain, wishing you could turn back time like it never happened.

Your grandmother, the only bit of glue that ever held you to your family, is gone.

—

Sarah comes in on her day off to cover the rest of your shift so you can leave early, thanking her profusely with promises to make it up to her as soon as you can.

You let Maury know you’re going to take a few days for bereavement, and he doesn’t give you any shit about it.

You walk home in a milky daze, finding your way by muscle memory alone, because you’re pretty sure you aren’t actually perceiving anything but a whirlwind of grief; grief so intense you can feel it in your bones, your bone marrow.

Your grandma—Granny Ruth—was the kindest, most selfless woman you’d ever had the privilege of knowing. You never could figure out how your mother turned out the way she did; how they were not only different, but polar fucking opposites.

You keep reading and re-reading your mother’s texts. How, in addition to your sorrow and angst, you’re also unfathomably angry.

Mom: your grandmother Ruth passed this morning

Mom: shame you weren’t here to say goodbye since you abandoned us

Mom: don’t bother coming home, she is being cremated no service

You need a stiff drink. Several, in fact. You need drugs. Every single one.

You need to get fucked until you’re completely desiccated. You need to strangle every last shred of emotion from your body because it’s too much to carry right now.

You wish you had a kill switch for your brain.

—

By the time you’ve reached the stoop that leads up to your building, you can’t keep it in any longer.

You managed to hold the fraying threads of your sanity together when you had to call Sarah in. And when you had to let Maury know. Even on the walk home, you were a zombie. Mindless. Numb.

But now, as you draw nearer to your home—or what you call home, but doesn’t really feel that way— your legs grow weak and your head swims, forcing you to collapse on the steps that lead up to the double doors, hunched forward, sobbing into your hands.

You aren’t sure how long you stay there, or if anyone sees you, and you really don’t care.

You stay until your head is throbbing, only snapping out of your daze when a familiar voice cuts through the sorrow, hushed, concerned, your name a murmur on their lips.

“Doll… are you okay?”

When you finally lift your head, your gaze settles on Max.

—

You tell Max about your grandmother. How she had been sick for years, how you should have never left her, the guilt and regret gnawing at you. You had been selfish, stupid.

He sits beside you on the steps, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, letting you cry, letting you lament about how much you hate your mother, only speaking when he needs to.

He’s being sweet, sympathetic, patient, and completely unlike his usual self. And you’re intuitive enough to know he isn’t bullshitting or just trying to get into your pants. He’s actually being sincere.

It’s so unlike him it almost unsettles you.

You aren’t complaining, though. It’s nice in how unexpected, how off-kilter it seems, and it does make you feel better, at least for a few fleeting moments.

As the conversation carries on and your mood lifts a peg or two, Max’s gentle, sympathetic touches gradually turn more reverent, more wanton, his movements slow and unsure at first to test the waters, wanting to ensure that you want it as much as he does.

When you reciprocate, your eyes re-affirming your needs to him, he grows more insistent, more brazen, cupping your breasts through your polo, coffee stains and all, canine teeth scraping along your pulse point.

He’s being more tender and sensual than you’re used to, and while you don’t mind it, you prefer Max’s usual persona and would much rather be railed so hard you forget your own name.

He pulls away long enough for you to punch in your password on the keypad, flinging the twin doors open and making a beeline for the elevator with Max trailing at your heels like an infatuated puppy.

His touches become more persistent and demanding the closer you get to your apartment, his true colors finally bleeding through. By the time you’re fumbling your keys to unlock the door, he’s practically dry humping you, hands on your hips, half hard already.

After a brief and minor struggle with your lock, your hands tremoring again, you eventually shoulder the door open, stumbling inside with Max immediately following suit.

The cool dark of your space welcomes you as you shut the door harder than intended, Max’s hands returning to your hips.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifts, and there’s movement from your bed.

—

You scream, your hands losing their strength for the second time today, keys and purse crashing to the floor as Max positions himself between you and the intruder.

Without thinking, you instinctively reach for the switch next to your head, the resulting flood of luminescence rendering everyone temporarily blind.

When your vision eventually returns, and you see who’s standing before you, you’re almost unable to fathom what the fuck is even going on.

“Dave? How the f- what are you… what the fuck?” you manage to prattle out, in spite of your inability to otherwise form a cohesive thought.

Dave could kick himself for being so careless, so sloppy. He was more clear cut than that. He should have known better.

His eyes flick to Max, his face neutral as he assesses the situation before speaking, taking a tentative step in your direction.

He’s in nothing but black boxers, one side of his hair flattened, his eyes weary and heavy with lingering traces of sleep.

He says your name, studying your face. He can tell you’ve been crying, and he wants to break whoever did this to you, rip them apart at the seams until there’s nothing left to identify a body.

He isn’t dense and can see that Max isn’t the source of your distress, clearing his throat subtly, whispering your name again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low, his need to touch you, kiss you, bordering on physical pain. But he doesn’t want to startle or upset you, your eyes as large as dinner plates.

As Dave creeps another step forward, Max shoulders up to him, practically bristling like a dog over a prized bone.

“Maybe you should answer her question, Dave.”

“Max—“ you warn, Max pivoting to meet your gaze, taking a single step back only because of you.

Dave passes him a glance, and for a brief, but satisfying moment, he imagines himself decking Max square in the jaw. He knows he could take the pretentious prick down in a single blow, he’s certain of it. But as much as he wants to do just that, he refrains.

He’s aware that acting on his instincts would disrupt your already fragile state. And as much as he hates to admit it, he understands why Max is acting the way he is. He would behave the same, were the roles reversed.

He draws in a deep breath before responding.

“I wanted to see you. You weren’t home… your door was unlocked, so I let myself in. I wanted to surprise you. But I must have drifted off...”

He pauses, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, giving you a moment to absorb everything.

“I’m sorry. I was exhausted, not thinking straight. I… I fucked up.”

You can’t help but notice Max is uncharacteristically quiet as Dave explains himself, hands on his hips, ready to jump in at any moment if needed. But like Dave, he doesn’t want to do anything to upset you.

“Please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help, if I can. I-“ He takes another step, his hand reaching for your arm. “I missed you.”

You see a muscle in Max’s jaw jump when Dave touches you, and as much as you want to shove him away, scream at him, tell him to fuck right off for breaking into your apartment… locked or not… you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’ve been angry enough for one day and you’re too mentally drained to care right now.

More tears fall in lieu of your anger, and you almost can’t believe you still have any left to cry.

Dave closes the distance, Max immediately flinching, itching to pick a fight but holding back. Dave doesn’t seem to notice or care, his focus honed solely on you, cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging over your cheekbone, catching any stray tears.

They’re behaving surprisingly well, given the circumstances, you have to give them that.

And although Max knew about you and Dave, you’re shocked to realize Dave knows about you and Max. But it’s too much information to dwell on right now, your head a foggy mess, so you don’t.

“My grandma died,” you croak.

—

The first hour is awkward, uncomfortable, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Dave and Max are getting along but only just barely, both of them vying for your attention to the point of additional stress, wanting to do whatever they can to make you feel better.

None of it feels real. Everything feels dark and hazy, a fever dream.

You’re sandwiched between both men on your tiny couch, watching something on Discovery none of you give two shits about, passing a bottle of vodka around to add to your mixer of choice as you sit in otherwise oppressive, stifling silence.

Their hands are all over you, competing for your affections, probably wishing you would kick the other one out, and you consider more than once to kick both out to let you wallow in your sorrow in peace.

But the drunker you get, the less you care. The drunker they get, the less they care about the other touching you, as long as they do get to touch you in some way or another.

As their touches grow bolder, you sense something unspoken pass between them, their caresses gradually transitioning to fondling, their hands moving over your curves, groping your breasts, teasing your folds through your thin leggings.

Of course there are a few moments where they bristle and bicker, quarreling over who gets to touch you where, but for the most part, they cooperate, working your body in tandem.

Your head falls back, your neck folded over the back of the couch as Dave’s fingers slip under the band of your leggings, his lips finding your neck.

“So wet already,” he murmurs against your pebbled flesh, his fingers feather light touches against your skin, teasing. “You like the way we’re touching you, baby?”

Max’s lips are on the opposite side of your neck, nibbling and kissing from your jaw to your clavicle, his hand sliding under your shirt, pushing your bra aside to pluck at your puckered nipple.

You can only moan in response, so fucking horny you don’t even know what to do with yourself.

“I think she does,” Max replies with a crooked smirk, locking eyes with Dave as he slips your polo over your head, his head dipping to suckle at your exposed breast.

Dave pushes two fingers past your entrance, languidly pumping them as he anchors his thumb against your clit, causing your hips to twitch and sputter.

“So fucking pretty for us,” Dave purrs against your neck, pushing your leggings down to your knees, “Dirty fucking slut, letting two men touch you. What else would you let us do to you?”

“Anything you want,” you respond almost immediately, not having to giving it another thought.

Max’s head lifts from your chest, gently pushing you forward so he can remove your bra.

“That’s a dangerous proposition, doll. You think you can handle both of us at the same time?” Max counters, a devilish glint making his dark eyes shine as he palms himself over his pants.

You nod, unable to respond in any coherent language due to whatever magic Dave is currently performing between your thighs.

Dave tells you to lift your legs, tugging your bottoms the rest of the way down.

He had pulled his pants back on after you and Max arrived, but he shucks them off again, the outline of his dick visibly straining through the fabric.

Max had already stripped down to his undershirt and pants, wiggling out of his shirt while Dave removes his pants.

Dave spreads your thighs apart, drinking in the vision of your sopping wet pussy, the tip of his tongue flicking at his bottom lip like a hungry reptile.

He turns to Max, his eyes glistening, his brow furrowed.

“Make her cum. Get her ready,” Dave commands, Max not bothering to argue with being told what to do so authoritatively, because he wants it just as badly as you do.

“Ride his face,” he tells you, gesturing for you and Max to move over to the bed.

“Use him to get yourself off.”

Max moves into position, wriggling out of his pants in the process, leaving both men in their boxers and you completely nude.

Your walls clench around nothing as you mount Max’s face, planting your knees on either side of his head, your palms against the wall.

Max places a few delicate kisses to your inner thighs before abruptly pulling you all the way down, his tongue curling into your wet heat.

Dave growls, his eyes darkening with lust as he steps out of his boxers, large hand wrapping around the base of his thick cock, steadily stroking himself to the vision of Max eating you out with abandon.

Dave bends to kiss your velvety lips, his tongue demanding access and you let him.

“You remember your safe word, don’t you?” Dave asks as he breaks the kiss, his fingers entwined in your hair.

You nod, your lower lip dangling. “Foxglove for you, lavender for Max,” you reply.

“Good girl,” Dave praises, giving your right ass cheek a solid smack. “Now ride his face. Use him.”

You hear Max grunt something against your folds but you aren’t sure what, leaning back, your spine flexing as you brace yourself on Max’s muscular arms.

Dave watches, transfixed, his hand never leaving his cock as he tilts your head back to kiss and bite at your throat, your jaw.

“Is he doing a good job, sweetheart?” Dave asks and your head bobs eagerly in response.

“Yes he is,” you say as your hips roll forward, thrusting against Max’s tongue, his arched nose bumping your clit with every stroke.

“Max, spread her cheeks for me,” Dave says firmly and Max immediately obliges, his cock twitching in his shorts when he understands where this is going.

With his hands gripping your ass, he helps you to guide your movements, moaning against your folds.

Dave perches on the edge of the bed behind you, collecting some of your excess slick to coat his fingers, assisting Max in spreading you even wider as he teases and prods at your puckered star of muscle.

“Let me in, sweetheart, or it’s going to hurt later,” Dave commands softly, circling your entrance with his index finger. “Lean forward a little bit,” he tells you, placing his palm between your shoulders as he guides you into position.

You brace against the wall again, relaxing as much as you can, the new angle helping.

Dave manages to slip one finger inside, pistoning into your tight tunnel, making you whimper and quiver against Max.

He spits directly onto your anus to apply more lubrication, adding a second finger to the first.

“Keep riding his face just like that. Use both of us, pump yourself onto my fingers as you use his mouth,” Dave says, his voice low, his other hand reaching around to circle your throat.

“There you go,” he says as his fingers probe deeper, scissoring them apart to help stretch you further.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whimper, your movements becoming more determined, more frantic.

Max is a trooper, his fingers still digging into your ass, his grip bruising, his tongue still flicking and curling into your tunnel, not even stopping to take a breath.

“That’s it, sweetheart, such a good girl for us,” Dave murmurs, his voice low and velvet.

He attempts to insert a third finger, adding more spittle and slick, only getting it past the first knuckle, but it does seem to help in spreading you open.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum�� I’m so close…” you whine as your bounce more fervently on Max’s face, making him grunt words of affirmation under you, muffled against your soft mound.

Dave’s hold on your neck tightens, his fingers flexing against your skin, his lips brushing your ear.

“Let go for us, sweetheart. Let it all out.”

Max continues to guide your movements, Dave helping now as well, bouncing you up and down, using your neck as a handle.

With a loud cry, you cum hard and fast, stars behind your eyes as both men work you through your orgasm, Dave’s hand releasing your throat to return to his cock, Max groaning into your pussy until the waves of pleasure subside.

Dave pulls his fingers free, stilling his ministrations on his own body as he gently cups your cheek.

“Still okay?” he asks, and you nod with a smile as you climb off of Max who, understandably, needs a moment to take a breath.

Max finally extricates himself from his boxers, heavy cock springing free, pumping himself slowly as his visage roves hungrily over you and Dave.

“Get on his cock and lean forward,” Dave demands in a low growl, and you shimmy down Max’s body, straddling him, Max slotting himself at your entrance and lifting his hips to meet you in the middle.

You slowly sink down to his lap, Max releasing a hiss of pleasure, placing his hands on either side of your hips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel amazing,” Max pants, already bucking his hips in anticipation.

Dave positions himself behind you, on his knees, his hands also moving to your hips, fingers brushing Max’s.

They lock eyes with each other, his brow a hard, dark line as he regards the other man.

“You are not allowed to cum in her. Understand?” he tells Max, his voice low and authoritative, his lips tight.

Max frowns, his brow wrinkling in disapproval, but he doesn’t protest, not wanting to let the opportunity to be inside you slip through his fingers.

Dave edges closer, adding more spit and slick to your anus, inserting two fingers again to ensure you’re ready.

“Just relax, baby, and use your safe words if you need them,” Dave tells you gently, placing the head of his cock against your tight ring of muscle.

“Just breathe,” he says, and begins slowly pushing himself into you.

As Dave gradually gains ground, you’ve never felt so full in your entire life, the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, even when Dave claimed your ass the first night.

There is some pain initially, but the alcohol helps to alleviate some of the discomfort, as well as slacken your muscles enough for Dave to bottom out.

His head falls back with a loud groan as his hips press firmly against your ass, stilling himself for a beat to relish the sensation of your body strangling his cock.

After a moment, both men exchange another look and they begin to move slowly in conjunction with one another, their movements choppy and stilted at first as they learn the other’s movements, able to find a mutual rhythm after a few minutes that seems to work for you.

“Oh fuck,” you keen, burying your face against Max’s shoulder while both men slide in and out of you in tandem, and you think you’ve never felt anything more glorious in your entire life.

Max wraps his arms around your back, holding you against him, whispering encouragement in your ear.

“Look at you,” Max praises, one hand moving to cup the nape of your neck. “Taking both of us so well. You like having two men inside of you, don’t you?”

You nod and whimper against his neck, your hot breath fanning his skin, on the verge of tears with how heavenly it feels, how much joy and pleasure they’re gifting to you.

Dave gives your right ass cheek another sharp smack, making you yelp in surprise at the abrupt lance of pain.

“Say it. Say out loud how much you love it,” Dave grits through his teeth, his ministrations growing more intense.

“I love having two men inside of me, fucking me, using me,” you mewl between breaths, relinquishing a loud moan when their hips snap against you simultaneously, almost as if they planned it.

Little by little, their movements increase in speed and power, seamlessly with the other, a series of curses and inhuman noises bellowing out of your ribcage.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you cry out when you feel yourself getting close for a second time, your muscles already tightening. “I’m gonna fucking… cum… again…” you groan against Max’s neck.

Dave lands another slap to your ass, their thrusts growing rougher, your bed rocking against the wall.

“Cum for us, baby. Cum all over Max’s cock while I’m railing your tight little ass,” Dave snarls, panting hard as he chases his own end as well.

You reach your second peak only moments later, your vision going pure white as you’re hurtled far over the edge, experiencing the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, gushing unapologetically all over Max’s lap and your bed.

They keep pistoning against you, riding you through the waves of your orgasm, the sounds of their grunts and growls filling the small space.

Dave can tell by the look on Max’s face that he’s close as well, his breath ragged in his chest as he warns Max a second time not to finish inside of you.

Max’s cheeks inflate, his skin a deep shade of pink, sweat prickling his brow as he does everything he can to hold back.

“Final warning,” Dave grits, reaching around you to grip Max by the throat, squeezing hard enough to get his point across.

With a deep grunt, Max pulls out of you at the last possible second, locking eyes with Dave, hand still wrapping his throat, exploding like a goddamn geyser all over your ass and Dave’s stomach.

That spurs Dave to reach his own end, stilling inside of you, hips twitching and jerking involuntarily as he unloads everything he has to give, your flexing and pulsing anus milking every last drop.

He collapses on top of you, both men breathing haggardly, your skin slicked with perspiration.

You stay like that for a while, none of you wanting to move for a long time.

Dave pushes his face against the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, his cheek resting against Max’s chest.

He eventually pulls out, rolling onto his back as you settle between them, lying in comfortable silence for what seems like an eternity.

Max pushes himself up, going over to the bathroom to grab some warm, damp rags, tossing one to you and Dave, using the third on himself.

Dave scoots to the edge of the bed, studying Max in silence as Max gathers his clothes.

You move next to Dave, also watching Max get dressed, quirking a brow in confusion and concern.

“You aren’t staying?”

—

You walk Max down, the elevator ride silent and stifling, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, having never been more quiet in his life.

You follow him to the street, staying with him until he reaches the corner.

“I have work tomorrow,” he says, a flimsy excuse at best.

You cross your arms, searching his face. “Are you okay?” you question, finding yourself genuinely worried.

“Yeah,” Max replies stiffly, confused and overwhelmed by everything that just occurred, his mind replaying the moment Dave grabbed his throat, resulting in him exploding all over both of you like a nervous teen on prom night.

“I just want to be sure…” he begins, lifting his hand to caress your cheek. “Did you want that?”

You meet his eyes with your own, not used to seeing Max this vulnerable, this unsure. You don’t like it.

“Yes. I did…” you say honestly, exhaling a slow breath.

“Did you?” you ask softly.

“Yeah. I did. I wanted it, and I enjoyed it, but… I don’t know,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m just tired.”

You search his face again, searching for the unspoken answers, but not wanting to scare him away by prying too much.

You step into him, wrapping your arms around him in a snug embrace, and he buries his face in your hair, his arms linking behind your back.

He pulls away after a beat, his hands moving to either side of your face.

“I’ll text you soon. Okay? I’m sorry again, by the way. About your grandmother.”

You inhale deeply, nodding in acknowledgment, trying not to cry again. Sensing your pain, feeling a different kind of pain twisting in his chest, Max does something he normally wouldn’t.

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a soft, worshipping kiss, long fingers sinking into your hair, committing the way you taste to memory.

—

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @heavennumber2 @alwaysmicado @yorksgirl @cosmic-li @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @daddy-dins-girl @natdeandar @sarap-77 @guelyury @vabeachazn @gwendibleywrites @anoverwhelmingdin @oberynslady @untamedheart81 @casa-boiardi

[myers-meadow]

Fear and wonder: Jonathan Crane x reader pt. 2

Part one here

Summary: After your bad day, your boss up and quits. What a relief! Later during the week, you go to a concert and meet someone. Jonathan doesn't like that much, though.

This is a slice of life insight into life as Jonathan Crane's best friend - who he has a terrible, obsessive secret crush on.

Warnings: for this chapter, some jealousy starts setting in, some very 'protective' best friend shenanigans. Fem reader.

Divider by @saradika-graphics. Reblogs, comments and feedback are very appreciated! I'm so insane over the Jonathan x best friend reader - the intimacy of knowing each other so well, of his obsession just growing and growing, him controlling every aspect of your life, but how could you notice? He works from the shadows, he is a master manipulator. Ugh god I just love him ok

The Monday after that bad day, your boss didn't show up to work. It was weird, but it was too much of a relief for you to ask questions. Besides, you didn't know her well - and why would you? There were whispers in the break room, but you let it all pass you by, just glad to have her off your back. The intern who messed up apologised to you - they'd heard about the treatment you received on behalf of them the week before. All seemed well.

Later that week, a lot more relaxed, your friend Morgan invited you out to see her girlfriend's band play in a pub on Wednesday. She texted you the address and you went there straight after work, picking up some fries for Morgan and yourself on the way there. The band was great fun, and beside you in the crowd Morgan beamed with pride. After, you got to talking with the bass player, who bought you a drink or two, and put his number in your phone.

During work the next day, you couldn't help but think of what a great night you had, and you texted Morgan a 'thank you for inviting me, it was a great time!', before texting Georg the bass player that it was a great show and other formalities. His reply was immediate. If you would like to go out for a beer sometime? It had you smiling all day.

The only night he was available was on Friday, and he'd visit family in another state for the whole month after, so begrudingly, you called Jonathan that evening. After some small talk, you finally dared to get to the point.

"Something's come up for tomorrow, do you mind we meet another night? I'm free all weekend." It was implied the weekend would be at least partially spent with him already, as that too grew into your routine. The Friday night would often turn into a sleepover, as you'd have a glass of wine or two, or make yourself a mojito, and it was just easier to stay over, or let him sleep over. Some nights, when you missed your bed and looked forward through a relaxed morning sleeping in by yourself, it felt like maybe it had grown into too much of a routine. At least, that when you kept your drinks to non-alcoholic ones, and got up to leave at 1 am, that Jonathan's twinge of disappointment was just a hint too intense. It was too subtle to even consciously register, but here you were, treading lightly when cancelling your weekly Friday meet-up, as though you didn't meet up two times a week every week ever since meeting him.

The slight pause at the other end confirmed your suspicions. "Of course we can reschedule," he said, emotionlessly. "What's come up? Is it work?"

"No," you shook your head even though he wouldn't be able to see it. "Something social." Even through the phone, you imagined him frowning. "What would you like to do on Saturday? I saw adverts for a new horror movie in theatres, we could see that, if you're in the mood for a film," you suggested, hopeful that a subject change would work to distract him. 

"Who are you meeting?"

You hesitated before answering. Something about his tone, as impassionate as it was, felt off. "Someone new I met," you decided to go with the truth. Knowing him, he'd read you like an open book on Saturday anyway. 

"I see. Well, I'll see you Saturday then. I'll think on what I feel like, talk to you later. Goodbye." And he hung up without another word.

Even as you enjoyed your cocktail with Georg, you couldn't help but feel a bit restless. This indeed was you and Jonathan's night. But you weren't together. You've never had this kind of friendship before, this intense. It was hard to put your finger on what exactly it was, and you racked your brain on what it could be - thinking of the many times there were hints of possessiveness, of how he preferred you to see him as often as you could - instead of other friends. It made you space out a bit, but as soon as you zoned back in, you were taken with Georg's kind eyes. His gentle features, the softness of his features and his body, the strenght in his arms were all so different from Jonathan, Georg lacked the sharp edges and was all the more endearing for it. After two drinks, you reluctantly called it quits, citing having to get up early in the morning, although that wasn't necessarily true.

Georg wanted to drop you off safely, or perhaps he hoped to get invited in for a nightcap, but as you reached your door, he politely only kissed you. You looked at him for another moment, fumbling with your keys. He chuckled as he watched you, shuffling his feet. Was he as nervous as you were? God, it's been ages since you'd been with someone. Perhaps you should. Even if only because you wouldn't see him for at least another month. Live a little, you told yourself. Do what feels right. Every thought about consequence, about the morning after, all dissapeared as you wrapped your arms around his neck for a much deeper kiss. His hands groped you all over as you finally managed to get the key into the lock properly, and he was eager to get you to bed.

Jonathan didn't feel like the movies. Instead, he choose a quaint tea house. You'd been there before, just once. It was a little higher end than you'd prefer, but their tea selection was incredible and really high quality. Everything else, including the jam for the scones, was made themselves, as well. The café had no background music, so when you sat down at a table with him, the chatter of the people around you punctuated the slight discomfort you felt. A tension that was punctiated by how you still buzzed from last night. And fron this morning at the breakfast table - God was he good with his tongue.

"So," Jonathan started, leaning forward over the tiny table in between the two of you, "how was your date?"

"Date?" you echoed, stalling to buy more time.

He nodded, reaching out for the menu and flipping through casually, as though he wasn't eyeing you like a hawk, observing every microexpression. "You always dance around the subject of dating when you're with me. I wonder why."

You considered him for a moment, rubbing your lip. Of course he noticed. The downside of having a psychiatrist for a friend. How could you navigate this best? Coming off accusatory was a bad idea, as was being apologetic because that would admit some kind of guilt you didn't have. You mean, you felt a bit guilty, but only because it felt like one measly date soured Jonathan's mood to the point of ruining your day together. Honesty and vulnerability have so far proven to be the only cure for one of his moods. "I haven't noticed, I don't tend to date that much," you admitted. "Perhaps I'm private about that part of my life, even with you." The way he glanced up at you, just briefly, taken aback at your careful phrasing, you knew you had him. "My mom was very controlling while I was in uni - as you well know, so perhaps I still feel the need to 'hide' it, or pretend its something it's not."

His hand found yours, giving it a brief squeeze before returning to the menu. "You know you don't have to do that with me. Mask, I mean."

Was his use of the work 'mask' here a personal one, or professional? You gave him a smile. "Baby steps," you breathed, relieved. "Which tea are you getting? The 'orange bliss' sounds really good. It's a green tea though." You scrunched up your nose a little, not fond of how bitter green tea could sometimes get.

"The 'autumn spice' would be more your taste," he directed your gaze to a black tea further down the list. "Anise, orange as well, cinnamon, fennel, cloves..."

You pressed your finger to his suggestion. That did indeed sound wonderful. "Which will you have?"

He hummed, eyes scrutunising every option. "I choose this place for their variety, but now that I have to make a decision..."

"I can choose for you. And we can share, too, if you want."

With a look to you, eyes dancing over your face, he shut the menu suddenly. "Alright, you choose."

When the waitress arrived at your table, you ordered your autumn spice, and a peppermint-rose white tea for him. 

"No treats? No cakes?" Jonathan asked you teasingly, referencing the last time you two were here and you wanted to try everything they had.

"I'm sweet enough for two," you joked, glad it seemed he was back to his usual self. You wouldn't call him cheerful, but at least he wasn't being passive-agressive anymore. The two of you chatted idly, about your weeks and your it was still so strange your manager just disappeared like that.

"Well, not that I'm complaining," you said, wryly. The server came back and set the teas out for each of you. You thanked her and she was on her way. They let you have bigger pots of water, with smaller cups, and your own saucer of tea leaves. "God, that smells good."

Jonathan followed suit, pouring steaming water over the leaves after putting them in the sieve of his cup. He poured yours too, like the gentleman he was.

"I'm curious to taste what you choose for me," he murmured, inhaling the steam, watching the subtle colours of his white tea swirl in the glass. His glasses fogged up a little.

"You still didn't tell me how your date was," he said, gaze sharp behind his glasses. You swallowed. "You said it was someone new and special."

Some part of you sensed it, yet were too afraid to confront the thoughts surrounding such discovery: what if Jonathan's protectiveness hid... love? A crush? What would that mean for your friendship? Not to think of how much Jonathan didn't seem like the person to be relaxed about the topic of dating in the first place. He seemed to know obsession, and only that - if his work was anything to go by.

"I really like him, we had drinks at that place Vee likes to go to."

"Who is he? Anyone I know? A friend of a friend?"

You shook your head. "No, we met at a concert last week. His name is Georg, with the beautiful rolling r," you gestured as you spoke, unable to stop a smile from forming. "He plays bass guitar in Morgan's girlfriend's band. They're quite good, too. A heavier version of indie rock, with some post-punk influences."

He clicked his tongue, before leaning forward to take a first, careful sip of tea. "Do you think you can trust him?"

"You sound like my mother."

He looked at you, blinked and let the accusation slide. "I worry about you, considering your past love life. The last one ghosted you after you slept with him, it was painful." He raised an eyebrow at you. Ouch. "Will you see him again?"

"I hope so. He's in a rather different field work-wise, but I understand not having personal and professional intersect, and we had such interesting conversations about that. How's your tea?"

He decided to go along with you and let the subject rest for now, his expression softened a little. Even thought it's only been months, once you started paying attention, it was rather easy to read him. Perhaps it was around you that he felt comfortable, and didnt try to hide so much of himself anymore, you thought aimlessly. The idea of that tugged at your heartstrings as he combed a hand through his hair. He tried a good sip of tea. 

"Hot," he grimaced, but then smiled gently. "It's wonderful. The freshness and sweetness combine really well with the white tea. Here, give it a try."

The tension dissapated and you were more than glad for it. Eager, you took the tea glass from his hands, not failing to notice the way Jonathan looked at you as you tried his tea. It was warm on your tongue, indeed, the flavours were delightfully light and airy.

"It almost tastes like a floral tea. Is that lavender?"

He smiled, almost proudly. "Very perceptive."

"Here, try mine," and you let him have the first sip. He nodded after he tried it, pushing it back to you.

"Very strong flavour. It's good, you'll like it."

And you did. It was exactly the tea you'd been craving; sweet yet spicy, warming you all the way down as you drank. The smile was audible in your voice as you said: "You know me so well."

[taniahylian]

Marta and the three Fates

Spoiler warning for chapter 7! Last chance to get out of here and come back after you finish it.

Alright, so this time I want to talk about this mysterious person called Marta, who was residing on the Island of Aperion, had the same appearence and voice as Bessmert and, to top it all up, was also blind. To me, these all indicate they are the same person, so I was very intrigued, and honestly, with good reason.

First off, let's look at what Marta says just before the storm, after Vertin asks her what she'll do. Note that Marta was in the safe zone with everyone else before Vertin said anything, and only then did she ask 6 for advice.

What's even more puzzling however, is 6's answer.

At first glance one might think 6 is simply telling her to decide for herself, but honestly I think it's a lot more complicated than that and 6 knows something we don't. Why is she calling Marta "fate"? Does it have something to do with her soul number and its meaning? Does 6 have that information? But also... could these be an allegory to Greek folklore? This chapter is full of those anyways.

Then I remembered the myth of the Three Fates. Basically, in Greek Mythology, there's three women who decided the life, destiny and death of every living person, and I think each has a counterpart in the game.

The first Fate is called the "Spinner", often represented with a loom or spinning wheel, who is the one who waves the threads of ppl's lives, basically deciding who is blessed by destiny and who is doomed. This imo is Vertin. Not only does she have the spinning wheel with ppl's lives represented by threads, but she's basically deciding their fate when she invites them into the suitcase, therefore saving them from the storm.

The second Fate is the "Allotter", who measures ppl's lives and decides how long they'll live. I think, based on 6's comment, this is Marta. Also, in my interpretation at least, this seems to be the most neutral of the Fates; simply measuring the threads without actually interfering with their trials and tribulacions, or the way they'd die. This would fit in with Bessmert, if we assume she and Marta are the same person, as she is a historian that simply records past events without interfering one way or another.

The third Fate is the "Inevitable", aka death. She cuts the thread of life and choses the way ppl will die, regardless of their age, status or anything else. Imo this is Arcana, since by accelerating the storms, she's basically cutting ppl's lives short and deciding how they'll die.

Now, of course, in chapter 7 Arcana "died". I don't believe this for one second, and I also don't think Marta was disolved in the storm. The first point is obvious; Arcana wanted to die, meaning she probably had some ulterior motive/plan we're not yet aware of.

As for Marta... what 6 said is very suspicious, and given what happened, we are led to believe Marta chose to be reversed. However, if you have read my theory about Bessmert, I think she's likely immune to the Storm, much like Vertin. So... where did she go then? We saw her be reversed, didn't we? Not exactly. Let me explain.

During the prologue, Vertin finds Regulus in London and pushes her into the suitcase right before the storm. We then get a short animated scene from Regulus' POV when the storm happens, and it seems like everything around them disappears and they find themselves in Chicago, 1929.

But wait... Chicago? Weren't they in London? Yes. The storm transported them, not only through time, but also space, exactly to the epicenter of the next storm. Now, at first I thouht this was just a visual representation with some artistic license, but then when they finally get out of the suitcase, Sonetto mentions they're only two blocks away from their target and they can go there by bus, which would be impossible if they were still in London.

So yes, I think this is what happened with Marta; she got transported to the epicenter of the next storm, and we will probably see her as Bessmert/The friend from afar in the future, wether in the main story or another event.

And, just one last thing to conclude my speculations about Marta/Bessmert: I really think she's the Biographer Urd.

He adds he doesn't know much more cuz the memories of 1999 are blurred, like everyone else's. However, we know that the biographer Urd published her travel note about Aperion in 1999, and we also know "The Friend from Afar" traveled to the Balkan peninsula before the storm in 1996, which gives me yet another reason to think they're the same person, which would explain the "unique" soul number (She's vertin's mother).

However, we also know Marta hasn't been in Aperion for much longer than Vertin (probably since after the storm in 1966). I think she likely decided to go back to Aperion to reseach more about the cave, but no one remembered her because the last time she was there was in 1999.

But anyways, what do you think? Thanks for reading my crazy theory! I guess time will tell if I was correct or not XD.

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

INDEX

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, SMUT (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, parenting, mental health struggles, eating disorder, self doubt, body image issues, daddy kink, angst, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant/ baby logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Extra Extreme Warning! This chapter focus on mental health struggles and body image issues (depression and ed) It’s a little dark so if that is at all potentially triggering to you please be advised and do not interact.

Chapter 19 - Can't Do It Anymore | ‘Ours’

“I can’t do it anymore!” You screamed with tears running down your face. You were grown but you felt like a little girl. Your mum standing in front of you in your bedroom angry as she's ever been. 

“Stop! Stop it, We’re going.” She demanded. She was stern and not going to back down. It was the summer before you left for university. A fresh 18 year old eager to get away from the exact scene unfolding in front of you. Your mum was forcing you to attend a gala event she had every year. She was intimidatingly kind but often kept her feet firm in her way of tough love. You loved a good party, maybe a little too much but forcing a smile and talking about what your college courses would consist of next year to business men that stood too close and inappropriately inspected every inch of you. It was a secret to everyone but your mum and Winnie and even they pretended they didn’t know. The way the sheath dress hung off your body reflecting back at your mum in the mirror only amplified the skeletal arch of your spine.  

“Fine… you want me to go. I’ll fucking go.” You murmured brushing past her heading straight to the en-suite of your room. You chugged a liter of vodka you'd dashed under the sink and popped one too many of your prescribed xanax in an unprescribed way. You collapsed in the bathroom before you could make it out of the house, ruining your night, your mum's prized annual gala, and probably Winnie’s perception of you forever. She had gone to your bathroom initially to steal some of the new blush you had gotten. She was met with something entirely different; finding you laying on the floor. They rushed you to hospital in an ambulance.  

“She’s extremely malnourished.” The attending doctor spoke calmly to your parents outside the room in the corridor. Your dad’s gaze narrowing at you laying in the harshly lit room. Your mum’s face pulling into disgust and shock, offended the doctor could imply something like that.

“She’s just thin. Please.” She scoffed, taken aback that you could be anything but fabulously waift. She hated the way the doctor infered she had not taken care of you somehow. She had given you everything, look at you, you were gorgeous but the hospital gown wasn't exactly chic.

“Ann Marie… listen to them. She’s killing herself. Enough.” Your dad quipped. They loved you in their own ways; your dad thought of you like little girls, your mum as if you were her little dolls. Things slowed after the incident and there was a much closer eye on you. Your mum still pushed, your dad still pulled, and Winnie sat somewhere in the middle. You got relatively healthy, at least enough to pass on scales and keep the chaos at bay but things bubbled under the surface. Suppressing anything that may rock the boat of familial perfection. You and Lauren had just returned to Manhattan after a weekend out east at your parents when she found you in your own sick. Chase had come over the night you returned from the beach. You and Lauren lived together and she wasn’t keen opening the door to see him but he was handsome and a good fuck so she shrugged it off. It wasn’t really him exactly… it wasn’t him. Chase sucked no shadow of a doubt but you couldn’t blame him. It could’ve been any man.  It really could’ve been anyone but you just happened to fall into his terribly mean arms on one night you blacked out and found yourself waking up in his bed. The tectonic plates of the earth shifted, mentally handcuffing yourself to this awful person.

“Still the same for me?” He’d ask you ahead of coming over. He kept tabs on the size of your clothes, the condition of your skin, the way your hair fell. You didn’t eat all day and he fucked the daylights out of you that night after you confirmed you had kept the circumference of your waist just the same as he liked, anything to get him to like you. He shoved his cock down your throat until you were sobbing, he didn't like you, he liked the high of using you. “You want me to love you, Y/N? That’s all you want? Take my fucking cock and I’ll think about it.” He’d mock you, railing into you from behind. You hated that your body craved him. That’s all you thought about. How? How do you get someone like this to like you? Why did you want it so bad? You did it all for him with zero return except for the brutal fuck he'd deliver. Lauren called Winnie sobbing. She knocked on your door early the next day curious to see how the night went but you were there limp in your bed sick.

“Well she’s breathing right? Jesus Christ! What did you do last night?” Winnie screamed freaking out that Lauren had found you like this and yet simultaneously angry with you. This was the second time someone was finding you like this. 

“I don’t know I… I.. she was with fucking Chase last night… fuck!” Lauren cried. The problem wasn’t Chase, what you ate, or your mum, the problem was you. You did it on purpose but no one mentioned it to you. No one said it. Ignorance was bliss. You were discharged again and everything moved on. Texts from Chase still coming in oblivious to the state he walked out on you in despite Lauren’s barrage of messages to leave you alone. You just threw your phone off the bed feeling just the same as the days prior only now slightly  more weak. You curled on your bed just wanting it all to fade away until morning the broke, the annoyingly bright sun refusing to lend you the peace you so badly craved. Why did you want him to love you so badly? Did you really hate him or yourself for being with him. Either way, you just wanted to be loved, that was abundantly clear. You walked into your parent’s kitchen in an oversized t-shirt sleepily and groggy. They made you move back with them for a few months to rehabilitate. 

“Trent Alexander Arnold has pinned one in for Liverpool!” The echo from the TV in the connecting room blasting in the late morning as you reached up into a cupboard. 

“Get in! Come on” Your dad yelled cheering. His loud booming voice making you jump. He heard you fumble the glass of water you were trying to get yourself so he turned to you mid-celebration. “Y/N, you okay? Come watch with me. The kid I swear... He's amazing” He shook his head in disbelief at the goal just scored by the man who would eventually ask him to marry you. A glint flashed in your eyes. 

“He’s cute…” You mumbled to your dad coming over to sit with him analyzing the camera’s close zoom on Trent’s face. His lips curling into the same dimpled smile your daughter had now ricocheting around in your mind finding its permanent home to replay on a loop. 

“Talented.” Your dad corrected you as he looked on more impressed with the tactical skill than Trent’s looks.

“Sure” You rolled your eyes and pulled your legs up onto the couch. Wrapping your arms around your knees.

“About your age you know?” Your dad informed you. That was interesting. You wondered what Trent’s life was like? This stupidly attractive stranger on the TV. You were the same age crying over a pathetic Manhattan party boy last night. Your mind wandered and you began to wonder if Trent lived a life anything like Chase and all the other boys surrounding you; using looks and status to blow through girls and money on nights out. You cocked your head looking a bit closer at his eyes and you felt your heart involuntarily softening. Imagine if he was really really sweet. “How we feeling today?” Your dad intruded the delusions seeping into your brain. You hummed lost in your own thoughts. “Can’t even conjure up a lie for me today?” He laughed sympathetically and quietly turning to face you. 

“Nah.” You finally gave him half an answer. Your eyes fixated on the game now waiting for the camera to catch glimpses of the boy you might’ve just fallen in love with. What if he was nice?  What if he was nice to you? God, if he was nice to you you'd love him forever, and you did. He had a chock hold grip on your heart. 

“Want a beer?” Your dad cut your thoughts off once more. You furrowed your brow confused what he was asking you. 

“Dad?” You snapped out of your reverie about a person you didn’t know feeling stupid imagining a world you didn’t live in, you didn’t deserve that, and certainly the boy flashing across the tv wasn’t going to be the one to give it to you. 

“It’s 8 pm where I am right now.” Your dad laughed again dreaming he was back at Anfield’s stadium tonight instead of on your family’s couch. You hummed, finally wrapping your head around his sentiment. “Let’s go on your thanksgiving break.” He cooed. 

“To?” You turned your body towards him on the couch for the first time taking your eyes off the screen in minutes. You were interested in anything he was offering that might potentially whisk you out of your current place in the world. 

“To Anfield. You’ll love it” Your dad assured you. Loving anything right now felt like a cruel joke but of course you’d go.  8 pm under the floodlights of Anfield with the beer your dad wanted so desperately you watched admiring the boy who would end up being nicer to you than anyone ever had been. 

You changed for the match and you definitely didn’t look good. Winnie FaceTimed Teddy and Dianne for you as you rushed around your hotel room. You did the best you could to not burst right into tears looking back at the cutest face you’d ever seen in your life. The bright wide eyes gleaming mirroring Trent’s exactly seeing her mummy. It was wrong but you hadn’t even responded to any of Trent’s messages from last night yet this morning. You didn’t tell Winnie that. You couldn’t. You couldn’t answer all the questions he had and you didn’t want to answer any more of hers. Honestly, you didn’t know the answers to them. When you arrived at the stadium you prayed for some sort of invisibility shield. That wasn’t going to happen. You were radiating an energy that just reeked of misfortune, you felt eyes burning into you. Trent scanned the stadium for you before you had arrived. Seats left for you and Winnie empty while he warmed up. Marcel sitting there alone also awaiting your arrival. When the two teams lined up ahead of the anthem he finally clocked you. Trent looked fucking livid. You’d never seen him give that face to you. You started crying. You watched him shut his eyes in slow motion, his heart breaking in real time. Winnie squeezed your shoulder. You batted your eyes to try to clear the tears. Your view of Trent blurring then clearing then blurring again. Your heart aching painfully. Trent played incredible. It maybe was the best half of football you’d seen him play. It made you sick thinking maybe you had potentially been a cause for any dips in his form. That not having you around somehow made him better. The second half began. Only a few minutes passed before Trent rocketed home a shot from outside the box. The stadium erupted celebrating the goal and you never felt more silenced. He ran to the corner flag and swung at it with real fire. He screamed while his teammates engulfed him. Media and the crowd probably perceived the celebration as passion but you knew… Winnie and Marcel knew... Jadon who now walked himself into the middle of a horrible situation knew. You sat on your hands watching the game clock tick on. Jadon looked at Winnie and hinted for her to check her phone. No one was really talking between the four of you. It was so awkward. Winnie picked up her phone and nonchalantly tilted the screen away from you, leaning back in her seat reading Jadon's message.

‘Trent knows this is going on, right? He needs to help her, Win.’

Winnie sighed reading it trying to hold back the wave of emotion crashing over her. Of course, Trent knew. You were getting married. He knew everything, he just had never experienced such a low of yours in real time. It was easy to love someone when you only heard about their past. You can forgive them for something you weren’t even there for. Something you’d never had to have experienced. Trent loved you for all that you are but seeing you wither after the birth of your baby wasn’t on his bingo card. Liverpool won and Trent stood on the pitch hands on his hips staring up into the sky still while the team scattered around the pitch jumping in celebration. They won and yet he felt worse than ever.  Before the trophy presentation he ran down the tunnel. Marcel made you go with him down to meet him. God, there was nothing in the world you wanted to do less than face Trent right now. You made Winnie come with you for moral support. You saw him walk towards you. Full kit, sweaty, perfect, beautiful. You couldn’t believe he was at his very best when you weren’t with him, seeing him in all his glory at the very top and you at your very lowest. Producing a man of the match performance and you producing maybe the biggest fuck up or your life. You were in your own world of thought when his curt words cut you off.

“Where were you?” That was all he said. Cold, keeping his distance from you. 

“T…” you pleaded with your eyes falling into pools. Tears already gathering in your eyes. 

“No, where the fuck were you?” He snapped again. Winnie stood off to the side of the corridor. She didn’t know how to help. She felt horrible like somehow this was her fault. It wasn’t at all but she couldn’t help the guilt she felt having been at the club with you, having drank so much with you. She tried to help.  

“Trent, she was…” Winnie began to try to talk but that was not going to fly. Trent didn’t want to hear from anyone but you. This was for you and him to sort.

“Winnie, let her fucking answer. Where were you? Tell me.” You weren’t sure you’d ever heard this tone of voice. It scared you. You felt your bones shake. It was like you were being reprimanded in a principal's office except you weren’t. You were being reprimanded by your fiancé in front of your sister and friends, somehow making it all the worse. 

“The hotel, the hotel. I swear.” You started to hyperventilate. You were having a panic attack in the tunnels of Wembley. This was a fucking disaster. Trent believed you. He didn’t want to but he knew you. He’d know if you were lying. Your answer flooded out drenched in honesty and fear. You felt your chest start to contract and tighten. He couldn’t look at you anymore. It hurt too much.

“I have to go…” he sighed, running his hands over his head frustrated. He was almost annoyed  that nothing happened. He was wildly relieved you were safe and standing in front of him in one piece but annoyed he couldn’t pick one thing to harp on to decidedly be angry about. All this chaos for what? “I need to go be with my fucking team. Marce is taking you home.” He quipped pulling his jersey over his head revealing his stupidly hot body. You tried to distract yourself but it was hard, he looked really good. 

“What?” You asked utterly confused. What did he mean you were going home? Your mind couldn’t keep up with his. The visual stimulant of his naked torso, your blinding headache, and the noise from a rowdy stadium concocting into a right mess. 

“I don’t want you here.” He shut his eyes saying it. He hated saying it but he meant it. He had a hard time looking at you right now. He was so weak against you and right now he was pissed. He didn’t want to cave, he didn’t want to give himself any more time or opportunity to. The emotions rising in your chest swelled with the bile in your throat. It burned and it hurt. Your brain was completely scrambled. You couldn’t process that he just rejected you, turned you away. To be fair, everyone standing there was surprised.  Trent dapped up Marcel and Jadon and swiftly headed back out onto the pitch. Nothing more said, not even a goodbye. You were completely stunned and frozen in your place. Trent was determined to do anything to get you off his mind but everything reminded him of you. You were ubiquitous. Lifting the trophy was nothing but a burden. It was heavy, he was tired and disinterested. Proud of his team but disinterested. 

Marcel drove you home all the way back up towards Manchester and to say it was awkward was an understatement. You cried about 5 times. He’d just turn the music up a little more each time letting you fall apart. You didn’t want him to acknowledge it. He was doing it for both of you. No one really knew what happened, you included. It was one big blur but everyone knew in a way that you had gone awol last night so Marcel didn’t really have anything to say to you until you finally arrived to your house.

“Do you want me to stay? I don’t want to talk but I also don’t want you alone.” Marcel asked you as he pulled into your drive. It was quintessential Marce. He didn’t really want to deal with any of this but he was way too empathetic to just drop it all, no questions asked. He was still your friend, Trent aside. Although right now he felt more like Trent’s brother than your friend. 

“I’m fine. I promise. Thank you.” You lied blatantly getting out of the car and he knew it. You didn’t expect him to but he got out of his car to help you with your luggage. The bags you had filled with outfits you would no longer get to wear this weekend celebrating with Trent now. 

“It’ll be fine.” He gave you a hug and it was like his reassuring words broke the damn down. You began to sob heavily. He stepped back from you not surprised but he was upset that you were upset. He felt bad but he also was a little annoyed with you so he needed to let go. He dragged his hand over his face and pivoted without looking back at you. He turned around though when he opened the drivers side of his car. “I know whatever happened was a mistake, Y/N, but he does a fucking lot for you, ya know? I’m not saying you don’t but he really moves fucking mountains for you and sometimes… fuck.” He sighed looking at you defeated as you stood awkwardly at your garage door awaiting the dagger he was about to twist into you. “I don’t know, you just expect him to. Like you take it as a given, for granite.” You opened your mouth to respond. “I gotta go.” He shook his head and left before you could say anything. Cut to, Trent had finally returned home. It was tense and it was painfully uncomfortable for the fleeting moments before the highly anticipated fight erupted. The second he walked in the door you shuddered. You two stood a good 3 yards apart yelling in voices you never used in your kitchen. 

“You know what that would fucking look like if someone saw any of this?” Trent spat at you frustrated you didn’t understand the point he was trying to make. You had explained to him the extent of your night that you could remember. He was less than impressed but right now he sounded like your mum and it made you feel horrible. Thoughts of all of the times she scolded you telling you ‘what would people think.’ the image of her sat at the edge of a hospital bed appeared in your head. 

“Why do you care what it fucking would look like?” You snapped back at him more annoyed at the remembrance of your mum than him. The sting felt the same no matter whose mouth it was coming from.

“Because I care about you… Do you see yourself lately?  I know with the wedding and the baby it’s stressful but have you looked in the mirror lately? I know how often you’ve been weighing yourself.” The way he said his last sentence was almost threatening. Trent wasn’t dumb and you weren’t exactly trying to hide either. He saw the scale pulled out on your shared bathroom floor every morning. The measuring tape you kept tucked in your drawer just to make sure everything was ‘on track’ lingering after effects from Chase like scars. 

“I can’t fucking look in the mirror, Trent” You snapped and the flood gates opened. You started balling. It took everything in him not to just grab for you. Hold you. Fix this. Tell you it was fine except this time it wasn’t. Nothing was fine right now. 

“What the fuck honestly, I’m at a fucking boiling point. I can't do it anymore. You have a daughter, Y/N! Do you want her to grow up to be like you?” Trent shouted at you, really starting to lose his temper. 

“Do you? Do you want her to be like me?” You asked him incredibly, even more offended than his words echoing your mother’s. Your tears were blurring your vision entirely. You couldn’t make out the face you knew. The face you loved. The one that brought you so much comfort. Right now, your entire life looked to have a smudged haze over it all.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. Can you please not cry all the time?” He pleaded with you having a hard time keeping his distance from you. He was so angry with you but so conflicted with the affection he wanted to show you. You only stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island at the moment but you felt worlds apart.

“I can’t! I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. This is all too much.” You were sobbing at this point clinging onto the lip of the marble slab countertop.

“No, I am not letting you do this.” He hated when you cried. Seeing you right now so upset made him sick to his stomach but pushed him past his normal point of concern into a state of rage. “Why do you fucking treat yourself like this!?! I don’t fucking understand it!” He continued to seethe with fury. He looked at you waiting for an answer. An incredibly deafening silence falling over the room. 

“Because I fucking hate everything about me. What don’t you fucking understand about that. You expect me to be this perfect version 24/7 but I’m not. I’m not!” You kept crying. “I’m sorry. Fuck! I’m sorry, I’m trying but I can’t be like you, okay?” You whimpered, feeling defeated and broken. It felt like you could never measure up to the golden boy that was in the room with you. No matter where you went or what you did he was always going to look sparkly and new, fantastical and interesting and you couldn’t feel more opposite. Having a baby completely ransacked you. You were far from new. You had been stripped of a sense of individualisation and identity. You were Teddy’s mum and Trent’s fiance. Y/N didn’t matter, anyone could fill in the blank of your name. The icing on the cake was the image you were trying to uphold all the while.

“Why do you always have to guilt me? I didn’t do anything here, Y/N, you did! You did this.” He snapped at you once more, moving to be a bit more accusatory. In a more mindful state you probably would’ve understood his reasoning but it just felt like a personal attack at the moment. 

“I step out of line once and it…” you tried to rebuttal but he wasn’t having it. He cut you off before you could even think of what your next word was going to be. 

“Out of line? Out of line? No, baby.” You heard him use the pet name out of habit and it sent a shiver running down your spine. That was not the way you liked to hear that word. After that, you had an even harder time keeping up with his words so transfixed on the snippy way he had said ‘baby.’ “You went missing and said fuck all untill I saw you in the stadium… you were in London alone. The mother of my fucking child, my baby.” Trent felt like he was about to start crying so he turned away from you dropping his head in his hands. ”My baby, my beautiful girl just fucking gone and you didn’t care! You didn’t care one bit” He whimpered a bit quieter than you’d heard him talk all day. You couldn’t get a word in fast enough before his anger rushed back. “God fuck… why do you not care!?! You not caring hurts me! It hurts our daughter! You can’t fucking do this!” He cried out. You were shaking. Your one hand pressed onto your sinuses attempting to relieve the pressure you thought was going to make your head explode. Your other hand’s nails were digging so painfully deep into your palm you were sure you were about to break the skin. 

“I’m not trying to hurt you! It’s me okay? I know it’s me. I’m shit. I get it. You’ve made that so fucking clear... that I’m not allowed to make mistakes. That I’m not allowed to falter from the caliber of excellence you live in everyday.” Your words fell into a slightly sassier sarcastic tone that made Trent twitch with anger but  then sadness crashed back over you dripping onto your next words. “I can’t handle the pressure T, I really can't. I know that you deserve more than this. You deserve to have someone so much better fit for you. and it's not me” You sniffled out. Your lip quivering, your mascara running. 

“I am done with this. If you fucking still think that I moved you to another country to be with me, I made a home for us here, had a child with you, that I want to fucking marry you is not enough. That's on you. Honestly, I’m fucking done. Have a good fucking time in New York tomorrow.  Don't stay out too late and maybe fucking try to take care of yourself because I’m done doing it for you.” He quipped storming out of the room.  You ran to the kitchen sink and threw up nausea hitting you instantly. Leaning over the deep farmhouse sink. He heard you and shut his eyes. He couldn’t turn back. If he did, he knew he’d cave.  You had originally planned to fly to New York again tomorrow but right now running the fuck away from all of this never felt like such a perfectly yet equally terrible idea. You already had your packed bags by the door the next day when Trent came down early, Teddy still asleep. You had slept in the guest room. Although ‘sleeping’ was probably a stretch. You just lied awake staring at the ceiling wavering in out of fits of tears. You couldn't say bye to Teddy, you didn’t want to say bye to him. You wanted to disappear and leave them so things would be better for them. It was for them you told yourself. Trent looked at you from a distance with a blank face. You bite your bottom lip trying so hard not to fall apart. He let out a deep sigh. He walked towards you and your whole body tensed. He wrapped one of his arms around your shoulder blades high on your back and pressed his lips to your forehead. The embrace felt so foreign. Tears began streaming down your face. “I hate how much I love you and I hate how much you don’t.” The way his lips felt on your skin almost stung. It was one of the most harrowing out of body experiences. It truly felt like that was going to be the last time he’d ever kiss you. That would be your last memory of his lips on you. He could feel how limp you were to his touch. He pulled away with his eyes shut and just let you walk out the door. His face fell. You couldn’t get any words to come out of your mouth. You couldn’t pick your eyes up to see him. He couldn’t understand but the pain you were in was palpable, thick in the room. It destroyed him to see you walking out of your house, your home. He tried so hard to hold it together. He tried absolutely everything he could but he fell to the ground. Crouching with his head in his hands. He began to cry. He felt weak and stupid but in the same way you felt that that may have been the last time together, he felt just the same. Suddenly it all scared him terribly that he had lost you, he had pushed you too far. You were his whole world but he had told you he didn’t want you around, he told you he didn’t want to take care of you. The feelings were still prevalent but it was like his heart was bleeding. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He told you he hated that he loved you. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. A part of you yearned pathetically for him to try to stop you from leaving for this pointless trip. You felt your heartbeat slow to a point where you weren’t sure it was beating anymore.  Your chest hurt so bad it felt like your body might have begun to shut down entirely and with this emotional feeling you thought that it might be the only way out of it. Everything had drained of its color watching the door close to your home, your family, your baby, the love of your life shutting you out as your uber pulled away. 

Trent didn’t tell anyone how bad things really had gotten between you two. He was always private but he couldn’t talk about this. He didn’t tell anyone that his Hollywood film romance was crumbling before you two had even got to the altar. He knew if he told George, Marcel, Tyler, or Jude they’d try to fix it and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was so angry. He didn’t love you any less but he just felt helpless. When he went to bed that night he found himself staring at your Van Cleef necklace he’d given you all those years ago. The one. He got so angry seeing it, seeing you left it behind. It felt like a part of you was leaving him, like you had given up. He held it in his hands imagining your warm skin and delicate décolletage it was supposed to be laid over. He was so indignant. Emotionally charged he yanked the necklace apart, splitting it into two pieces. He felt sick. It hit him like a ton of bricks. He couldn't believe he just did that. That necklace was your relationship and he just destroyed it. He sat with the two pieces of chain, one in each hand. You two separated. 

You were terrified about leaving Teddy but you couldn’t do anything but leave. You couldn’t move. She would be better off with the loving stable Alexander-Arnold family not the disaster you felt you were at the moment. Dianne had her, well Trent did, but when he was at training she would make sure she was okay. You got to New York and didn’t tell a soul you were there. Not your parents, Winnie, or Lauren. You wanted to be alone. You laid in your new apartment on the king sized bed you’d never even had a chance to sleep in with Trent yet. It was the most chilling depressing way to be reminded he wasn’t with you and that he didn’t want you with him. Did he want it all to really end? You were replaying your last conversations over and over analyzing every word he said and inflection of his voice when a Daily Mail article notification dropped down from the top of your phone screen. 

‘Trent Alexander-Arnold seen out on a date in Manchester with a mystery women ahead of his previously planned summer wedding. Has the American dream come to an end?’

Your face fell. You were pretty sure all the air had left your lungs, your brain short circuited. You zoomed in on the photo only inflicting more pain on yourself. You’d never seen the women in the photo in your life. She had curves and a full figure but still slender in all the right places. She looked like if Instagram was a person. You looked… not like that. A confirmation published globally echoing every thought you’ve ever had. You were not what he really wanted. This was all too good to be true and you were never going to measure up. The thought of him with someone else made you sick. The thought of another woman making him smile was somehow worse than anything else you could’ve possibly seen. He was holding the door for her, dimples deepened in his cheeks, his glowing smile mocking you. He hadn’t smiled at you in days now but that face from the tv was burned into your memory. You were a mess. You couldn’t cope without him. You felt completely lost. You felt like you were a missing person when you weren’t with him. You thought you were going to be sick the longer you stared at the images. You ran to the bathroom. You slipped on a rug and smacked your face on the porcelain toilet. You leaned over the toilet and vomited but you simultaneously could make out the drops of blood dripping off your face onto the seat through your hazy vision. ‘Fuck’ you cursed under your breath. The tears falling from your face dropping down to join the rest of the releases.

You sank into the warm water filled to the brim of the bathtub in your apartment. For some reason that had become your place of habit during whatever chaotic episode you currently were inhabiting. You slipped down into the water, letting the full bath completely cover and engulf your body. You closed your eyes. You could feel yourself crying but you couldn’t tell submerged in the water. You couldn’t believe what just happened, what you had lost in days time. Bubbles rose to the surface of the bath as you opened your mouth and screamed repeatedly underwater. When you emerged from the bath you were gasping and coughing excessively, somehow getting air to your lungs even more difficult now than when you were under the bath water. The tears returned now racing down your cheeks as you sobbed. You wanted out. This is what was best. Just get out, that's what was on your mind. You slid back under the water once more. A rage filled scream muffled by the water filling your mouth. Words repeating in your brain ‘please just get me out of here’ ‘give my baby a better mum than this’ ‘let Trent find someone perfectly matched for him.’

“Hey, you good? What’s up?” Lauren answered a call from Marcel. It was a little odd for him to call her. Naturally her curiosity peaked. Was he in New York? She felt like you would’ve said something if he was. They were on good terms but he was also well aware that she was with Jude now so she didn’t think he’d try to push to hang out now. Her intrigue only growing. 

“Hey, you’re in Manhattan?” He asked hesitantly, also feeling fairly weird about this call but he needed someone to check on you. His anxiety had been piling up over the last day or so. Lauren didn’t even know you had come to New York. She was shocked to even hear that let alone the next things about to come out of his mouth. Again, you just wanted to get out of Liverpool. You’d told no one. It had been a little over a day since you had arrived. You didn’t reach out and you hadn’t heard from anyone back at home either. Well, maybe from Marcel and Dianne but you had selfishly and unfairly chosen not to respond to either. Really, you were fixated on the fact that most noticeably you hadn’t heard from Trent. You canceled any of the appointments you had planned to attend for wedding planning opting to rot in your bed in hopes of achieving escapism. 

“I need you to go and check on Y/N. Trent said she flew to go over some wedding stuff but she hasn’t responded to me. He hasn’t either to any messages. Something is going on with them. There was this big mess before the match this past weekend.” He rambled on frantically trying to explain best he could but really emphasize that he just needed Lauren to find you and make sure you were fine, why didn’t really matter. She was confused to say the least. Even when you and Trent had stupid bickering fights she’d still hear about it. Yet this? This.. she didn’t hear a peep and this was far different from bickering over who forgot to unload a dishwasher. Lauren agreed, remembering that she had a key to your new apartment in Manhattan in case someone needed to get in when you weren’t there. You might’ve been there physically at the moment, but you were far from being there mentally that’s for sure. Lauren hurried the fastest she possibly could up to your apartment, the urgency in Marcel’s voice making her incredibly nervous. Her worst fears fueling her speed. She unlocked the door and walked inside only adding more confusion and fear to her scrambling brain because your phone's location had said you were there but the apartment was empty. It was quiet until she heard water in the bathroom. You opened your eyes beneath the surface of the water in a moment of desperation trying to stop overthinking what you were doing only for you to find yourself gasping and in taking a ton of water when you saw Lauren’s figure blurred above the water beside the bathtub.You didn’t have a moment of time to even react before Lauren frenziedly reached into the full tub and yanked you out aggressively immediately wrapping you in her arms over the ledge. Your soaking wet naked body drenching her dry clothes. She dragged your very limp body out. 

“Y/N, what the fuck is going on!?!?!” Lauren screamed, starting to uncontrollably cry. It didn’t look good. You felt so young again saved by Lauren once more. You blinked your swollen eyes trying to clear them of the water blurring them. You slumped back onto the cold side of the tub on the bathroom floor. She shook your shoulders trying to get you to come to and answer her. She was absolutely terrified and rightfully so. “Okay, okay. Jesus!” She ran her hands over her head in panic and shock. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll… erm… I’ll call T.” She rattled off trying to think what to do. She knew that’s what this was about.  

“You can’t!” You attempted to scream at her but you didn’t even have any strength left shaking from the shock and from the cold air hitting your wet skin. 

“Shit…” She cursed. Laurens chest started heaving. She was trying her very hardest not to fall into her own panic attack finding you like this. “Why, Y/N? Why?” She tried to be sensitive but she was angry for finding you like this.

“He ended it. He’s done…” You whimpered out devastated hearing each word fall out of your mouth. You felt like you were going to throw up imagining life without him.

“What do you mean he's done? You’re getting married so soon. Just try to relax here.” Lauren asked, perplexed because Marcel said things were off, not that you and Trent had split. 

“No… we’re not, okay? Just shut up, please!” You wailed. Heartbroken by the reality of what was all setting in now. Not only what was going on between you and Trent but the situation you had just put Lauren in, the way you left your daughter, the state you were currently in. Tears cascading down your face with no sign of stopping any time soon. 

“Hey! Enough. You’re not doing this.” Lauren scolded you demanding you cut this shit out immediately. She stood up stoic as ever just staring at you.

“You sound just fucking like him.” You screamed back at her dropping your head back behind you feeling incredibly dizzy. You wiped at your face, unable to stop the emotions flooding out of you.

“Y/N… no. We’ve done this. You’ve done this over really shitty things. This is and will not be one of them. You’re not doing it. Get up!” She continued to yell at you sternly commanding you with a scowl on her face. You looked at her confused that she was angry at you. Everyone was angry at you and the only thing that could possibly make it better was rewind time to go be back in your bed at home with your daughter and Trent but that was miles and miles away and probably not likely to happen again. Lauren made you stand up with her help on shaky legs, forcing you under freezing cold water for a moment in an effort to practice some sort of distress tolerance. She sat on the edge of the sink as you stood with tears falling at the same rate the water did from the shower head. She didn’t trust you right now to leave the room. You got out and wrapped yourself in a towel and sat yourself on your bed shaking. Yes, you were cold but also just riddled with so much anxiety. You couldn’t believe you had ruined everything. You had everything you could ever want. You sat there for a long while trying to explain the situation to Lauren through several breaks unable to calm your breath. Although your story probably was a little one sided as you really only relayed the more harsh things Trent had said. ‘I don’t want you here,’ ‘I’m done with this,’ ‘I’m done taking care of you.’ And then of course, you had to show her the Daily Mail article that only ignited another panic attack to crash over you. You were having heart palpitations. There was a laundry list of reasons you probably should’ve gone to the hospital but at the moment you couldn’t move your body and sadly, you didn’t want the help. “He’s not done with you…” Lauren whispered softly, helping you lay down in the big bed taking your phone from you, clicking the power button and watching the screen illuminated with the photo of Trent and the women go black. “He’s really upset, Y/N, He’s allowed to be. I’m sure a lot of it was said heat of the moment but you fucked up and he’s concerned but he’s not done. He loves you more than frankly I ever knew people could love each other. I know he isn't done.” She cooed with a sad sympathetic smile. She looked next to your bed on the bedside table and saw your engagement ring in a little jewelry dish. “Please put this back on, please.” She put the ring back on your finger where it belonged for you and kissed the back of your hand before wiping a falling tear. You took it off because it was making you nauseous that he had promised you a life and you accepted it only to destroy it all. “He’s not going anywhere, I am not going anywhere, and Y/N, you…you are not going anywhere. You are here and we want you here.” You could hear a tremor in her voice as she sat next to you rubbing your back. You weren’t sure when the last time you slept was so you passed out finally feeling her warm comforting touch on you. You were fast asleep when Lauren got up and called Jude from another room. She roughly explained the situation, she didn’t speak too much about you and Trent’s kick off because she didn’t think she had the full story yet. She began to cry when she relayed the terrifying situation she had just gone through arriving at your apartment. Jude was shocked, gobsmacked, massively concerned but more so helpless listening to Lauren sob over the phone. He didn’t know how to help from where he was. 

Back in Liverpool, Tyler had come over to your house to talk to Trent about some end of the season things they needed to get squared away. He sat with Teddy bouncing her on his knee as they had a unnecessarily tense conversation. 

“Yo, what’s with you?” Tyler quipped looking at Trent confused. He was being particularly snippy with him and all his brother was trying to do was his job. Trent didn’t need to be such an asshole to him. 

“Ty, I’m losing her.” Trent sighed scrolling on his phone zooming in on your location to make sure he knew you were at the apartment he had gotten for you at least. He didn’t have the courage to text or call you yet but he needed to know where you were. 

“What are you on about mate?” Tyler asked, incredibly confused. Marcel had mentioned a tiff at the game but like everyone else around you two there never were any really big squabbles so this was definitely a bit of a surprise. 

“I can feel it, bro. Since we had Teddy all this stuff she warned me about, things she had dealt with when she was younger all started flooding back. I always knew like from the day I met her, she wasn’t like the most confident person in the world but since she had the baby she’s just not the same. I hear her get up in the middle of the night, I see her not eating as much, she’s sleeping way more and I can’t do anything. There’s nothing to say even. She’s like a shell of herself, bro. I’m terrified.” Trent expatiated at length but vaguely touching on the slow decline you had been on postpartum. 

“I haven’t seen it to be honest.” Tyler responded hesitantly tilting his head slowly trying to rack his brain to think if he had noticed any shifts in your behavior. 

“That’s the fucking problem. She’s fooling everyone. It’s fucked. Like I get it she looks good. She always looks good, she’s perfect but it’s not right. Something's not right and I’m getting worried. I was absolutely fuming after the final and I just didn’t want to talk to her to be honest but then she left for New York… and…” Trent rambled half ass explaining the situation at hand but leaving out the part that you two hadn’t spoken since you walked out of the house. 

“Well you love her, you can’t just dip because it got hard.” Tyler was very quick with his response. He wanted to make sure Trent wasn’t trying to jump ship considering at the very moment he was holding the child you shared.

“I’m not dipping. I’m never fucking leaving her. It’s just such a mess. It felt like it went 0 to 60.” Trent dropped his head back onto the couch cushion in despair so confused and conflicted on what he was supposed to do next.

“Well, first off, good. If you’re gonna marry her, you’re buying into all of it, mate. It’s not your responsibility to heal her of something but it’s your responsibility if you really love her to get her to the people that can if she’s not willing to do it herself. You love her and she’s the mother of your child and if she can’t see that… you need to make sure you do everything you can to show her there’s no other possible feeling there but your support.” He looked at Trent with a lot of sympathy but Tyler really was starting to worry about you. His brain switching gears from the assistance to his younger brother to a growing anxiety about the girl he picked up from the airport and never left all those years ago. He started to remember little things here and there, comments made or small actions that felt like nothing at the time but maybe cumulatively he should’ve caught on. 

The next day after Trent had a big think, he remembered that one of George’s cousins ran a clinic in Liverpool so he figured he could start there. He asked George for her number and she agreed to meet him happily willing to help. He at least wanted to learn what options he even had. He wanted to know a simple answer of what he was supposed to do but he knew that wasn’t the reality.  The photos of their meeting hit you like a ton of bricks. You thought he was seeing someone else, taking your night out and spitting it back at you. Showing you he could disappear just the same and rub it your face simultaneously. That wasn’t the case at all though. He wasn’t thinking about her in that regard in the slightest; the only thing he could think about was you, you 24/7. Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of what was happening in your apartment at the moment which probably wouldn’t have given him much peace of mind. Ignorance was currently a mild form of bliss until he got home seeing he had a missed call.

After Lauren spoke to Jude she texted Marcel updating him in a fuzzy but still transparent way. She didn’t think she could handle another call after the emotional one she had with Jude. Eventually, Lauren mustered up the courage to call the one person she knew she had to… Trent. Her legs bounced in anxious anticipation but he didn’t answer her call. She felt her stomach drop. Maybe things were that bad. Maybe he really was done. He couldn’t be, she’d kill him, so she told herself she’d call once more but after that if he didn’t pick up, if he didn’t want to talk then she would resort to getting Dianne’s number from Marcel. This couldn’t go on any longer. She didn’t want to press but this needed to be sorted. Trent picked up the second time she rang but didn’t say anything once he answered for a little while so Lauren didn’t say a thing either. The line was silent until Trent's desperation outweighed any anger he had been harboring.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🤍

Next part - Chapter 20 xx

[homesickturner]

Homesick - Ch. 1

plot : childhood best friends Gracie and John are separated when join joins the war. Both are dealing with their own problems…will they cope with such distance between them. Most importantly, will the friendship (or more than..) stand the test of the war?

Dara speaks : hi hi! I’m overjoyed to finally be releasing this first chapter 🥹 I just could not keep these two to myself anymore 🫶 pls comment if you enjoy…any constructive criticism is welcome also. My asks box is wide open for any and all thoughts you have after reading this chapter so please send them my way !! The idea for this series came to me while listening to my favorite song ever homesick by dua lipa…give it a listen if you have not it’s too good!

warning : will be historically inaccurate at times for the sake of storytelling. Mentions of anxiety.

Gracie and John grew up together. Their parents often say that it was not often throughout their lives that one was seen without the other. Once they reached hugh school, things certainly changed although they still remained very close.

Gracie has been an exceptional student for all her young life and had future hopes of become a nurse. John and Gracie spoke often of their future plans and although there was a chance they may end up hours and hours from each other they knew they would be alright.

“So John,” Gracie spoke up, John sitting opposite her at the dinner table at her home. “I was thinking of doing some traveling before I head to Washington in the fall…where is it that you confirmed again?.”

“Gracie-.”

“Don’t worry though it’ll be way before college so we’ll have time to work and-.”

“I’m joining the air corps,” he blurted out, setting his knife and fork down.”

“You’re…what. John you’re going off to the war and you didn’t mention it.”

“No Gracie because I knew how worried you’d be-.”

“Damn right John.” She shot back, a hurt expression clouding her face. The girl was lost for words. “I’m coming with you-.”

“Like hell you are,” he scoffed. “Quit talking crap Gracie.”

“John! I was going to be a nurse anyway at least this way I’d be helping.” She pleaded.

“Gracie..you don’t want to see what some of the nurses do in the war,” John said softly. “You have so much going for you, go to college and have fun-.”

“While you’re getting shot down out of your fucking plane John!.” She shouted back at him, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Grace I’ll be ‘aright. I’m not letting you throw your future away for me…for this stupid war.” He insisted.

“John you’re my best friend. I can’t let you go out there.” She stood from the table and began pacing the small dining room. “If I do, I’d bet money that there’ll be a letter landing on my lap in Washington in a few months because you’ll-.”

“Gracie,” he yelled, strolling to where she was in front of him and laying both hands firmly on her shoulders. “Please…you’re breaking my heart. You gotta let me go.” He choked out, getting the slightest bit emotional seeing her eyes filled with tears.

Gracie felt like the life she’d planned had been ripped from beneath her. Some may say, she indeed had the world at her feet, everything was in her favor. Her family were wealthy, she had friends and she was headed to one of the top nursing programs in the country. Gracie never in a million years expected to hear that news from John. She was so crushed, so angry that this war was going to take away her favorite person from her and maybe never give him back. Gracie knew that boy better than she knew herself, so she knew that there was no changing his mind.

Although she was deeply upset, she knew John and had every belief he was doing this for the right reasons. Gracie knew that John had a big heart and truly just wanted to do what he could in such a horrific situation.

She wished she could be mature and think clearly about the situation. At the end of the day, Gracie was 18 years old and about to potentially loose her best friend to this war. So, she certainly was not thinking clearly.

As much as Gracie tried to persuade him, John’s decision was made. One week later he and Gracie stood at the Wisconsin harbor to say their goodbyes.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered quietly into this ear, both her arms wrapped around his neck. “I can’t loose you Johnny…you’re my other half.”

Gracie couldn’t believe John was finally leaving her. She wasn’t sure she could live without him. Unfortunately for her, she was about to find out.

“It’ll be alright Gracie, I promise you. Just trust me alright?,” he muttered to her softly, he hands rubbed her back slowly.

John knew no matter what he told her, she’d worry. He knew that they were two halves of the same coin, and they balanced each other out perfectly. John brought out her wild side and Gracie kept John’s feet on the ground when he got overexcited. They certainly brought out the best in each other.

He might have been going off to war, but the only thing he was worried about was how Gracie would cope when he was gone. She’d always been an anxious girl, and it has only worsened in her late teens. In recent years, her friends and family realized that it was only John who seemed to truly help her. They would watch the nerves and worry melt off her face and her body relax when John and Gracie were in company togther. When she was with him, it was as if all the voices in her head were quieted and she felt herself again. John could only hope a constant stream of encouraging letters would keep his Grace happy.

As they broke apart John kept his hands on her shoulders. The two kept their eyes locked for a few moments, the words that were not said danced in the air between them. The moment neither of them ever thought would come had finally arrived.

Gracie watched as John turned and slowly began to walk away from her, and into the unknown. Right before boarding the boat, he turned to her once more as she called out to him.

“John?,” she asked. “Yeah Gracie?,” he called back, a small smile forming on this lips. “

“Please take care of yourself Johnny….and I’ll be waiting for my letters.” John could see her eyes lighting up as she shouted out to him.

“I will Grace, I promise I will. You’ll have plenty of letters don’t you worry.”

Gracie watched as her best friend boarded the boat. Moments later he appeared on the top deck, finding himself a spot next to the railing and stood waving to Gracie. A smile graced her lips as she watched him waving to her, and she would laugh when every so often he would do a salute. John noticed these laughs, and did them twice as much when he noticed she enjoyed them.

Gracie’s heart broke as she watched the boat sail away slowly. She stood and waved the John until she couldn’t see him anymore. Once the boat had sailed far enough, she let some tears finally fall down her cheeks.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 7.5

(not a real chapter, i just decided to keep analyzing until i hit some kind of satisfying conclusion)

this is a special episode of "sam reads capri," in which i comment a bit more on chapter 7 so i can hopefully move forward and evaluate chapter 8 without constantly getting stuck on 7 again.

update after making the additional commentary: holy fuck, i think i solved it. to my satisfaction, at least. i'm really glad i did this.

i have noticed that capri chapters are often self-contained in terms of themes. like, the scenes that are stitched together are done so for a reason. in the case of chapter 7, this is especially interesting. we get the laurent slave stuff, the party, and then the intense lamen argument on the field where auguste died. at first i was almost annoyed that these two situations were put next to each other, because the laurent slave stuff bothered me so much. but then i began to wonder WHY they weren't separated into different chapters. what do they have in common, both thematically and in terms of my personal reading experience? to figure it out, i first have to summarize what happens even each individual scene of the chapter. here are my findings:

chapter 7 scene 1

damen and laurent approach marlas with their combined army. have some super awkward and stunted dialogue about staying in separate apartments. damen has an opportunity to reference a snarky joke, but doesn't. there is so much distance and hesitation, especially compared to their previous dynamic in prince's gambit (they shared a tent like every night and spoke very closely) and even captive prince (they hated each other so they just kinda said whatever the fuck). damen is extremely apprehensive about interacting with laurent in any kind of meaningful or personal way, and is very consciously restraining himself, as well as being restrained by his role as king.

chapter 7 scene 2

inside the fort, damen and laurent are immediately jumpscared by a hallway of slaves. like right in front of my salad. damen, who has already been experiencing massive discomfort and disgust with his own nation's customs, of which he briefly was a victim, continues to turn the slaves down. this is seen as disrespectful, but he's the king of akielos, so it's fine. laurent, meanwhile, seems not even to hesitate before stepping forward and choosing a slave like a kid in a pet shop ("i like that one"). the slave, isander, very obviously looks like damen, which damen notices immediately. laurent asks a little more about the customs of slavery, like the first night, and makes eye contact with damen as he says that he never got to command his previous bed slave (damen). then he asks the slave keeper to teach him how. the keeper says the slave doesn't speak veretian, but "to command any act of service is to honor a slave. the more personal the service, the greater the honor." aka: "he wants you to boss him around." laurent says "really?" and has isander come over, has him kiss his boot how damen had once (reluctantly) done, except isander is totally into it. laurent praises isander, isander's happy, and it makes everyone around them pleased, because the veretian prince is engaging with akielon customs. damen meanwhile has a salty thought about these people being stupid for thinking laurent would actually use the slave as intended, or even respect their customs, because there's no way laurent would actually fuck that guy, or any of these slaves. and damen would be better at undressing laurent anyway. laurent then has to get one more dig in, asking if isander can serve him in the baths, famously (between damen and laurent) a place where damen was embarrassingly turned on by his own attraction to laurent and punished for it. and laurent also says he's pleased by the idea of isander serving him at the party, also something damen did in arles. so basically, laurent just chose a slave that looked exactly like damen, gave him all the praise and affection he didn't give past slave damen and certainly not present king damen, promised a rebound speedrun of their greatest hits at arles in front of damen, all with complete composure and the plausible deniability of diplomacy.

chapter 7 scene 3

damen does not feel like this is a homecoming. the slaves make him uncomfortable. he is acutely aware of laurent in the queen's chambers to his king's chambers, and imagines isander tending to him (but not as well as damen could). he specifically imagines isander being asked to the baths, being flushed with pride to be of service, and then damen curls his hands into fists and thinks about politics instead.

damen arrives at the function to see laurent looking cunty as ever with isander beneath him, being affectionate and shameless and vulnerable. laurent calls damen "brother" as he approaches, knowing damn well that damen is not thinking of brotherly things at the moment. damen feels supremely awkward in his seat next to laurent, without his own slaves, and the awareness of everyone in the room that he'd once been the slave at laurent's feet. one of his generals then questions damen's loyalty to akielos and implies that he's doing favors for laurent because of their sexual relationship. damen just goes straight to denial and dismissal, but laurent decides to show off his cuff and own the fact that he tapped that, damen was his slave, even though damen is the guy who killed his brother. so people really should not fuck with laurent, or question their leadership. it seems to work, and earn him the respect of the generals. food comes out, damen awkwardly feeds himself and the arrangement displeases everyone. damen observes that isander, who is feeding laurent by hand, is clearly in love with him. this, we can assume, is not unrelated to the fact that damen started catching feelings for laurent back in book 2 when he fed laurent by hand. laurent asks a slave to play damen's favorite song, which mentions a guy killing another guy to take his city and has the word "brother" in it. laurent somehow knows this is damen's favorite, perhaps informed by the slaves, who have played it many times for damen before. damen doesn't want to hear it now. damen watches jord tells loyse, aimeric's mom, that he's sorry for her loss, which she gives diplomatic "token attention" despite the very personal nature of the situation. this is similar to damen and laurent's earlier strained interactions. damen then summons jord over for a conversation that basically amounts to jord saying "laurent knew who you were the whole time? damn that's crazy. wild that he really trusted you anyway, because he definitely still did. and he didn't trust anyone else before that, so you must have really been special." damen of course chooses this moment to look over at laurent, who is now basically cuddling isander as isander feeds him grapes, playing with isander's not-unlike-damen's curly hair. damen considers isander to be "a prince's new favorite." everyone starts leaving the party have sex with their slaves (i hate it here) and laurent does the same gesture with isander. damen remembers that time torveld told him, laurent's slave, that he (torveld) was jealous, and would trade places in a heartbeat. damen then excuses himself to chase laurent, but only finds a very confused isander, who says that laurent immediately abandoned him to take a ride once the crowd stopped looking. damen knows that laurent has gone to the field where his brother died to clear his troubled head, and follows.

chapter 7 scene 4

damen arrives at the field. laurent is there, more vulnerable than usual in terms of his clothing. laurent is surprised to see damen there for a split second, but then ices over. damen says that he thought laurent might want a friend, and we know that it's because jord unintentionally reminded damen that he's the only person laurent has let himself get close to since auguste's death, even though he's the guy who killed auguste. damen knows this isn't an easy place for laurent to be and wants to support him, even if it's awkward. he knows nobody else can support laurent, the way he can. laurent, meanwhile, says they can fuck if damen wants, and insists that he knows damen does. that it's all he really wants. laurent tries to goad him into admitting it, and damen tries to talk to laurent about his feelings about auguste. laurent deflects again and damen accepts that they're not having the auguste conversation right now. he earnestly admits that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about having sex with laurent. laurent deflects with a taunt/joke, damen is earnest again, although he does say jokingly that laurent fucked like a virgin. laurent deflects with a taunt/joke again, damen is earnest again again, adding that laurent also fucked like "you knew what you were used to." this particular earnest comment hits on laurent's sexual trauma with his uncle, although damen doesn't know it. laurent tells damen that he (laurent) can't take damen's "particular brand of honesty right now." damen earnestly tries to reassure laurent that he really did like sleeping with him, even if he (laurent) was inexperienced. laurent shoots back that damen would oh my god i get it. wait. i understand the chapter. I UNDERSTAND THE CHAPTER.

laurent says "you like it simple." in response to damen admitting that he liked sleeping with laurent, even though he's not that good at sex. "YOU LIKE IT SIMPLE" MEANS SLAVERY. laurent is referring to the things he's learned about akeilon slaves, things we heard him ask about earlier in the chapter: the first night, the fact that simply giving them a command is to honor them, the fact that they know and can play damen's favorite song by heart. laurent is referring to the simplicity of romancing/loving/fucking a person who has been trained to be romanced, loved, and fucked. a slave who "[knows] what [their masters are] used to." a person who isn't a real person at all. laurent has been observing how this system works all night, and this is him fully expressing his disdain in the most personal way possible. his disdain for akielon slavery, for his assumption of damen's preferences, and in a way, for himself. laurent knows that he could never be an simple option for damen, just how damen spent so much of this chapter holding himself back because knows he isn't an simple option for laurent. nothing about them is simple, in the way things are for a master and a slave. they can't be, and they shouldn't be.

but still... damen and laurent, in this scene, both wish things could be different from how they are. they wish things could be simpler, sweeter, so they could truly fit into each other's lives. but laurent has to be a cold bitch, in order to prove himself in his position. he can't very well say that he and damen wear those cuffs because they belong to each other. and honestly, i don't even think laurent believes that damen wants him, beyond him being a good fuck, as evidenced by the way he greets damen in this scene. being around isander probably made laurent feel insecure, knowing that isander is the kind of person damen fucks for recreation. laurent's proposition was basically a characteristically aggressive, control-freak way for laurent to offer his submission, because he thinks that's all damen really wants. i'm quoting sharp objects again: "sometimes when you let someone do something to you, you're really doing it to them." it's a twisted reflection of the "purity" of akielon slavery, much more similar to the dynamic i think we can assume that laurent had with the regent. and that's really all laurent is used to, besides damen.

four words. "you like it simple." and the entire chapter makes sense. the reason why this scene was in this chapter, juxtaposed with the slavery theme, makes sense. laurent's morals make sense, even if he's still functionally a hypocrite. laurent is protective of victims, people he sees as helpless and powerless and wounded. technically, isander is helpless and powerless, and a victim of the akielon slavery system. but laurent doesn't see isander, the individual, as a powerless, helpless, wounded victim. both because he's well-cared for and perfectly happy in his ignorance, incompatible with the image of "victim" laurent sees in his younger self and nicaise, and because deep down, laurent is jealous of isander too.

damen's response to those four words, "you like it simple," originally felt like an overreaction to me. but now i think i better understand what it means. All the breath left his throat. He stood, stripped, unready for it. Will you use even that against me? he wanted to say, and didn’t. Laurent’s breathing was shallow too, holding his ground.”

the "that" is slavery. both the practice in general, and laurent's assumption based on his new knowledge about the practice. damen saw laurent learn about the first night, and the proper method of commanding a bed slave. and damen knows that laurent knows he's been sleeping with slaves since he was a teenager. so logically, damen's reaction is to the realization that laurent thinks that damen fucked him as if he was a slave, and not a person. imagining him as a pretty object, groomed and submissive, noticeably and shamefully falling short where he is inexperienced. just like the regent.

which explains laurent's reaction, too, with the shallow breating. being around the slaves and isander and marlas must have made laurent more upset than he let on—about damen, about his trauma with the regent, about auguste—and he's only letting himself and feel and express it all now.

damen then makes himself change subjects, back to auguste. because talking about laurent's brother who he killed is somehow less complicated than their sex life. damen tries to reassure laurent that it was a fair fight and auguste wasn't in pain. laurent, unsurprisingly, responds with a taunt/joke.

horses pass by. laurent asks if damen sent them, damen says no. they find themselves in the same exact position they'd been in when they had their first night of true familiarity and companionship, in nesson-elroy. this part of the lamen greatest hits speedrun, they do themselves. the first time where damen felt not like a slave, but like laurent's equal partner. after laurent emptily re-enacting all of those kinky arles moments with isander, this is the thing that's too sacred to be done by anyone but the two of them. pressing up against each other in the midst of an adventure, free from the expectations of their true identities, barely able to contain the emotion between them. oh my god am i tearing up? i'm tearing up.

they pull away and damen tells laurent he isn't cold. damen knows he isn't cold. laurent wasn't cold when he tortured damen out of vengeful rage for the brother he loved, and laurent wasn't cold when he made love with his brother's killer. earnest, as ever. correct and they both know it.

laurent says they have to leave because of the riders, and then walks the conversation back to something damen said earlier, about it being a fair fight with auguste: "a fair fight? no fight's ever fair. someone's always stronger." and they leave.

laurent believes that everything is a power struggle, with one person in control and another person submitting. the strong and the weak, simple as that. this belief extends to intimacy and sex, which makes sense given laurent's sexual history and the veretian court. however, throughout the series we constantly see laurent's cynical outlook clashing with damen's earnest determination to act honorably. which makes the fact that laurent is the one against slavery between them, and damen is the one who has historically happily partaken, deeply ironic. and it makes it even clearer to damen that, to laurent, not only did he kill auguste—but he also made auguste look like the weaker man, adding insult to injury.

laurent never wants to be the weaker man, but also believes that people like himself—people who are decidedly not simple or trained into submission, who refuse to make themselves vulnerable because that would make them victims—can never truly be loved. so he'll choose to settle for being fuckable instead, and that choice gives him control. that's... that's probably why he didn't tell damen the truth about what he knew, in prince's gambit. because laurent assumed that if he was his real self, in his true complicated unsweet nature, damen wouldn't have wanted him in the same way, or at all. and just like jord said, damen was the only person laurent could trust.

damen wants to believe that things can be simple; not in the cynical way laurent implied, but in a way that's entirely earnest and vulnerable. he wants to be able to love and be loved without needing to prove himself the stronger man. he doesn't want to hold back, or follow customs, or be with a partner who is trained to get everything right. he wants someone real—the entire person, not just a body to fuck. he wants adventure and inside jokes, to be a not-slave but not-not-a-slave. he wants nesson-elroy, not arles or marlas. he wants to belong to laurent because he chooses to belong to laurent, and he wants laurent to choose him back.

either i totally just nailed this chapter analysis the second time around, or i overthought so hard that i came up with an entire unintended interpretation and made myself tear up about it. either way, good game, chapter 7. now i feel like i can move on.

[elleloquently]

invisible string [4] : ellie williams

part three

| college!ellie x female!reader - thank you guys so much for patiently (and excitedly) waiting for this update! school is absolutely so busy it's sickening, so it's hard to write as often as i want, but i really want to aim for at least one update per week! writing this chapter was so much fun so please let me know what you think... as always thank you for your love, requests are open, and reblogs and comments are always loved and appreciated! love ya <3 (p.s shout out to a creepy owner irl who inspired part of this fic)

| c/w - anxious reader, swearing, mention of weed, alcohol, men!

studying was very dull compared to texting a pretty girl.

ellie entered your life in a whirlwind, notes filling up your once empty walls and endless texts and pictures cluttering up your phone.

the texts came in slowly at first, maybe a few short conversations every other day, mostly complaining about how much homework the professor of your shared class was packing in before finals week hit. then entered stupid memes, random pictures... and suddenly you were staying up until 3am learning about each other, despite your 8am class.

it had only been a few days, and you knew that you were getting too attached.

it was a feeling that made your stomach sink, the realization of how much your mood improved with a simple text. you were happiest in class, sitting next to ellie, even when your hand cramped from filling out pages of study guides.

sighing, you turned your music up louder and crashed back onto your bed, cushioned by a multitude of throw pillows and blankets. you weren't getting much studying done anyway.

the song grew quiet as your phone chimed, music to your ears.

Zero progress.

attached was a photo of the study guide, the amount of completed questions matching those of your own packet.

you quickly typed out a response to ellie, short and to the point.

literally sickening

it was only a few seconds before she replied:

There goes my weekend!

you replied in agreement before forcing yourself back up to glance over your textbook. you've been lingering on the same chapter for over an hour. if you were truly honest with yourself, you probably only read about two paragraphs... you were distracted.

you hardly had time to even daydream due to how busy you were, but it's not like it mattered. you gaze lingered to the collaboration of drawings made by yourself and ellie, still sticking to the wall. your phone sounded once again, pulling you out of a sleepy daze. figuring it was ellie again, you closed your textbook in an act of resignment.

the smile that appeared once you heard the text notification slowly faded upon closer inspection.

it wasn't ellie. it was a friend, one you admittedly haven't spoken to much as of recent. you hadn't really meant to ghost her, but your schedules didn't really align much. this time of year you were so busy with assignments and work, and she was busy with... well, literally anything else.

her message consisted of only two words, call me. it was short and vague so you immediately obliged, worry taking over your senses.

she answered on the second ring, speaking before you had even opened your mouth.

"please tell me you don't have plans tonight," she urged.

you wince, already preparing an excuse. "i'm studying..." you start. it wasn't a complete lie, you really had been making an effort.

her disappointment is obvious by the way she sighs your name into the phone speaker. "i've barely seen you all semester," she argues.

you start to chip your nail polish on your free hand, holding your phone to your ear with the other one. "what's up?" you ask.

"come out with me tonight? please. you've hardly come out this semester and let's be real, once finals start there's no chance i'll be able to convince you to come out," your friend pleads. her desperation is heavy and you rub at your eyes.

you want to immediately tell her no, but you really hadn't seen her in awhile yet the other day you skipped class for a chance to hangout with someone you hardly even knew. granted, it was ellie, but still.

a pit of guilt planted itself in your stomach, forcing your next words.

"what time?"

yelping in excitment, the girl on the other end of the line gushes out all of the information to you. "i'll pick you up around eleven, okay?"

a rushed end to a quick call, with promises to text more and texting outfit options for the night.

you were nervous about the change of pace. it caused you a strange feeling of obligation, to get out of your bubble and do something different every once in awhile. during college, people were promised four years of finding their forever friends and partying, making the memories that will last their entire lifetime.

you tried to partake, but it felt forced.

with a demanding major and even more demanding coursework, it was hard to maintain friendships by finding the time to actually go out. any spare time you had was replaced with shifts at work.

you felt like you were doing college… wrong.

your music resumed, the volume increasing to drown out any anxious thoughts that would prompt you to cancel last minute.

with no new texts from ellie, you decided to give your study guide one last try.

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by the time you were supposed to get picked up, you were already yawning. you had dedicated the last hour to getting ready and picking an outfit that was deemed cute enough to make you feel good but still comfortable enough that you felt secure.

though it felt like a sleepy time of year, students were nearly restless. the pressures of exams were relieved on weekends, places around the college town open all night for people to blow off steam.

it happened quickly so you didn't have a moment to reconsider or backtrack, a text of 'here!' and shoving your feet into shoes before dashing to meet your friend in the parking lot.

the car ride was a catch up session, your friend talking about her new friends but you made a quick decision not to tell her about ellie. you weren't exactly sure why, but it was almost like you wanted to keep ellie to yourself. you checked your phone mindlessly and couldn't help but feel let down when nothing new presented on your screen.

the streets were alive and busy, girls huddled together to stay warm despite the lack of coats. the outside was an indication of how busy each bar and club would be, warm with heat and bodies packed inside.

you arrived at your friend's favorite establishment, the environment a stark difference from the comfortable evening you were having in your dorm just a few short hours ago. you pressed your way through a thick crowd, hanging loosely onto the arm of your friend so you wouldn't split up.

drinks were overpriced but you ordered one anyway, something to hold onto but you knew you would probably only finish a little more than half of it if you were dedicated enough.

"i'm gonna meet up with some people, my friends and their friends," your friend explained over the music, quickly resulting in your growing concern.

you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, you always did, but other people getting involved meant you would be inevitably ditched within the hour. the look on your face gave away your feeling and the girl standing opposite of you had a short patience.

"i wish you would've told me," you tried to reason, not wanting to look or sound pathetic.

"it doesn't matter," she shook her head. "they're nice, it'll be fun."

fun.

'fun' ended up being the act of standing awkwardly in the back because they wouldn't make enough room for you in the circle. 'fun' apparently was listening to them tell the same story over and over, yet talk over you every time you tried to speak too.

forced to be a wallflower, you stood with your back against the wall as you observed other people dancing. you could almost be content like this... the music was loud and the lighting was dark. the combination seemed like it would be an anxiety nightmare, but it was actually the opposite. you could stand there, completely unnoticed, hidden by the atmosphere.

you really could've been okay with it, until your eyes were drawn to your friend pointing at you. you stood up straight, thinking she was beckoning over, until you realized exactly what she was doing. she had been dancing with a guy that night, and that guy seemingly had a friend. she was pointing you out to the friend, pushing him to join you. he started walking in your direction and your stomach filled with dread. you didn't want to be in this situation, and you certainly didn't want to make small talk with some guy.

you tried to look busy, quickly pulling out your phone and looking anywhere else. against your silent praying, the guy stood over you.

"hey," he said, leaning too close to your ear and you ducked your head away. he smelled like alcohol and cologne that was sprayed too many times. you tried a polite smile but it came out like a wince.

"can i buy you a drink?"

you answered his question by holding up your cup, hand tightly covering the opening of the top. you had only taken a few sips of it, not able to stand the taste.

"how many?" he pressed, pointing to your cup.

"what?" your face scrunched in confusion.

"how many drinks have you had?" he clarified with a laugh that you didn't return.

"one. this is my first," you informed him flatly.

he made a face like he was pretending to be let down and your stomach turned. "only one? come on girl, you need more than that."

you outwardly groaned, rolling your eyes as you pushed yourself off of the wall. "i'm going to the bathroom. bye."

"want me to hold your drink?" he called after you, agitated and loud.

you ignored him and stepped carefully through the crowd, not wanting to stand too closely to any men or accidently bump any dancing girls. you were hyper focused on the restroom sign and the way the music pounded in your ears, muttering to yourself when you felt a hand wrap around your arm.

you immediately tensed, your blood running cold but your body feeling hot simultaneously. was this guy seriously grabbing you right now?

short tempered and fuming, you loudly spat "fuck off," as you angrily whipped around, only to be met with horrified green eyes, freckles, and auburn hair.

letting go as quickly as she had reached for you, ellie dropped her hand. "shit, sorry, i-"

you quickly cut her off, apologizing profusely.

"ellie, oh my god, i am so sorry," you stressed, heart sinking when she took a step away from you.

"sorry, i really shouldn't have done that," ellie mumbled, wincing. you nearly didn't hear her, the music was too loud.

she had on a loose flannel, unbuttoned down the middle and her converse. you were sure that her horrified expression matched your own, and you wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

"i'm so sorry," you repeated. "i thought you were someone else and-"

"i'm sorry, i called your name but-"

you kept talking over each other, rushing awkward apologies. ellie shifted on her feet, her cheeks red.

"sorry," you mentioned again, defeated. "there was this guy, and..."

"a guy," ellie repeated quietly, her expression unreadable.

"yeah," you pushed on, glancing over ellie's shoulder. he was watching you now, remaining where you left him. gross. "i was trying to get away from him and i didn't hear you, i had no idea, i'm so sorry ellie."

she laughed dryly as she recovered but your face still stung with embarrassment. "it's alright," ellie reassured you, turning her head to briefly spot the guy you had glanced at. "are you here with him?" she asked curiously.

you quickly shook your head, rolling your eyes to express your disgust. "no," you emphasized. "i'm here with my friend but... i don't know," you laughed bitterly, finally taking a moment to let it sink in that you had ran into ellie here.

"i don't know why i'm here," you felt the need to say.

ellie nodded with a short laugh. "tell me about it."

you raised an eyebrow but didn't press it, still feeling like you needed to collect yourself. you could stand and talk with ellie forever, but you seriously needed to regroup.

"hey, um, i'm gonna run to the bathroom," you explained.

"come find me when you're done?" ellie offered, green eyes scanning your face. she pointed to an area by the bar, showing you where you could find her.

your nerves didn't stand a chance, overpowered by the overwhelming desire to be close to her. you nodded, your smile genuine for the first time that night.

before you could return on your path to the bathroom, ellie spoke again. "do you want me to hold onto that for you?" she offered, gesturing to the drink in your hand.

"oh, yeah, thanks ellie." you passed it over and she covered the top with her hand automatically, a simple thing that made your heart swell.

"i'll be there, alright?" she guaranteed, her eyes never leaving yours. you nodded once and parted ways, quickly heading to the bathroom.

you dashed for an empty sink, running cold water over your hands as you stared at your reflection. you couldn't figure out why, but you felt weird about running into ellie here. you suddenly wondered who she was here with, or was she here alone?

pushing out a deep breath, you turned off the water and dried them with a paper towel. you felt dizzy, like you were in a state in between sleeping and being awake.

"this," you mumbled to your reflection, "this is why you don't go out."

once you had worked up the courage, you emerged from the bathroom and scanned your surroundings. the girl you came with was dancing with the guys and her friends. feeling secure in the fact that you wouldn't be missed, you went to look for ellie but you didn't have to search for long.

ellie was exactly where she had said she would be, leaning against the bar with her hand protectively covering your drink. she seemed to be keeping an eye out for you because when your eyes locked, she waved you over.

you didn't bother to try and contain your grin as you made your way over, but your confidence was short lived when a pretty girl with dark hair leaned over, talking in ellie's ear.

oh.

whatever the girl said had made ellie laugh, and you faltered in your step. of course she was here with someone. of course she had other friends, (a girlfriend?) other people that she actively talked to and hung out with. you would've been stupid for thinking otherwise, you just hadn't thought about it much.

you didn't want to interrupt, but ellie caught your eye again. she raised her eyebrows, curiously, waiting. taking a deep breath, you pressed on, slowly coming to her side.

ellie handed your cup over and you accepted, taking a drink for courage.

"welcome back," ellie mused, a small smile gracing her lips.

you glanced at the girl standing on the other side of ellie, the liquid in her cup a vibrant color. ellie followed your eyes and made a face of realization, pulling the girl into the conversation.

almost sounding sheepish, she introduced her. "this is my friend dina, and... jesse," ellie craned her neck around but 'jesse' was elsewhere. you nodded anyway, smiling in dina's direction.

"hi, it's nice to meet you," you said, genuinely, despite your heart pounding in your chest.

"likewise! i've heard so much about you," dina replied, eyes bright and smiling.

ellie's eyes widened and your eyebrows shot up, taken aback by dina's introduction. you glanced at ellie but she was already composed.

"really?" you asked, truly surprised.

dina laughed and changed the subject. "jesse complains about coming but yet it's impossible to keep an eye on him," she expresses in response. "it was so nice meeting you," dina smiles at you once more and quickly squeezes ellie's shoulder before disappearing, presumably to find 'jesse.'

you take another drink and ellie clears her throat, music filling the silence. "where's your friend?" ellie questions.

you hum thoughtfully and scan the faces of all of the dancing people until your eyes land on her group. "there," you nod in their direction, trying not to sound bitter.

"are they all your friends? do you want me to go meet them?" ellie asks, watching them for a moment before gazing at you, eyes flickering over your face.

"no," you reply quickly, flatly.

"okay then," ellie laughs, tilting her head to peer at your expression. she brushes a strand of hair out of her face and it's hard not to watch, to not be entranced by every slight movement and expression she makes.

once again, you're thankful for the lighting, or lack thereof, and for the music. for some reason it feels like less pressure, which you appreciate.

"oh god," ellie mumbles, drawing your attention. she wraps her tattooed arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer to her side. your breath hitches and you tense up, but her arm is then back by her side, the ghost of her touch electrocuting your senses. "watch out," she says, nodding to an older man making his way to the bar.

your eyebrows draw together in confusion as ellie watches the man in disgust, but you're more focused on the fact that her arm was just around you for about three seconds.

you take a slow drink, watching as the man leans down to talk to several girls crowded around the bar. it seems nearly harmless though a little odd, he's definitely the oldest person in the room as everyone else is college aged. you turn to ellie, confused, but she nudges your arm to keep watching.

he puts his arms around the girls, his hands going way too low, signaling the bartender to give them drinks with a flick of his hand.

you face ellie, eyes wide and mouth agape. she nods in disgust, but slightly amused at your expression.

"he's the owner," she explains. "he's so gross... people flirt with him because if he likes you, you're set with free drinks. he's just... gross."

"why are you here?" you question, frowning.

"dina likes to dance," ellie says simply.

"and you?"

"no," ellie laughs quickly.

"i definitely wasn't expecting to run into you here," you admit, running your finger along the rim of your plastic cup.

"yeah? i wasn't expecting you either." ellie watches you carefully, thoughtful in expression but casual in demeanor.

"excuse me ladies," a gruff voice cuts through. you snap your head up and meet the eyes of the owner, chewing your bottom lip nervously as his eyes drag across you and ellie. he contemplates ellie for a moment before setting his gaze on you, frowning.

"aren't you warm in that, sweetheart?" he slurs out, indicating to the sweater you're wearing. ellie places a gentle hand on your shoulder, making a face at the man from over your shoulder.

"i'm just fine," you remark.

he doesn't like your answer, but you didn't say anything rude so he can't lecture you. he stares at you, unmoving, and decides to give you one last chance.

"what're you drinking there?" he questions, shuffling closer to get a better look. he makes like he's expecting you to bat your eyelashes at him, and ellie tugs you backwards into her.

"let's go dance," she murmurs into your ear. your face gets hot and her hands are on your shoulders, walking behind you and guiding you away from the bar. you leave your drink on the counter, unwanted.

once you're far enough away, she gently halts you to a stop. your skin is burning from the contact and you turn to face her, trying to be lighthearted. "i thought you don't like to dance?"

the corners of her mouth turn up and you give in, absolutely folding in her presence. you leave about a foot of space in between your bodies, but loosely and awkwardly wrap your arms around her shoulders. it makes ellie nervously laugh, and she hesitates before carefully placing her hands at your waist. it's your turn to laugh now, fully aware of how ridiculous you must look. you obnoxiously sway to the side, putting your weight onto one foot and then the other, threatening to make each other fall over with the abrupt movements. it's a stark contrast to the way everyone else is moving to the music, but you're both genuinely laughing so you leave it be.

you can see your previous group in the corner of your eye and nerves wash over you again, feeling shy at ellie's playful touch. suddenly you feel guilty for harboring a secret crush on the girl, feeling as if you've crossed some sort of boundary. you steady yourself but it's hard to breathe with ellie so close, staring at your eyes and your lips and your eyes again... or did you imagine it? obviously not, but certainly you're reading into it? making something out of nothing?

ellie coughs, flustered. you both stop 'dancing,' dropping your arms and facing each other straight on.

"hey," you say, your face scrunching in confusion, "i thought you were working on the study guide tonight."

your comment makes ellie recover and she breathes out a laugh in surprise, even though you were being serious.

"i thought you were working on the study guide tonight."

you frown and ellie rolls her eyes, shaking her head at you in pretend disappointment. "work on it with me tomorrow then," she tells you, nearly surprising herself with how quickly it came out.

her voice is like honey, making it impossible to pull away from her, even mentally.

"really?" you eye her suspiciously.

she nods and shrugs, and you promise to think it over. standing this close to ellie felt dangerous to the small amount of confidence you tried to build up. she smelled almost earthy, a warm deep scent, maybe a touch of vanilla and... weed?

a hand brushed your waist but it wasn't ellie's, the body stepping into view. the guy from earlier that your friend had sent over came around to stand next to ellie, his eyelids heavy.

"what the fuck, dude?" ellie questioned sharply.

"i was watching you dance," he mused, glancing at you and then ellie. it was hardly even dancing, you were just making each other laugh, so your skin crawled with the idea of that guy watching with ill intent.

"okay, go watch someone else," ellie shot back, her tongue sharp.

you glanced around, catching sight of your friend from earlier. she was watching the interaction, as if it were encouraged, and gave you a thumbs up. you exhaled in disbelief, turning your attention back to ellie. she was staring the guy down, brows furrowed.

"you ladies wanna dance with me or what?" he was cocky, drunk, and standing way too close.

"fuck off," ellie spat, a lot like how you did earlier when you thought that he was the one who grabbed your arm.

he stood in disbelief, unmoving, so you grabbed ellie's hand and dragged her away.

"they should be banned from public places," you grumble. ellie snorts, features immediately softening as she turns to you.

"this is ridiculous. do you wanna get out of here?"

at her proposition, your heart leaps. you definitely do, but the idea terrifies you nonetheless. despite yourself, you automatically nod.

"let me go find dina and jesse, see if they're gonna leave or stick around longer. wanna come with?"

you almost say yes but shake your head instead. "i should go tell the person i came with that i'm leaving, just in case."

ellie nods in understanding. she starts to turn away but stops short, eyes boring into your own. "meet me right by the entrance, okay? i'll be quick."

it's your turn to signal your understanding now, and you head back through the crowd to find your... friend. it's pretty easy to spot her but not to gain her attention.

"hey. hey, i'm gonna go, alright?"

she whips around at you, confused. "you're leaving?"

"yeah."

"are you gonna be safe?"

despite being ignored and ambushed with a creepy guy, you smile at her concern. it's the bare minimum, really, but it's appreciated.

"yeah," you repeat. "it's... a friend from class. she's good. safe," you express.

you say your goodbyes and head straight for the doors like you agreed with ellie. you’re only waiting alone for a moment before she joins you, car keys in hand. dina and jesse aren’t following, and instantly you feel like an idiot.

“oh my god, ellie, i totally sabotaged your night.”

“what? no you didn’t,” ellie disagrees.

you push through the doors together, greeted by harsh winds. the cold evening air was shocking as it hit your face, self doubt washing over you.

"you were just trying to have a fun night with your friends and i... i'm such an idiot," you mutter.

"whoa, hey, you're alright," ellie presses softly. she stops walking to look at you, but looks as though she has to work up the courage before she continues speaking. "i'm glad you here were, alright? dina and jesse are fine."

your face is burning and she hesitates again, but the worry expressed on your face causes ellie to continue on.

"honestly i was getting ready to leave before i saw you," she admits, looking in any direction away from you.

you beg and plead with yourself not to read into it, but why did she hesitate? why would you be nervous to tell that to someone who's just a friend? are you reading too much into it, or are you friendzoning yourself?

"ellie," you breathe, and she finally brings her attention back to you. the wind howls through the night, whipping your hair across your cheeks. your heart beats quicker but ellie grows reserved, adjusting her weight on her feet.

"i'll drive you to your dorm," she tells you as she beings walking once more. you quickly follow behind, in a trance of wondering and wanting.

it felt different from before, different from sitting next to her in class and different from studying together. what was usually light hearted jokes and easy conversation was replaced by a thick cloud of nerves, a tension that conjured itself out of nowhere and you desperately wanted to crack a joke but you felt shy.

you were texting a lot lately, you had some serious late night conversations about your families, stressors, lives, anything to get to know each other but this was different. ellie seemed almost solemn now, guarded, and you were worried that you had gotten too comfortable too quickly.

you worried as you walked to the car and you worried as she drove. ellie did exactly as she said she would and you arrived safely to your building, but your feet were glued to the ground as you reached the door and you desperately wanted to selfishly stay with her, just a little longer.

"thanks for pretty much saving me tonight," you stated earnestly. "it sucked before you found me, i'm glad you did."

ellie's smile was crooked and sincere and a wave of relief washed over you. "see you tomorrow?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing up to her forehead.

"the study guide will be completed," you affirm, grinning back at the auburn haired girl.

you heave open the door to your building and ellie steps back to the car, but you call after her one final time. "text me when you're home safe," you urge her, and you can't see the smile that graces her face.

"i will," ellie promises, and she did.

after cleaning up you fall into bed, exhausted, but your mind is racing. you turn to your side, facing the wall that is decorated with two sticky notes. you lightly trace ellie's drawings with your finger, willing yourself to go to sleep so you won't be absolutely miserable with a lack of sleep by the morning.

you were seeing her again, tomorrow, and nothing else at that moment mattered.

not your endless piles of homework, or the way you were ditched tonight. not the fact that the weather was getting colder by the day and you still couldn't find your earmuffs, or that one of your finals was going to take place at 7am.

nothing else mattered... just ellie.

[ part five ]

[fablesrose]

Ch 20 - The Reunion Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist 

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: The team goes back in time, to high school with all the insecurities of a nerd turned overly rich and successful bully.

Words: 5.7k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was only a couple of days later when after Hardison met the client with Nate, he burst through my door complaining about Eliot being a lurker and Nate playing mind games with him which he very much did not appreciate. At least that’s what I could decipher from his frustrated ramblings. I’ll admit, I was only half listening to him as I was just reaching the most exciting part of the book I was reading.

“How do you deal with him?” Hardison finally asked. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, I mean, he’s your uncle, he raised you. You’ve gotta have dealt with his mind games and little psychological tricks all the time, so…” 

I sighed, realizing that he actually wanted an answer and not just a rant session. Meaning, I wasn’t going to be able to finish the chapter. I closed the book and turned to stare at Hardison. I contemplated whether I wanted to actually answer his question in a fulfilling and helpful way for my friend or find out what happened in the current story arc. 

I think the answer is obvious. Now how to go about completing the goal. 

“Well, Hardison, you are a very smart young man,” I began. 

It was obvious that he was not expecting the compliment and blinked, “Well, I– I’m not sure how that–”

“It is very relevant,” I cut him off, bringing the attention to me again. “The thing with dealing with manipulation tactics is that you first have to understand them.” I stood up from my couch, making a better connection with him by having more direct eye contact. “You see, Nate does use mind games, but it isn’t an always, every time thing so in order to identify when he is trying to manipulate you, well, let's say there is a learning curve.”

“And I am at the very bottom of the curve,” Hardison whined a bit. “I have never been at the bottom of a curve!”

I thought I had him hooked, so said a quick, ‘follow me’ and tried to walk towards my door, and to my satisfaction, he started to follow without a second thought. “That’s okay, I’m sure you will catch on. The thing about manipulation is that it is most often about subverting attention, whether that be to the manipulator, yourself, or somewhere else with a hyper focus that it is hard to redirect back to where you want if you aren’t looking out for it.”

He followed and listened intently, making a few interested comments. 

I walked him across the hall and entered Nate’s apartment, “It takes practice and a lot of self awareness both to spot it and to try to do it to someone. There’s also tricks that can help, in a way it is similar to grifting and hacking, just combining the two.”  I finally led him to where his computer was, “But, I won’t keep you any longer. I think it is better if you did some research on some psychology and the job for the client, right?” I nodded as I asked him that and he instinctively nodded back at me, agreeing as he sat down and placed his hands on his computer. 

“Okay, thanks y/n.”

I hummed in agreement and casually, but quickly, walked back across the hall to get back to my book. Hopefully Hardison didn’t think too much about what just happened when he was doing his research. 

Not too much later Nate came in to bring me along for the recon of an Iranian intelligence secret police hideout. 

“You’re lucky I just finished a really good part of this book and need to decompress a bit,” I said as I slipped a bookmark in and stood from my couch for the second time. 

“Mmm hmm, I think you’re the lucky one because you wouldn’t be able to pull the same thing on me that you did on Hardison,” he said, very self satisfied. 

I stopped in my tracks, “how do you know about that?”

“I was upstairs and heard you.”

“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?”

“Only if you hurry up, we’ve gotta go. Come on, birdy,” he insisted, ushering me along and out the door. 

“Okay! Okay, I’m going!”

Eliot and Hardison went into the restaurant as health inspectors. Sophie was already there as a customer with a bug in her food to give the boys an in to do an inspection. When Eliot wouldn’t help her get the roach away from her after her outburst, she told him that he would pay for it. I’m sure that will be interesting. 

Parker was breaking in one of the back rooms where we were sure all of their sensitive information was. Nate and I stayed in the truck monitoring. Once Parker plugged into their computer, Hardison cloned it so we could all see the screen and Hardison could search the files. Meanwhile, Eliot was doing the food inspection as a bit of a distraction, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he was enjoying himself, just a little bit. 

“There’s nothing on Manticore, starting a syntax search” Hardison said as he remotely connected to the computer. 

“What about the Manticore?” I asked, vaguely gesturing to the graphic on the bottom corner of the screen depicting the creature. 

“The image on the bottom left there,” Nate said, since Hardison couldn’t see where I was gesturing. “Manticore is a mythological creature, Persian for ‘man-eater.’”

“Yeah, I was just about to click on that,” Hardison said unconfidently. 

“Oh yeah, right, sure,” I replied, making sure he knew of my skepticism. 

Hardison clicked on the graphic and a bunch of files opened on the screen. 

“Okay, let’s uh, copy Cyrus’s program,” Nate said. 

“I’d love to, but it’s not here,” Hardison said. “Doesn’t even look like they’ve heard of Cyrus.”

I looked at Nate, “That’s odd. Then who stole the program?”

“I’ve got payment records here,” Parker said. “The last one dated three weeks ago.”

After some searching, Hardison said, “The last Manticore update was also three weeks ago.”

“And who was that payment to?” Nate asked. 

Hardison answered with a low whistle. 

“Larry Duberman,” Hardison began once we got back for the brief on our new mark. “Founder and Ceo of Dubertech. Back in the 90s he wrote the book on digital database security. Literally wrote the book.”

Eliot stepped between Sophie and I with an intricate looking tea set and started pouring the both of us tea as Hardison explained how much revenue Duberman pulled in. I tried to make eye contact with either Eliot or Sophie to question what was going on, but Eliot was focused on pouring the tea, and Sophie wasn’t paying any attention to him at all.

“Why would Larry Duberman be selling software to Iran? He doesn’t need the money,” Sophie said and quietly thanked Eliot for the tea with a soft touch to his shoulder.

I repeated the sentiment to him, without the touch, and took a sip, noticing it was my favorite tea. I smiled a bit to myself, not quite listening to what Hardison was saying. I did catch that Duberman had a lot of competition in the tech industry which required him to expand his market share to make money. 

“So, he sells the technology to embargoed countries and the income is tax free?” Nate asked. 

“That’s a nice way to keep the bottom line from being squeezed,” Sophie commented. 

“Now Duberman has a long term contract around Manticore for Iran, this man has become the IT department for the axis of evil,” Hardison said definitely. 

“Alright, so Eliot was right,” Nate said. “The Veserate didn’t go after Cyrus, Duberman did.”

“It’s not about politics man,” Eliot said while squeezing a lemon into Sophie’s tea. “It’s bad business for him.”

“Okay, so Duberman’s our target,” Nate said, “what are we up against?”

Hardison explained how if we could shut off a certain one of Duberman’s servers then we could shut off Manticore. 

“So, get to hackin’ man,” Eliot said. 

“Dude, what is it about ‘wrote the book on database security’ that you don’t comprehend?” Hardison mocked. “I can’t just access Manticore remotely, we got to get to that server, in person.”

“Have any of you ever trimmed a Bonsai?” Nate asked. 

I looked at him quizzically before following his eyes to see where he was looking at an article saying that Duberman recently installed a Japanese garden. 

“I mean, I took a class in college,” I said, once I thought I had an idea of where he was going with the question. 

“Really?” Eliot said in an excited and almost conspiratorial whisper, “cuz I actually–”

“Maybe some other time, Eliot,” Nate cut him off, clicking on the screen to enlarge the article he was reading. 

“Okay,” he said, a little dejected, also seeming to realize why Nate asked, more hypothetically. 

I was about to give an encouraging remark to Eliot when my attention got pulled to the other side of the table. 

“Why is Eliot pouring your tea?” Parker asked. “Hmm? You brainwash him again?”

Again? When was the first time?

Sophie hummed in a negative tone. “Neuro-linguistic programming,” she corrected. “It’s amazing what you can do with the power of suggestion. ‘Sugar, squeezed,’” She said, only slightly directed at Eliot and patted his shoulder again. “And a few strategic pats on the arm.”

Eliot seemed to register what Sophie said and paused where he was about to pour her some more tea, “Damn it!”

“You owe me for that roach business!”

“Damn it!” Eliot repeated, “Sophie, not again.” He then took the cup of tea he was pouring for Sophie and marched off. 

Hardison was laughing at the front of the room, and it only took me a moment to give a laugh as well. It seems to be the job for mind games. 

I took a sip of my tea, which Eliot left in front of me, and leaned toward Sophie, “Thanks for including me in the tea, this is my favorite.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell him to do either of those things, but I’m glad you enjoyed it, dear,” she replied casually. 

That made me pause, because it didn’t seem like something Eliot would do on his own, but I took Sophie’s word for it and just assumed that maybe her programming accidentally implied something about me getting tea too. The tea being my favorite must have been a coincidence. 

Regardless, I was going to enjoy the drink in front of me. 

I had volunteered to go into Dubertech as a custodian/gardener to help in the break in, but Eliot ended up doing it. I assume because he also got some nostalgia from the bonsai as well as this part of the mini con involved literally running into Duberman and accidentally roughing him up a little. 

Eliot would shove a bonsai into his hands, spilling it everywhere. Hardison and Parker would immediately come in to clean it up, swiping his keycard and his fingerprint off the bonsai pot. Hardison and Parker then proceeded to break into Duberman’s office to gain access to the Manticore server. 

Sophie, Nate, and I were at his apartment watching through the camera Hardison had with him. When they walked into the supposed server room, they paused. 

“Whoa,” Parker said. 

“It seems like we stepped out of Japan and straight into high school,” Hardison said.

“In 1985,” Parker clarified. 

As Hardison panned the camera around the room, we could see that they were right. There was so much high school memorabilia and 80s tech on the shelves and in trophy cases. The lighting even seemed to be retro. 

“Did you find the server running Manticore?” Nate asked, trying to get them back on track. 

“Oh, I found it,” Hardison said. “Small problem: Nate, he’s running Manticore from his high school computer.”

The computer in question came into view and I was amazed that a program as advanced and complicated to spy on Iranians could even be run on the machine.  Parker picked up and waved a floppy disk with a Manticore sticker on it. 

“Question: can we just smash the computer? Would that work?” I asked. 

“No,” Hardison replied, but didn’t explain as he plugged in to the computer and began to try and hack it. 

“Fair enough, just thought I’d double check.”

“Vintage 1980s technology, man,” Hardison said, mostly to himself, “no wonder I couldn’t hack it from the outside. It’s speaking a dead language.”

“This is bringing a whole new meaning to ‘tech people don’t trust modern tech,’” I commented. 

We watched as Hardison ran passwords through the computer, trying to gain access. After a few moments, an announcement came through talking about a possible breach. 

“Hey, they’re onto us!” Parker said. “What’s the deal?”

“He’s got a multi-tiered password system,” Hardison explained. “Now, I’ve already broken into the first few: uh, Zavransky, MandyDD, a bunch of other random ones.” Hardison’s computer then made an unusual sound. 

“Is that a good beep or a bad beep?” Parker asked. 

“Ohh, that’s a bad beep. We just hit a wall.”

“You didn’t get the password?” Nate asked. 

“Not the master one,” Hardison said, “the last one I got is: L33R15L06.”

Sophie and Nate looked at each other and said ‘high school’ at the same time in a dejected voice. 

“That password is what tipped you off?” I asked sarcastically, mostly to cover up how I wasn’t sure how that password connected to the theme, but with all of the high school themed stuff in the room, it made sense. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Parker said anxiously. 

“Hold on, let me just copy this disk,” Hardison replied. “How did anyone get anything done in the 80s?”

They were able to make their escape once the download finished and made their way back to the pub. We all met down there to discuss what to do from there. 

“Nobody else thinks it’s weird that you can just buy anybody’s yearbook online?” Eliot said when Hardison pulled out Duberman’s yearbook to consult.

“You know, it’s real cute man how you still believe in privacy,” Hardison replied.  

“I’m just amazed he could get his hands on it so quickly,” I commented.

“Here we go,” Nate said as he flipped through it. “Zavransy: math teacher. Now I bet if we turn to the cheerleaders… Yes. Oh, Mandy.”

Eliot gave a low whistle. I glanced at the picture and, well, the double Ds in the password did make some sense. 

“What does the ‘DD’ mean?” Parker asked.

The boys gave some innuendoes towards Mandy’s chest which I rolled my eyes at. I just told Parker that she didn’t need to worry about it. 

“It was the last password that tipped us off,” Nate continued, “L33R15L06, now that has to be a locker combination, right?”

I nodded my head, agreeing, trying to disguise that I was just coming to the realization of what that was now. I guess I never remembered any of my locker combinations that way. Or remembered any at all.  

“So clearly, he’s obsessed with high school,” Nate concluded. “Memorabilia, his high school computer.”

“Yeah, he’s a classic computer nerd,” Sophie said. She glanced at Hardison and apologized. “The girls totally ignored him, the guys picked on him, now that he’s a success, he can’t leave the past behind him.”

“Yeah, he has to remember who he was because it made him who he is,” Nate said.

“I feel bad for the nerd,” Parker said with an almost sympathetic deadpan.

“Don’t feel bad for this guy,” Eliot replied. “Getting bullied in high school is no excuse for propping up dictators. Take Hardison, he got bullied his whole high school career, he’s not a criminal.”

We all looked at him incredulously. Sophie and Parker verbally disagreed.

“Not a bad criminal,” Eliot amended. 

“What makes you think I got bullied in high school?” Hardison asked. 

“A: you’ve got a green hornet doll.”

“First: it’s a limited edition action figure. Second: it is Green Lantern. Educate yourself.”

“Guys, listen, listen,” Nate interrupted, “we’ve got a locker combination, we have a teacher’s name, and we have a crush. So Duberman has made his old high school, his roman room.”

After a moment, Parker confidently said, “Of course.”

“Of course?” Nate asked her, “what’s a roman room?”

She crumbled and admitted she didn’t know. 

“It’s a memory technique,” he explained. “Each of his passwords corresponds with an object in a space he is intimately familiar with. In his case: the hallway of his old high school where he kept his locker. Now if I were to make this bar my roman room, everything I need to remember is in this room. For instance:” Nate stood and clasped me on the shoulder, “my, uh, email password would be Birdy here.” He then approached the bar and picked up a bottle of liquor, “and my bank password would be Balmore,” he said with a shrug. He then poured himself a drink from the very same bottle. 

“Hey,” Parker leaned across the table to Hardison, “Nate just gave us his passwords, huh?”

“No,” Hardison said, “but I already got all his passwords. Want to see his Netflix queue?” He continued with Parker’s nod, “He’s got, like, every season of ‘Rockford Files,’ every season of ‘Sex in the City,’ that show ‘Psych.’”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” I said. 

“Hey,” Nate came back and leaned over Hardison’s shoulder, “Listen, if we can’t get into the main server without Duberman’s master password, you can’t hack into that, right?”

“No, the password's up in the guy’s head. Can’t hack a guy’s head.”

“So the only option is to break inside his roman room.”

“You wanna break into his high school?” Parker asked. “Pft, I could do that blindfolded. Yeah, let’s do it blindfolded.”

“No, no, no, what we’re gonna do, is we’re gonna break into that high school, twenty five years ago.”

“Hmm, what do ya know,” Hardison said, looking at his phone, “Class of ‘85 has a reunion coming up. In eight months.”

We shared a passing look between each other with a smile. I think we could make that work. 

Sophie made some calls as different reunion committee members and was able to get the reunion moved up to this month. She then called Duberman to personally invite him to the party, naming some classmates that should incentivise him to come. And lo and behold, he said he ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ 

Hardison went in and edited a picture of Sophie and put it in the yearbook under the name of Grace Pelts. Nate was going to pose as a student named Drake McIntyre and play the rival, or villain in Duberman’s story. When he came out in his chosen outfit, he for sure looked like the peaked in high school jerk that he was going for. 

Parker posed as one of the caterers and placed cameras around the school so Hardison could keep an eye on everything and help Nate and Sophie out when needed. 

“Oof, so many awkward people in so many ugly outfits,” Parker said as she took a look at the bulletin board with the ‘nostalgic’ photos. 

“You’re lucky you never went to high school,” Hardison said. “Nothin’ but heartbreak and homework.”

I sighed with a nod of my head, though he couldn’t see me, it was true. 

“Didn’t you go to your Prom?” she asked. 

“Uh… I was kinda busy,” he replied in a way that told me he was doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. Probably highly impressive and highly illegal.

“So you guys get to go to the reunion, and I’m stuck on goon patrol?” Eliot griped beside me as he pulled on his gloves.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” I asked, unamused. 

“No, you’re at least a nice Pâté,” he replied with a slight apologetic look. 

I squinted at him, not understanding what he was implying, “I’m gonna try and take that as a compliment, but you’re on thin ice right now.”

“Eliot, listen, once we get the password, you and y/n have to enter it on Duberman’s computer and destroy Manticore,” Nate explained. “Hardison is a little occupied.”

“Besides, I’m sure you already had your high school fun,” Hardison goaded. “Big man on campus. What? Quarterback?”

I watched as a slight smirk of reminiscence appeared on his face and he pulled his hood up, “I had many interests.”

He then waited until a lone employee walked out of the Dubertech building and knocked him out with one punch. I quickly rummaged through his pockets until I found his key card. Eliot then dragged him off to the side in the bushes where we were standing and I tossed his briefcase into the bushes after him. The two of us then entered the building and made our way to the so-called server. 

Meanwhile, Sophie was making first contact with Duberman, stroking his ego a bit to get him loosened up. She also helped make the introduction to Duberman of Nate being Drake McIntire. 

Apparently Drake was pretty popular in high school as it sounded like he was swarmed by people greeting him. Nate made sure to point out Duberman from across the room and address him as “doucherman!”

That seemed to sell it for Duberman.

“How’d you know that was his nickname?” Sophie whispered when she was able to take a step away from Duberman. 

“With a name like Duberman, it’s not exactly rocket science,” Nate replied as he greeted more people, asking Hardison to help him keep his cover. 

“Doucherman’s pretty good,” I commented. “If you wanted to just mispronounce his name you could go with Doberman but that might be too cool for him. I probably would have gone for gooberman or nooberman.” 

There was a moment of silence.

“Say, y/n, who were you in high school?” Hardison asked over comms. 

I scoffed, “Please, I didn’t conform to high school stereotypes.”

“Emo,” a couple voices said, including Eliot who was walking alongside me. 

I looked at him and sputtered a bit, trying to deny it. 

“Don’t even try it, y/n,” Hardison teased, “I can always look up your yearbook pictures.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said in the most threatening voice I could muster. 

“Mmhmm,” Hardison replied in a tone that told me he wasn’t convinced but then continued to help Nate by feeding him facts about his supposed classmates. 

Sophie was able to pull Duberman into the hallway and started reminiscing, trying to get any passwords she could out of him. 

“This hall is burned in my mind,” Doberman said as they walked. 

“Say, wasn’t that Mrs. Zavransy’s room?” Sophie asked. 

“Had her for homeroom. Yeah, Pat Brander once gave me a wedgie in front of the whole class,” He replied. 

“Pat Brander,” Sophie emphasized as if she was remembering too. 

“Check out Brander,” Eliot told me as I sat at the computer. 

I typed in the last name which didn’t work and then first, and then first and last, but none worked, “Name isn’t working.”

“Try Brander303, that was the room number,” Hardison said. 

I typed it in, “Uh, looks like we got payroll.”

“Alright guys, patience,” Nate told us. “If we get him riled up, he’ll lead us to the password we want.”

Nate entered the hallway in a drunken manner and started teasing Duberman in a way that was very reminiscent of teenagers. 

“We’re not eighteen anymore!” Duberman whined, trying to get him to stop. 

“I’m just reliving the good old times, ya know,” Nate replied. 

“Good times? You think they were good times for me? Like when you told Amy Tuttleton, the prettiest girl in school, that I had both male and female genitalia?”

Nate laughed, “I forgot about that! Yeah, that was classic.”

I typed in every variation I could think of for a password with Amy Tuttleton, with no hits. 

“Hermaphrodite?” Eliot asked over my shoulder. 

“I’m not trying that,” I said. 

After a few more passing comments between Nate, Sophie, and Duberman, Duberman finally said, “You just don’t get it, do you? I won.”

“Oh come on now, you’re not still steamed about things that happened twenty-five years ago. Come on! Listen, it wasn’t all bad, does your brain only remember the painful bits?”

“Just the important stuff,” he tried to defend. “Like what happened in the library.”

“Oh yeah, go on,” Sophie encouraged. 

“No, you remember, yeah, I was sitting there–”

He was cut off by a newcomer entering the hallway and their little group. It sounded like a flirty woman, who Nate, trying to stay in character, drew her attention to himself. Nate said her name was Nikki and she implied she was a cheerleader. Hardison got to work trying to give Nate information about her, but there were multiple cheerleaders who could have had the nickname Nikki. She then dragged Nate away from Duberman and Sophie to make out. 

“Nate, I hope you know, this is so gross,” I said, trying to block it out. “Hardison, can you mute him for me for a second so I can listen to Sophie?”

He did as I asked and tuned me to Sophie and Duberman’s conversation.

I kept trying passwords that Sophie was giving me, and while a few of them opened different capabilities, none were the master password we were looking for. Eliot paced around the room looking at memorabilia and giving me updates on the others. 

“Ha, Nikki locked Nate in a closet after he turned her down.”

I laughed as I tried another password, “serves him right, he probably broke that poor girl’s heart. And he broke my eardrums.”

“Yeah, Parker said the same thing along with high school being dramatic. She’s gonna go break him out.”

I scoffed, “she can say that again. High school was so over dramatic.”

“Says the emo.”

I glared at him and he changed the subject, looking back at the glass case in front of him, “They give out trophies for chess?”

“Chess is at least a strategy game. It’s better than a spelling bee trophy,” I countered.

He didn’t have the chance to reply as grinding noises and sparks started to shoot through the door. 

“It’s the Veserate, they’re comin’ in!” Eliot told me and the rest of the crew. 

Hardison unmuted Nate for me as he asked what the Iranians were doing here. 

“How are we supposed to know?” I told him. 

As I typed in another password, Nikki crashed Duberman’s and Sophie’s conversation again. She said she just wanted Drake out of the way so she could have Duberman all to herself, she spilled her drink on Sophie in the process, insisting she clean up. Well, there goes our audience with him and our opportunity to get the password. At least for now. 

“What happened? He get away?” Nate asked Sophie when they met up. 

“She took him!” Sophie lamented, “That, that… That bloody little slut!”

I’ll admit, that was not what I expected to come out of her mouth.

“Calm down,” Nate mediated. 

“Just because I’m not some cheerleader or something!” 

Oh, there was some bad blood here. Some history for Sophie. 

“Alright, let’s forget about it for now. Eliot and y/n have company and we’re no closer to getting the password, so I think we need to escalate.”

“You think he’s ready?” Sophie asked. 

“Uh, guys,” Hardison interjected, “I’ve accounted for all the Nikkis in the class of ‘85, your Nikki’s not even in the yearbook.”

“Wait, so she’s a fraud, like us?” Parker asked. 

“What, is she just some random hussy who’s out for his cash?” Sophie proposed. 

“Not exactly,” Hardison answered. “She’s a hired gun.”

I shifted my focus from the melting door to Eliot, “Well, this just got more complicated.”

“An assassin?” Sophie asked. “Nikki’s an assassin?”

“Yeah, I guess we weren’t the only ones with the bright idea to pose as alumni,” Hardison said. “This chick’s connected to wetwork jobs all up and down the east coast. Russian mob, Italian mob, there’s a New Zealand mob?”

“This is our fault,” Nate said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Parker denied. 

“We lured him to an unsecured environment,” Sophie said. “We exposed him.”

“Now we have to save him,” Nate said. “We can’t destroy Manticore with him dead. Split up and find him. Eliot what’s happening on your end?”

“T minus five seconds,” he replied. “This reunion sucks!”

“I agree!” I said, surveying the room, trying to find something I could defend myself with. I finally settled on using a chair if I had to. 

We watched as a hole was finally punched through the door and a head appeared to assess the room. When he saw Eliot, he said, puzzled, “The health inspector?”

Eliot shrugged, “I’m gonna have to dock ya again.”

Two of them quickly entered the room, the first raising a gun to Eliot. He knocked it away and was able to knock one down at a time to fight off the other. The first was able to drive Eliot into one of the trophy cases, breaking the glass everywhere. I stepped up and stomped on the back of his knee, making him collapse. I then stepped back out of the way to play support, protect the computer, and input the password if necessary. 

“Duberman must have pissed off the Iranians,” Hardison said, “They hire an assassin to take him out while they raid his office? Eliot, you’ve got to keep them away from that computer.”

“He’s working on it!” I yelled at him at the same time Eliot said, “What do you think I’m doing?”

Eliot grabbed the chess trophy and was able to knock out the second Iranian, and for a moment, they were both down, and it was quiet. 

“Check mate,” Eliot said, but the first Iranian would just not stay down and stood up again, ready for another round. “Or not.”

Over comms, it sounded like Sophie was able to find Duberman and Nikki and fight her off.

“I always hated cheerleaders,” Sophie said. “It was always mean girls like you who ruined high school for the rest of us!” It sounded like they kept fighting for a bit before Sophie was able to get away.

Eliot kept playing whack-a-mole with the Iranians, as soon as one went down, the other popped back up. I tried to help where I could, taking any cheap shots that were available while Eliot kept them occupied. Luckily, anytime they turned to engage me, Eliot was freed up to take them down, or at least divert their attention to himself. 

I heard Duberman’s voice come through the comms again along with Nate, so he must have found him again. I was too preoccupied with the Iranians in front of me to pay attention to what was going on with them, but nothing seemed to be going horribly wrong yet. At least, not more than it already was. 

What I did hear was Nate saying, “And, it’s done.”

That was a signal that Duberman changed the password. Eliot was still engaged with the Iranians, so I took a risk to turn my back on them and type in the new password, testing if Sophie’s neuro-linguistic programming worked to put ‘Badger85’ in his head. 

“I’m in, Hardison,” I said, hearing Eliot finally knock both of them out enough to stay down. 

“Great, now deauthorize and delete all directories, like we talked about,” he replied. 

I typed in the commands and watched as the program fizzled out. “It’s done.”

“Manticore’s dead,” Eliot added with a note of finality.

Hardison was able to send some files to the FBI with an anonymous tip that should land Duberman in detention for a long while. 

“Well, I think it’s time we graduate,” Sophie said once the figurative dust settled for a moment. 

Nate agreed, but they were stopped by a loud announcement that even Eliot and I could hear through the comms. 

“Your votes are in for the king and queen of the reunion, and the lucky winner is: Grace Pelts and Drake McIntyre!”

I laughed. I could just imagine the shock on their faces. 

“Uh, very funny Hardison. Y/n?” Nate said. 

“Oh, you think I did this?” Hardison asked. “Nah, I don’t rig elections. I mean, I could, but…”

“How could I have pulled that off? I’ve been across town this whole time,” I pointed out. 

“Parker, was this you?” Sophie asked. 

“I didn’t even know they had kings and queens in high school,” she replied. 

“Yeah, um. I guess it was a good con,” Nate said. “Hardison, why don’t you set off the fire alarm right about now?”

“You two enjoy this, you earned it,” Hardison replied.

Music started and Hardison asked Parker for a dance. 

“Everybody having a good time at the dance, anybody wondering if we’re okay? If we made it out alive?” Eliot grumpily asked the team. 

“Do you want to dance? We can still hear the music,” I said, a blush coating my face at the question even though I asked it kind of sarcastically. 

Eliot paused, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Well, uh–”

“My vote is we get some good food,” I amended before he could say no. 

“Oh, yeah. That, uh, that sounds great right now,” Eliot answered. “Much better than a dumb high school dance.”

I let out a huff of a laugh and pulled out my earbud, “uh huh.”

The employee that we stole the key card from stood up from the bushes and Eliot quickly knocked him out again with a punch. 

“Was that necessary?” I asked him. 

“Probably not, but it made me feel better,” he answered while he dug his own earbud out.

I nodded and jokingly linked my arm with his as we walked silently towards his truck for a few paces. 

“What should we eat?” he asked me. 

“I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment and remembered what he said earlier in the night, “What’s Pâté? Is that good? Should I try that?”

“Maybe not tonight, let’s take a drive and see what we can find.”

“Sounds good to me.”

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @wh1sp @who-actually-cares-anymore 

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part eighteen] - l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, food poisoning mentions, reader has emetophobia

word count: 3.4k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“It just looked like you wanted to say something,” Jisung continued.

Minho forced a smile and shook his head again. “Nope.”

“Nothing up there, as usual,” Felix joked, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Very funny.”

“Thanks, I get it from Dad.”

The conversation moved on swiftly as Felix began talking about the arcade he and Minho had visited earlier that afternoon. The food arrived shortly after and you all ate in relative silence, periodically breaking the silence to comment on the meal.

“You want to try some of this, Minho?” Jisung asked, offering a piece of sashimi to his brother with his chopsticks.

“No thanks.”

“I’ll try it,” Felix offered, reaching across the table to steal a piece.

Jisung rolled his eyes, but grinned, turning to you next. “What about you, darling? Do you want to try a piece?”

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned.

“Are you trying to kill your own girlfriend?” Felix joked.

“She wouldn’t die,” he explained defensively, “she’d just get really sick.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.”

Jisung insisted on paying the tab for you and himself, making an offhand comment about how you were his girlfriend, and his brother was always the one paying for you. You wanted to comment about how old-fashioned that concept was, but you refrained. To be fair, he had a point when he said that Minho was always paying for you- but he was always paying for everyone. He was the one with the budget to do so in the first place.

Either way, it really wasn’t something making a big deal over, at least not in your opinion.

After dinner you walked back to the hotel with the boys and crashed after taking a shower. You actually felt tired enough to be able to sleep through the night regardless of Mingo and Felix’s presence, but unfortunately a good night’s rest just wasn’t in the cards for you.

Almost every hour on the hour you’d be woken up by your best friend getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. You finally asked him about it after the third time it happened, trying to mask the frustration you felt with genuine concern.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged almost imperceptibly in the dark. “Not feeling very good.”

You frowned even though you knew he couldn’t see you. “What’s wrong?”

“Stomach just hurts,” he said casually, “it’s nothing.”

Your chest tightened with anxiety, not only because you were concerned about him, but because you were extremely squeamish, and he knew that. Your best friend often downplayed his symptoms on your account just so you wouldn’t freak out.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, positive that he was doing the same now.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You didn’t believe him, but you’d rather live in ignorance than have the confirmation of what was essentially your worst fear. You rolled over onto your other side and tried to ignore the panic rising in your throat.

Somehow you managed to fall asleep again, only to be woken up a couple more times by Jisung and once by Felix. You weren’t the lightest sleeper, but the Han boys sure as hell knew how to make a fuck ton of noise in the middle of the night.

By the time your alarm went off the next morning you weren’t sure how many hours you had actually slept, but you knew it wasn’t enough.

Jisung looked even worse off. He was paler than usual and the dark circles beneath his eyes were more pronounced. He was already awake when you woke up, sitting upright next to you in the bed.

“What is it?” you asked nervously.

“Food poisoning, I think.”

Your chest tightened again. “Are you serious?’

He nodded. “Felix too. I think it’s just us since we’re the only ones who ate my sushi.”

You sat up and glanced over at his twin brother who was also looking rather pale and clammy.

“And I only had like two pieces,” Felix groaned, clutching his stomach.

“If you need to use the bathroom or get changed my parents said we can get ready in their bathroom,” Minho piped up.

“Wh-what do you mean get ready?”

“For the tour thing we’re supposed to do today.”

“We’re still doing that?”

“I mean, Jisung and Felix can’t go obviously, but the tickets are already paid for and they’re not refundable.”

“But… I can’t leave Jisung,” you reasoned, turning to face him. “You’re sick! I need to take care of you.”

“There’s not much you can do for me, babe,” he pointed out. “I don’t want you to miss out, either. And I know you’d only make yourself miserable here if you stayed.”

You knew he was referring to your… aversion, which he was right about, but you felt guilty just thinking about leaving him here while you went out and had fun. Being alone with Minho was another thing you had to consider. Everything about the plan sounded like a bad idea.

“Are you sure? Because I can stay. I really don’t mind.”

“I’m sure, angel,” Jisung sighed. “This is probably a once in a lifetime kind of thing. Remember when you convinced me to go up the Tokyo Tower? I’m doing the same thing for you now.”

“That only took like an hour!” you protested. “This is an all-day trip!”

“The circumstances are different!”

You sighed in frustration and threw the covers off of yourself as you stood from the bed. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Minho and Felix trade wary looks with each other like they always did when you and Jisung argued in front of them.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

“Atta girl.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll hate every second of it.”

“No you won’t.”

“You don’t know me.”

Jisung turned his attention to his older brother. “Make sure she’s not too stubborn to let herself have fun, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I can hear you, you know.”

“I know.” Jisung grinned weakly. “And you, go easy on Minho, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, shuffling over to your suitcase to grab a change of clothes.

“I mean it!”

After telling Jisung you loved him and instructing him to try and drink plenty of fluids if he could keep them down, you and Minho gathered all of your things to bring down the hall to their parents’ room to get ready for the day.

“Take lots of pictures!” Jisung called after you both as you walked out the door.

“Get lots of rest!” you shouted back, forgetting that it was still early in the morning and other hotel guests were likely trying to sleep. “Fuck, sorry.”

Minho chuckled as he checked the door to make sure it locked behind you and then led the way to his parents room just a couple doors down.

Dom and Nikki were already dressed and sitting on the bed, out of the way, so that only you and Minho would have to share the bathroom space, rather than all four of you trying to get ready at once.

“How are you two feeling?” Nikki asked, her voice laced with concern.

“We’re fine,” Minho answered for you both. “Neither of us ate any of Ji’s sushi and I guess we got lucky with ours.”

“What did he have?”

“Tuna, I think.”

“Poor thing. I’ll call room service to bring them some soup later, but you two go ahead and get ready. The shuttle will be here to pick us up in about thirty minutes.”

Minho let you have the bathroom first. You got changed and put your hair up before giving it to him. Nikki had you put your pajamas in a laundry sack that was hanging on the door and then you and Minho brushed your teeth in front of the sink together, silently eyeing each other in the mirror.

“What?” you asked finally through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Nothing!” he mumbled back.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you started it!”

“No I didn’t!”

You paused to spit. “You definitely did.”

“Why would I be looking at you?”

“I-I don’t know!”

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were staring at me first.”

“I-” he stammered, “I was just staring off into space! I wasn’t intentionally staring at you.”

“Seemed intentional.”

Minho bent over to spit in the sink before responding. “Well it wasn’t.”

You turned on the faucet and rinsed your mouth out, leaving the water running for Minho to do the same.

A knock on the already open door startled you both. It was Minho’s dad, looking at you both expectantly.

“Are you ready? We gotta get downstairs.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you said and quickly splashed cold water on your face. That would have to do for ‘washing your face’.

“Dad, what are we meant to do for breakfast?” Minho asked, following his father into the bedroom.

“We’ll figure it out.”

‘Figuring it out’ ended up meaning stale granola bars from the bottom of Nikki’s purse. You and Minho shared one as you sat squished together on one of the shuttle benches, and Dom and Nikki shared the other one. The bus driver had said that there were vending machines with snacks at the pickup point where you would hop onto a larger bus for the trip to Mt. Fuji.

“Want the last bite?” Minho asked, offering the piece to you.

“No thanks, you can have it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, thanks though.”

Minho shrugged and popped it in his mouth, crumpling up the wrapper and shoving it in his pocket to throw away later.

“You can put your stuff in my backpack if you want,” he continued. “Since I know you usually keep it in Ji’s.”

“Oh, that’d be great, actually. Thank you.”

He unzipped the bag and held out his hand for you to pass him your things. You handed him your wallet, phone, and AirPods, all of which he slid into a pocket on the inside of his backpack before zipping it back up.

The shuttle brought you to a centralized bus station where dozens of coaches were parked and waiting to pick up their passengers. The drivers were standing outside of their respective buses with signs that told you what tour they were leading.

“Be quick,” Dom advised you and Minho. “Mum and I are going to head over to the coach in case they try to leave you behind. Use the bathroom, get food, drinks, and meet us on the bus.”

“Do you want us to get anything for you?” Minho asked.

“Um, grab me a tea or a coffee if they have it, and grab mum one too.”

“What about food?”

“Fruit or trail mix is fine.”

You parted ways and went with Minho over to the cluster of vending machines underneath one of the pavilions. You were immediately overwhelmed by choice. You didn’t even know they made vending machines for half of the products that were being sold. Fresh fruit, umbrellas, condoms… they had thought of everything.

“I’m going to get one of those waffle things,” Minho announced. “Want one?”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Having decisions made for you made life so much easier.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Cool, I’ll put in the order for both of us. What flavor do you want?”

“Wait, you don’t have to do that. I can get my own.”

“I think Jisung would kill me if I let you buy your own,” he said, shaking his head.

It wasn’t the first time Minho had said something like that, and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself thinking about all the times Jisung had slid the bill towards you at bars and restaurants with puppy-dog eyes.

“He doesn’t have to know,” you tried.

“He’d find out.”

“Who’s gonna tell him?”

“Do I need to remind you that I have your wallet?” Minho asked with a smirk.

You sidestepped him and made a grab for the strap on his shoulder, but he dodged you easily and swung the backpack out of reach.

“Nice try.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I want the strawberry one.”

“Was that so hard?”

You didn’t bother responding. Minho bought the waffles and a couple apples from the next vending machine over. While he was distracted you snuck away to the drink machine and used the cash in your pocket to purchase four iced lattes.

It wasn’t long before you were caught, but you’d already fed the bills into the machine.

“What are you doing?” Minho demanded. “Where did you get that?”

“I keep some money in my pocket,” you replied smugly. “Ever since the same thing happened in Paris when I tried to pay for myself.”

You could tell Minho was trying to push down his annoyance, but the tips of his ears were already turning red, giving him away.

“This is for you.” You smiled sweetly and held out one of the cups to him.

He took it begrudgingly, eyes narrowed. “I’m keeping my eye on you.”

The bus was still relatively empty when you and Minho joined his parents minutes later. Minho distributed the food and you gave the other two coffees to Nikki and Dom before taking a seat a couple rows behind them.

Each row had two seats. Minho took the window seat and you sat beside him next to the aisle. You weren’t sure if you should sit next to him, or if that would be weird, but as far as you knew this tour was fully booked and everyone else was a complete stranger to you. Sitting next to your best friend’s brother for three-ish hours on a bus wasn’t the end of the world, even if there was a… weird tension between you.

Minho didn’t seem to think anything of it. He gave you your waffle and your AirPods from his backpack without a word. The bus driver boarded a few minutes later and announced that you’d be stopping by two more pickup points before starting the route to Lake Ashinoko, the first stop of the day.

You ate your strawberry waffle quietly as the coach navigated the narrow streets of Tokyo. It was a little cold, but that was to be expected seeing as it was stored in a refrigerated vending machine.

No one was in much of a mood to talk, save for one or two families sitting in the back. Everyone was seemingly in agreement that it was too early for socialization.

Minho was listening to music with his own headphones and looking out the window, watching the city fly by in a blur of color.

The sun was sitting high in the sky by now. Its rays stretched through the windows and warmed the inside of the bus. The driver had the AC running on high which made you unconsciously lean towards Minho, towards the warmth coming from outside.

“Cold?” Minho asked suddenly, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You hadn’t even realized you were practically encroaching on his personal space. You leaned away from him and averted your eyes in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to smother you!”

“No, you don’t have to- uh,” he paused, knowing he needed to choose his next words carefully. “I have a sweater in my bag if you want to use it as a blanket, or, um, wear it.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m okay,” you assured him.

“I’m not even using it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Y/n…”

He was already unzipping his backpack despite your protesting. You tensed, feeling caught between your feelings and your rationale. You were cold. Minho offering you his sweatshirt was a gesture of politeness, nothing else. Accepting it meant nothing. Not accepting it would be rude and make things weird, right?

Your inner dialogue was so distracting you didn’t even notice that Minho was draping the sweatshirt over your shoulders until you felt the weight of it resting on your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

-

It wasn’t a surprise that you fell asleep on the ride to the lake. After the shitty night of sleep you’d gotten, it was expected. What was a surprise, though, was Jisung’s mother shaking you awake and realizing you’d fallen asleep on Minho’s shoulder.

“Kids,” Nikki said gently, nudging you and then Minho.

You groaned and blinked your eyes open, confused as to why you were slumped over to the side. And then it dawned on you. You bolted upright, nearly bumping heads with Nikki. Luckily, she had quick reflexes and jumped back before you could give you both a concussion.

“Sorry,” you apologized, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, love. Could you wake Minho, though? We’re at the lake.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tell him to hurry, we only have a little while before we’re off to the next stop.”

Once she had walked away you turned to Minho who was resting against the window and shook him awake. You weren’t sure which one of you had fallen asleep first, but you had a feeling it was you. Why hadn’t Minho pushed you off? Or woken you up? What had his mom thought when she saw you sleeping on top of her son- the one that wasn’t your boyfriend?

“What’s wrong,” Minho mumbled.

“We’re here.”

“At the mountain?”

“No, dumbass. The first stop is the lake. Were you listening to the tour guide?”

“Listen, I just woke up. Take it easy on me.”

“Well, your parents are waiting for us. They say we won’t be here long.”

You didn’t wait for a response, leaving him there to join his parents outside. The view was beautiful. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and Mt. Fuji stood proudly in the background of the lake, surrounded by green mountains and forests that went on for miles.

But it was hard to enjoy with all of the thoughts about Minho swirling in the back of your mind.

You heard him approach your group, but didn’t turn to acknowledge him.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked once you were back on the bus. “Did I do something?”

“Why did you let me fall asleep on you?” you blurted out.

“I- what do you mean?”

“I woke up and I was sleeping on your shoulder. Why did you let me do that?”

“What do you mean ‘let you’? It just happened.”

“And you didn’t stop it.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to!”

“Bullshit.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” he argued.

“So if Jisung was here you would’ve let the same thing happen?” He looked at the ground. “That’s what I thought.”

“I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it- it just…” he trailed off.

“It just what?” you pushed.

“It just felt natural, I don’t know!” he finally admitted. “I didn’t even think about it.”

“How is that possible?” you hissed in frustration. You were trying not to raise your voice because you didn’t need the whole bus overhearing your conversation, especially not Minho’s parents.

“I was half asleep when it happened, y/n! You know, you’re the one who fell asleep on me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

He doubled down. “I never said that.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

“Didn’t you?”

You looked at him incredulously. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

He raised his chin and chuckled bitterly. “I think you know.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

But instead of doing so he leaned forward, eyes trained on your lips. A familiar feeling rushed to your stomach- a combination of nausea and adrenaline. The same feeling you’d had when Minho kissed you the first time. You knew it was about to happen again, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to lean away. Fuck his pretty brown eyes and cute smile and curly hair-

“You have a freckle on your bottom lip,” he said matter-of-factly, completely dropping the argument you’d just been having.

You swallowed harshly, unsure of how to proceed. “Always have.”

“Never noticed it before,” he whispered, gaze flicking up to meet your eyes. You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He was only inches from your face. “Tell me if I’m overstepping.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you could barely manage a response. “You’re overstepping.”

“Do you want me to stop? Tell me the truth.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Hey, I love your Junkan art! Just was wondering, you recommended VanadisValentine 's work, which I agree with as I love all their Junkan stuff... but I was wondering, do you have any other Junkan recommendations? Would love to hear them if you do! (Ps. I haven't finished your blood bag work but what I have read of it so far I'm loving!)

Why thankyou for this question! First off glad you like all of the Junkan stuff so far, it's been a labor of love (and obsession) that took 9 months but seeing all the positive reactions has made it all worth it! As for recommendations, I am happy to oblige. I'll admit I haven't read every single Junkan Fic there is, I have made it a habit to go on a crazy binge of as much Junkan as I can, I go through every single page on AO3 and read anything tagged as soft (along with anything that looks like it was worth the risk.)

Hell when it comes to Junkan fics I literally have the Junko/Mikan tag for AO3 bookmarked and right at the top of my screen so I can click anytime, and I'm sure I still have plenty of fics left to read whether it's on this site or somewhere else hidden deep within google search. So if anyone wants to go in the comments/reblogs and give recommendations or even shill their own stuff go right ahead!~

Be sure to remember these, they'll be on the test later (this is foreshadowing) So do allow me to give you the long list of fics to read when you're feeling the vibe

I've already recommended VanadisValentine's works in previous posts, however for the sake of a complete list I'll still put em here.

The Marvelous Makeover of Mikan Tsumiki - VanadisValentine (Absolute Classic, also just really fun to say)

Everything You've Ever Dreamed - VanadisValentine (Quite possibly one of my favorite Fanfics just in general)

Turn Out the Lights - VanadisValentine (More focused on the characters separated along with their thoughts on the relationship but it's a great fic for when you're in the mood)

When Am I Gonna Lose You? - VanadisValentine (An 18+ Fic just as a warning, but if you're old enough and looking for something in that field this is an amazing piece, even with all my skill in the field of drawing funny pictures I don't think I could depict anything near as beautiful as the descriptions featured here. Does that sound pretentious? Yes! But I know what I am lol.) Year of Love and Despair - VanadisValentine (Last one from her on this list, also ongoing! If you want a variety of stories of these two ranging from fluffy to dramatic to sometimes even saucy then this fic is the place for you. Genuine highlight of my year and has helped me get through the tougher days very often. You can also look and see my really excessively long comments on most of the chapters!~)

Living in a Crazy Parallel World - Yurikah (Fair warning, this one is very long, isn't 100% Junkan Focused, and is also unfinished with it's last update being awhile ago. That said I think if you can make peace with that going into it you'll be in for a very well written treat!~)

Soft (But Only for Her) - Kayleen756894 (When I first got into Junkan I had only read a small handful of fics from AO3, this was one of them and I went through it in a single night. Extremely fun experience that covers a wide variety of ideas for Junkan. Fluffy, Tragic, it's the whole nine yards. There's gotta be at least one story in this collection that will appeal to someone if they like this ship)

Smile - Kayleen756894 (Truly amazing, one of the all time Junkan Fics out there. It can be a very stressful read but oh so very worth it in my opinion. And for those who want a fic closer to canon in terms of character depictions while still being on the softer side I think this will satisfy heavily)

Hurt, Hold, Heal - Kayleen756894 (Do you like Junko helping Mikan through a Panic Attack? Do you like Junko trying to be a better person? Do you like Mikan helping Junko just as much as Junko helps her? Oh look it's the fic for you. The ending is really sweet too)

Tomorrow is Lonely - Kayleen756894 (Also 18+, arguably even more than the previous one on the list. Check the tags before you read and if that sounds like something you're into go for it. Me personally I gotta be in a very specific headspace first but when I do read it I enjoy myself, it's real cute and has a lot of great little character moments)

Protectors in Red - Kayleen756894 (Extremely good! Also features Mukuro! So if that's a selling point then I'm sure it'll vibe)

Forgive Me, My Beloved - Gloomy_snake (Significantly out of my normal comfort zone and definitely not what one would expect compared to the other fics here, but an enjoyable read. And if you like Doomed Yuri, it's got plenty packed in.)

Drowning - aparticularbandit (Extremely inspiring piece of writing featuring Alter Ego Junko instead of Original Recipe Junko!)

A Night for Two - TheGreatWave74 (Cute fic with the girlies at the pool)

what's better than this, girls havin fun - oxidize (A Chatfic! It might not give the same lasting impact as other fics on the list, however this was the fic that introduced me to the very idea of Soft Junkan, so I will always cherish it, and make sure to re-read it every now and again for the sentimental value)

Burning Lungs - oxidize (Another unfinished fic, I remember that put me off from reading it for awhile. However when I finally did I got pretty invested, which left the cliffhanger on the last chapter all the more stinging. Hope the author is doin' well! Anyway, great fic, might go a bit overboard on the darker aspects of Mikan and Junko's backstories so be warned, but even with that in mind I enjoyed myself and find myself imagining the potential turns it could have taken. And watching Junko's feelings slow burn into existence was really pleasant, especially as her dynamic with Mikan continues)

School Life of Mutual Loving - MarySutcliff (A Compilation of various fics from various ships, 3 of which are Soft Junkan. I've only read the first two, but if you enjoy them I imagine the third will do something for you, the first chapter also, as far as my research can tell, is the first instance of Soft Junkan.) First Chapter Second Chapter Third Chapter

Queen of the Convenience Store - Orphan_Account (The one where Junko and Mikan do weed. I actually quit weed and went cold turkey about a week or two ago, but I do still enjoy seeing girls kissing while being high. even if i can't remember if they kiss in this oops)

A DR Oneshot from an Orphan_Account (It features a Hot Topic, my inner 2000s kid has to recc it)

The Threshold - character_studious (A Bit Dark, but a pleasant read!)

The Whirlwind Fashionista - Kaz3313 (Cute lil Non-Despair AU fic featuring a very cool mall! The ending also gets a chuckle out of me)

No Regrets - wait i made that one (I wasn't going to put this here initially however as a small spoiler, Day 50 of this project is directly based on this fic. I'm super mixed on how it turned out but hey maybe someone'll like it)

And that's it for now! I may or may not be forgetting a decent amount of fics even among the ones I've read before. And there's plenty I haven't even seen yet, and plenty more to be made overtime I imagine.

Your mileage may vary with a lot of these fics, but hopefully you'll find one that itches your brain good like they itch mine. And if not then I recommend just hitting the Junkan Tag running and see what you can find! Take a few risks and maybe you'll find something surprising.

Have a wonderful day and remember to stay hydrated!~