#y’all i do not KNOW this woman but i was still mentally scrambling to find an excuse

[schrijverr]

Hold Me Together

Chapter 3 out of 4

Eliot gets hurt on a job and then sick. Hardison and Parker waste no time to jump in to care for him and it becomes harder and harder to say no to their care when it’s just so nice. After he has a nightmare, they’re there for him and feelings come to light.

AKA Eliot has a terrible time physically (and partly emotionally), but gets lots of cuddles and two partners in the end.

On AO3.

Ships: Thiefsome OT3

Warnings: Eliot's low self esteem and the flu

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hold Me Tight

Eliot ate his soup under the watchful gazes of Hardison and Parker. It was good soup, but he felt guilty about having the kitchen staff cook for him, deciding to thank them profusely later. He also made a mental note to yell at Hardison and Parkerlater about burning a pan, hoping it hadn’t been one of his nice pans.

For now though, the soup was heavenly on his throat and its warmth was great for his cold bones, so he just leaned against the headboard and ate his soup, spotting the stuffed mushroom on his bedside table.

Once it became clear, he wasn’t going to explode, or whatever those two thought he was going to do, they relaxed and started babbling about all sorts of things. While Eliot had been sleeping, they had also taken a nap, before the failed soup experiment, after which Hardison had taught Parker how to play Thief: Deadly Shadows, which Parker found too unrealistic and critiqued the stealing animations, until they had decided to keep him company.

Their chatter was relaxing and despite the fact that Eliot had been asleep for sixteen hours, not to mention the car ride before that, he found his eyes drooping.

“You tired?” Hardison asked kindly and Eliot’s gut instinct was to deny it. He couldn't go to sleep again, it was embarrassing and unnecessary. Still, he was tired and they had been so nice, but if he went to sleep they would leave him again.

That train of thought had taken a quick turn and Eliot was frustrated that he didn’t have a good control over his emotions and thoughts due to the fluof all things that was making him dazed. He blinked the thought away and shook his head.

“So you’re not tired?” Parker filled in with a confused frown. And Eliot wanted to deny it for real this time, but instead he yawned.

“I somehow find that hard to believe,” Hardison quirked a brow playfully.

God, they were so nice to him and he didn’t deserve that, but it was so nice and he wanted them to stay with him and not go to sleep, even if he was tired. He pushed down the tears threatening to well up in his eyes, before whispering: “Don’t want to sleep yet.”

It was pathetic and he should have just said that he was fine and that he was going to get up, but he couldn’t and if anyone asked later he had a sore throat and couldn’t speak.

“No?” Hardison asked.

“No,” Eliot replied. He didn’t want to sleep, he didn’t want to be left alone and he didn’t want to be pathetic, yet there he was.

“We could watch a movie,” Parker suggested and Eliot could have kissed her. He had wanted to kiss her on multiple occasions, but this was definitely one of them- And he should really stop thinking about kissing Parker right about now, okay, pushing that away.

“That’s a great idea, mama,” Hardison exclaimed, getting up to grab his laptop since Eliot had refused to let him install a tv in his room. As he went he took the empty bowl with him.

Parker took it upon herself to built a semi-pillow fort around Eliot, before burrowing into Eliot’s side with a content sigh. Alarms went off in his head at the closeness even if it was nice, so he protested it with a raw voice: “I could be contagious.”

“We slept next to you for a night then sat on the backseat of Lucille for eight hours, bit too late for that,” Parker said. “Besides, you’re warm and soft.”

His brain short-circuited for a moment and when he came back online Hardison was there, three steaming mugs on a tray as he said: “Ahw, aren’t you two making an adorable picture,” successfully breaking Eliot again.

Next to him Parker smiled and did grabby hands to the mugs. Hardison gave her one, which was obviously hot chocolate under the pile of marshmallows on top of it. Luckily, the mug that Eliot was given was filled with tea. It was bag tea, badly prepared, but there was honey in it and he was touched anyway.

“Okay, I’m thinking 007, it’s James Bond, a classic, must see,” Hardison said, plopping down on Eliot’s other side, setting the laptop on Eliot’s lap and leaning over as he started typing.

“He’s a terrible spy,” Eliot protested, barely audible, more because if he said anything else, he would blurt out something embarrassing and bickering with Hardison about his movie taste was the safest thing right now.

“And your voice is almost gone, so you should rest it,” Hardison shot him a cheeky grin, “No complaining from you for once.”

Eliot guffawed about that, frowning, but he didn’t reply, because he wouldn't waste his voice on something so petty and childish, no matter what Hardison thought, so he just looked away haughtily to convey his dismay.

“Oeh, I know, it’s the one with the dude he thinks he’s good at what we do, but he’s not and also on the other side of the law,” it clicked for Parker and Eliot smiled when she picked his side of the argument.

“Other side of the law? Woman, do you mean the right side of the law?” Hardison said.

“I mean, it’s the other side of the law from us,” Parker shrugged and Eliot couldn't help but bark out a laugh, Hardison joining in, before everyone was distracted when it turned into a coughing fit and Eliot’s tea had to be saved by Parker while Hardison rubbed his back.

“You good?” Hardison asked when the coughing had subsided.

Still a bit out of breath and red in the face, Eliot nodded. He gestured vaguely with his hand to convey that he was fine and that they should let it go, before clearing his throat and rasping: “You know, I’m with Parker.”

“Really? You just nearly died of coughing and your first reaction is to continue a stupid argument where you know you’re wrong,” Hardison said indignantly.

“‘m not wrong,” Eliot told him, voice now barely a whisper.

“You. You stay quiet, okay. Your voice is making my throat hurt-” Hardison took the tea from Parker and pushed it into Eliot’s hands “-drink your tea and shut up, while you watch how wrong you are, okay. Both y’all.”

Eliot grinned lightly, but let them push him back onto the pillows, cradling his mug as Hardison finished setting up the movie, while Parker whispered in his ear: “I don’t get why people think he’s cool, besides the explosions.”

“I heard that,” Hardison called out, clicking play, before settling down on Eliot’s other side, bracketing him between them.

It was nice and comfortable and Eliot should really not be allowing this, because he was fine dammit and he could take care of himself. But it was really really nice and, honestly, it didn’t seem like Parker and Hardison thought him to be breakable and they had had movie nights in the past, so it wasn’t anything new. Besides, his muscles were too sore for fighting right now.

The movie played on the screen, but he couldn't focus and his eyes were closing more and more. He felt himself slide to the side and land on something warm, but no one pushed him away and to the sound of bullets flying, he began to nod off.

He fought it for a while, he really wanted to stay present with Parker commenting on the movie and Hardison defending it until a hacking scene came on and then he was really upset about the whole thing.

It felt like home, comfortable and safe and Eliot wanted to experience it for as long as it lasted, but sleep won out and soon he was out like a light once more.

When he woke up again, he was shivering and cold to the bone, it didn’t matter that there were multiple blankets piled on top of him and that he still had Hardison’s stupidly warm hoodie on. The sweat was cooling on his body and he was cold.

And alone.

Somehow that second fact hit him harder than he’d expected and he immediately hated himself for being a clingy pathetic little bitch. He knew better than this, they’d already seen enough weakness from him. They had handled it so far, but there would be a breaking point and he knew it. He had to keep them out of it, before they got there and they would leave. He had to take care of himself from now on.

Determined he got up out of bed to find more blankets and clean clothes, because still wearing Hardison’s hoodie should be weird and not comforting and the clothes were too sweaty to be comfortable anyway. His left ankle still throbbed as he got up, but he could walk and stand on it now, albeit unsteadily and with a slight limp.

He felt entirely uncomfortable, his skin itchy around him and his body uncoordinated. He wanted to take a shower, but didn’t trust himself enough to take one, so he just pulled on new clothes, a shirt and boxers – no pants because he’d already almost fallen over with the boxers – before padding out his room and to the living room where there should be more blankets. He had no clue what time it was but it was between sun and stars, either early morning or evening.

The unanswered question about the time was answered when he entered the living room and saw Parker and Hardison curled up on the couch with a blanket and pizza. Dinner. At least he hoped it wasn’t breakfast, because then he would have to yell at them and that seemed like about as much work as standing was right now.

Two pairs of eyes had locked onto him the moment he had come stumbling into the room, and he looked at them like a deer in headlights. He somehow hadn’t counted on encountering them, even if it was technically their apartment and he just had a room there.

After a moment of staring, Parker sprung up, exclaiming: “Eliot!” as she scrambled over the back of the couch with the blanket she and Hardison had been sharing.

“Hey, man, what are you doing here? You should be in bed,” Hardison had gotten over his initial surprise of Eliot appearing in just his boxers and a shirt (and he was really regretting not putting in the extra effort of pants).

Then the question registered and with a hoarse voice, he explained: “I go’ col’. Blan’e’s.”

“You’re up looking for more blankets?” Hardison asked. “Good god, you’re shivering, man. Come, sit on the couch.” Parker led him to the couch while Hardison mumbled: “How is this man cold? We left nearly all the blankets on his bed.”

Eliot felt guilty about interrupting their evening when he’d already taken up so much of their time since their last con, on which they also hadn’t been able to spend much time together, but between his clattering teeth and lost voice, his explanation got lost.

He was alone on the couch now, with both Hardison and Parker having disappeared once they’d installed him with the blanket tucked tightly around him. He was a bit lost on what was expected of him now, but soon Parker came back with the mess of blankets that had been on his bed and Hardison arrived with a steaming bowl and a hot bottle.

Hardison handed him the bottle and he tucked it against his chest, before Parker practically swaddled him. He softly protested: “You don’ nee’ to do t‘is.”

“We know,” Hardison smiled again with a bit of knowing in there as if he was aware why Eliot was protesting. It should bother him more than it did that they knew him so well. “Just drink your soup, Eliot. We want to take care of you.”

“Yes, it’s a skill you need to learn and you helped me,” Parker smiled and it was so easy to agree with the smile and just drink his soup, but he couldn't just accept help like that.

What he wanted to tell them was: ‘You two need to stop all of this, because I don’t need it and you two are dating and I’m only in the way of that right now. Just let me get to my room and I’ll be fine on my own while you have date night. This is really sweet and all, but I’ve been through worse and I’ll survive a little flu by myself.’

However, his voice had left him entirely now to the point of inaudible, so instead he moved his mouth while hoarse whispers that couldn't even be called words came out.

“I didn’t get that,” Parker said after a beat and it was just blunt and honest and completely Parker.

“Me neither, mama,” Hardison said. “I can go grab you a pen and some paper, man. You can write it down if you want?”

And that was the opposite of what he wanted. He wanted them to see he was bad in their life and not worthy of this attention, he wanted them to go away before they could see he was weak and they couldn't count on him, even if he would die before they couldn't count on him anymore. The longer this went on the sooner they would see the soft, weak parts of him and they would want to cut him out. And he didn’t want to be cut out. Of course he didn’t want to be cut out, but that would be inevitable if they stayed, because they would see his creepy feelings for them or see how much he craved contact and that would be the end.

His vision blurred and his breath came in raspy wheezes. Far away he could hear Parker and Hardison’s worried voices and he faintly wondered why they weren’t upset with him for ruining their night and falling apart over nothing.

Why couldn’t they just leave him like everyone else? It would hurt, but it would be easier.

But they didn’t leave, instead there was a bony arm around his shoulders and a soft hand rubbing his back as two voices spoke in calming tones, though he couldn't make out what they were saying. He took some more deep breaths and tried to push it all down and lock it away.

Once his vision had cleared he could see a laptop on a blank word document in front of him. He didn’t have the energy to repeat all he’d said, but he typed anyway: im aorry dioe ruinug your date nifht

He couldn't really focus, but both were quiet for a moment as they deciphered his words. Then he was pulled into a half hug by Hardison this time, as the other said: “You’re not ruining anyone’s night, man. What gave you that idea?”

Eliot shrugged helplessly at that, because how could they not see he was ruining their night by getting injured and then sick and deciding to stay here even if he had an apartment, because there was a room here. And he was really relying too much on them already for when it all came crashing down around him.

“Do you not want us to be here with you?” Parker asked, sounding sad.

He shook his head quickly, because he could never let Parker be sad, a stab of pain going through his skull as he did, before shrugging, wishing he had a voice, even if he was too exhausted to explain. He wasn’t sleepy, just tired, like he wanted to sit and stare, but not sleep.

Parker wrapped herself around him, putting her head on his shoulder as she said: “It’s okay. I sometimes also don’t know what I want. We’ll just figure it out together.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Hardison agreed with her and Eliot wanted to cry at their kindness, but instead he just nodded weakly, giving in to taking up space when they didn’t seem to mind. He accepted the soup again and focusing on eating it and the warmth of Hardison and Parker as well as the blankets around him, instead of the thoughts swirling in his mind.

The two had the good sense to let him be, while they went back to the conversation he’d interrupted. It seemed they had been discussing the ethics of pushing someone of the building. Eliot had heard both sides of the argument often enough to tune them out and just listen to the tones of their voices as his mind sank away.

Content he stared into the void for a while. He didn’t keep track of the time, but it could have been minutes to an hour. In the time he ate his soup and let the bowl get taken away gently as the hot water bottle cooled and the shivers came back. His breath was wheezy and he sniffled, regularly interrupted with a cough.

After a while they put on a movie and cuddled on the couch with him, but he could not have told anyone later what the movie was.

They helped him to bed at some point, he brushed his teeth slowlyand slept long and deep, but when he woke up he was still in that hazy staring mood. Parker brought him a few crackers with more tea with honey that he ate gratefully giving her an, in her opinion, dopey smile, even if his eyes couldn't stay fully focused on her.

It was never brought up later and Eliot didn’t remember, but when Parker had asked him why he was smiling, he had told her in a hoarse whisper: “‘s nice, not bein’ alone.” And after that, he hadn’t been alone, because Parker had told Hardison, who had gotten a sad look in his eye, before getting Eliot and carting him off to the couch.

Eliot had gone along willingly. He couldn't really do more than think ‘hmm, warm,’ as he leaned in and stumbled along, but he was glad to just sit on the couch under a lot of blankets while Parker hung in the rafters and Hardison worked on some IDs.

He was pretty sure Sophie came by and he said hi to her and she told him something about talking to Nate, but he couldn't be sure. He should ask Hardison or Parker about it, because they had talked to her more and he should be interested in who went in and out of the apartment, check for security risks. But he was exhausted and he couldn't focus on anything.

Still, he was completely sure that if something were to happen, he would be up and ready to fight as best as he could, but his brain had shut off for anyone he’d deemed safe.

That night Hardison and Parker slept in his bed again, like they’d done at the hotel and the first night back in Portland. Their presence was calming and despite the chills, he felt warm.

During the night he didn’t wake up once, which was actually rare even with the sickness knocking him out constantly. The shivers had been waking him up for short moments, along with the coughing, but pressed between Parker and Hardison, he slept like a baby.

When he woke up, however, he was keenly aware of the cooling sweat on his skin and the every present smell of sickness in the air and the horrid taste in his mouth. He also then realized that meant Hardison and Parker were smelling it too and he let out a small noise of embarrassment, before he was even aware of it.

“What’s wrong, E?” Hardison asked and Eliot would rather just sink into the ground, but he couldn't so he burrowed into his blanket and wrinkled his nose.

“Are you still a mermaid?” Parker appeared where he had rolled away from Hardison.

“We watched The Little Mermaidrecently,” Hardison explained.

Eliot nodded. He might be able to talk, but his throat hurt and none of his thoughts stuck around for long enough to form into sentences he could verbalize.

Parker was still studying his face closely, while Hardison went on a mission to figure out what the noise had meant. “Are you in pain? Do we need to get you some pain meds?”

A grumpy, negative grunt.

“Okay, okay, no need to be so touchy feel-y. I get it, no pain meds,” Hardison backed off. “Is there any other discomfort?”

And there was, the taste and smell and the fact that Hardison and Parker were in the smell and not saying anything about it. Also the fact that his clothes felt grimy from the sweat that madehis skin feellike it needed to crawl off him if he ever wanted to feel comfortable and clean again. But he wasn’t telling them that, because they might want to do something about it, which would be even more embarrassing.

“He’s not telling us something,” Parker snitched on him and while he was glad her people-reading skills had increased, he didn’t like her using them on him. So, he hid in his blanket again as protest.

“There is something!” Hardison agreed, taking his silent protest as Parker’s words having truth and Eliot hated and loved them both for how well they could read him. It was dangerous to have people that close and it would hurt when they left, but to have a family again was nice.

Having them was nice.

Oh no. Abort. Abort. Not having those thoughts while they were in his bed and he was in just a shirt and boxers.

Actually, never those thoughts.

Never.

They were happy together and he only broke things. He was bad and needed to stay away from that and he knew it. Just had to ram it in a few more times before it would stick in his thick skull and- fuck they were still talking to him.

“… never tell us anything and I know you can’t talk and shit, but you really need to give me more than those blank, panicky eyes,” Hardison looked at him, before sighing in what Eliot would call a fond manner, if he didn’t know better. “You didn’t hear a word I was saying, did you?”

Sheepishly Eliot shook his head, wincing when that every present headache made itself known again.

“He feels bad about it,” Parker observed and he would love it if she stopped reading his face to Hardison and let him vanish in peace.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Hardison smiled and a knot loosened in Eliot’s chest, even when he hadn’t noticed it had been there. “I’ll ask again. He listening, mama?”

After a look Parker confirmed: “He is.”

“Good. So, Eliot, the thing that’s bothering you, could we do something to change it and help?” he asked and there was, but Eliot wasn’t showering with them near him again, maybe they’d hold him and the last time was too intense already. His mind spun when he thought about it, so yeah, he didn’t need a close repeat of that, not if he wanted to push Hardison and Parker away.

“I’m taking your silence as a yes,” Hardison informed him, snapping him back to the present, though he could play that off. He had been distant mentally ever since he got sick.

“So, what is it?” Parker asked, poking him and, oh yeah, he realized, them knowing something was up meant that they were going to needle him for answers until they had them.

Luckily for him, he had sat through worse torture and never breathed a word.

A few moments later and he was breaking. Parker kept on poking him and Hardison kept looking at him with those open, concerned eyes while he spoke too much for Eliot too keep track of everything, until it all became too much. “Uncomfortable,” he finally said. Well, tried to say, it sounded more like ‘un’omf’r’le,’ but that was besides the point.

“What’s uncomfortable, E?” Hardison asked, not unkindly.

“E’erythin’,” he replied, tugging at his shirt and wrinkling his nose as he smacked his lips and shuddered, before the shudder turned into a sneeze and a small, miserable cough.

“You feeling yucky, buddy?” Parker asked, earning her look form the other two. Defensively she shrugged: “What? It’s what they say in those movies and shows.”

And when she mentioned it, he did feel pretty yucky, even if he would never describe it like that out loud. Hardison, however, had no such qualms and he delighted in saying: “He probably does feel very yucky. But we can take care of that. I’ll start running a bath.”

Immediately Eliot felt conflicted and made a protesting noise. He wanted a bath, god, nothing sounded better than nice hot water on his sore muscles and cold, sweat stained skin, but if he had learned anything, it was that neither of them would leave him in peace in the bath and he was trying to distance himself, even if that seemed absurd with how both were in his bed, cuddling him through the night to keep him warm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back,” Hardison smiled, misinterpreting his noise and sweeping out of the room before Eliot could rectify the mistake.

Parker cuddled back into his side and confided in him: “He never breaks that promise. Took me a while to believe it too, but it’s okay. You’ll get there.”

Eliot didn’t understand, didn’t get how neither of them could see how wrong they were. He wanted to rip his hair out and- oh, there was a hand in his hair, getting out the tangles. It was nice and his mind blanked as he leaned into the contact, something he would berate himself for later.

He only remembered that he should have been convincing Parker that this was a terrible idea when Hardison returned. “You two gotta stop doing this to me, man. You look like a content cat. Now get up, we got a bath to get too.”

The blanket was pulled off him and the cold swept over him. He shivered hard and tried to flee into Parker’s side before he could even think about that action too hard. For a moment, he thought he was safe too, because she wrapped her arms around him like a hug, but then she turned it against him and dragged him to his knees with her.

“Man, I feel like I’m about to slaughter a puppy right now,” Hardison told him as he took Eliot from Parker and pulled him out of bed.

“He’ll be fine once he’s warm and clean again,” Parker assured him. “He’s just being a bit of a baby about it.”

“I think he’s allowed to be a baby about it,” Hardison said and Eliot would have a lot more opinions on the conversation if the room wasn’t spinning and he was barely keeping up with Hardison’s steps, completely trusting the hacker not to drop him. “I mean, look at how he’s shivering, can’t be comfortable.”

Eliot blinked again, the room was still swaying, but it was a different room than before. There was a hot steam in the air and there were tiles around him. The bathroom. He was too late to stop them and he gave in.

If anyone he used to know could see him now, they’d never believe it. The great Eliot Spencer giving into the whims of a hacker and a thief, not even fighting getting a bath even when he knew it was a security risk and something that could blow up in his face.

Deft hands were divesting him of his shirt and soon he was in just his boxers. The door opened and closed behind him as Parker vanished, while Hardison said: “She’s gonna change the sheets and I’m here to keep you from drowning. There are bubbles in the bath, but I can understand if you want to keep your boxers on.”

He nodded, because he would like to keep the boxers on. The steam was doing wonders for his throat, but he didn’t trust himself to speak just yet.

Hardison supported him at the elbows as he stepped into the bath. The water was warm and he sank into it gratefully with a soft sigh, his muscles were already loosening and the heat did nothing against the sleepiness that had been plaguing him. His eyes closed without his permission as the water embraced him.

A hand under his chin stopped him before he could sink underwater and his eyes snapped open to find Hardison smiling at him. “Told you I wasn’t going to let you drown. Go on, relax, Eliot. It’s okay, I got you.”

It was distinctly harder to relax with Hardison holding him up, his big warm hands were very distracting and Eliot was trying really hard not to be distracted. The water was like heaven on his muscles, so that helped and he could feel the steam clearing his sinuses and alleviating the strain on his throat.

Few minutes in and Hardison’s hands were just part of the little place of niceness away from all the discomfort that came with being sick.

Eliot knew he could have just existed like that forever, floating away from his body while still feeling the nice sensations, were it not for the door making noise again as Parker came in. He perked his head up and cracked one eye open.

She smiled at him and held up some clothes, which she put down as she skipped forwards, kneeling next to the bath. With open eyes she asked: “How are you feeling? Baths always make me feel tingly in a good way, are you feeling tingly?”

He didn’t know what hisface did at the question, but Hardison laughed: “I think he’s feeling plenty tingly, mama. I saw you with your hands in his hair, wanna wash it?”

Parker lit up at that and even if Eliot had been planning to protest – which hadn’t crossed his mind before it was too late – he couldn't have told her no with that face. So he watched as they switched places, feeling kinda awkward at both of the staring at him while he was going to face a vulnerable action.

Eliot wasn’t going to ask where she had gotten the skill, but she knew what she was doing as she slipped a hand under his neck, before slowly pushing him down into the water, until he was comfortably floating. She ran a hand through his hair and the final awkwardness slipped from his mind along with most of his thoughts as he leaned into the touch.

Under the water with his eyes closed, he couldn't see Hardison’s looks that he couldn't place with his fuzzy mind, nor Parker’s excitement and apparent happiness about taking care of him like he needed their help. He could just be and feel the tender touches that no one had given him in many years, everyone always quicker to see him as a threat to be avoided.

He was even slightly upset when Parker pulled him back up, a noise leaving his throat before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to find Parker’s hands on him nice, she had a boyfriend. A hot boyfriend, but also a no-no on the touch list.

So, he kept quiet as Parker lathered shampoo into his hair. It was her shampoo, he was almost sure of it. Her hair always smelled like it and, if he remembered correctly, it had been a gift from Hardison. Now he had to fight both the blush as well as soft pleased noises.

And he failed at both.

“Ahw, man, the moment you feel better, I am so teasing you with this,” Hardison said. “You’re just too sad for me to do it now, but I will remember this. I’m probably not allowed to film you, right, because this is great.”

His response was going to be something along the lines of ‘Dammit, Hardison,’ but Parker was faster as she spoke for him: “Hardison! Shush, we just got him to accept a bit of nice things, don’t ruin our master plan.”

“Sorry, mama,” Hardison looked chastised and Eliot wanted to ask about the master plan, but Parker just hit a knot in his hair and he shivered against her touch instead and forgot was he was going to ask.

When Parker washed out his hair, she was careful not to get it into his eyes, but she also let him float a bit longer, the silence of the water stilling his swirling mind. It was empty now, which was better than the confusing half-thoughts and admonishes.

Still, the water was cooling around him and sooner than he’d like, Parker was letting him up as Hardison got him out of the bath.

He could at least stand on his own now and Parker left the two of them while Eliot got dried off and into new clothes.

Being able to stand on his own, however, didn’t mean it wasn’t still strange. His entire being felt soft and collapsible from the bath and sitting on the toilet with Hardison rubbing him down with a towel wasn’t helping. He couldn't even remember why he was allowing Hardison to do it, instead of drying himself, but the contact was nice and he got lost in it.

Soon there was a shirt floating in front of him and this time his shoulder was good enough to slide his armin it. Hardison had dried his stitches and mumbled something about them healing well, which Eliot appreciated. He didn’t need more of his body to turn against him like it was doing now with the way he swayed towards Hardison whenever then man moved away slightly.

The pants was still awkward as fuck, with Eliot leaning one hand on Hardison’s shoulder and looking away at the ceiling while Hardison helped him into dry boxers and sweatpants, patting him on the leg when he was done.

He expected to go back to bed, but Hardison had remembered all the little details and was standing in front of him with his toothbrush. He reached out for it, but his arm was heavy and fell halfway through the uncoordinated grab.

“Yeah, okay, this is just sad, open up,” Hardison said. Eliot didn’t comply and he raised a brow, before putting on a voice and going: “Come on, say ahhhh.”

Eliot glared at him, but said ahhh with a murderous glare that fell flat in the grand scheme of it all. He let Hardison steady his jaw, before he brushed his teeth. It was rhythmic and soothing and Eliot allowed himself to get lost in the sensations as Hardison took care of him, spitting in the sink and accepting the glass of water offered to him.

Then they returned to the bedroom, Hardison a steady presence at his side as had become the norm in the past few days.

When he got to his bedroom, the sheets had been changed and he never thought he’d see the day where that would make him emotional, but there were still tears trying to well up that he pushed down, because they were just so goddamnedthoughtful and they were taking care of him even when they didn’t need to.

It was just a lot. Eliot wasn’t used to it. And his brain would have told him to not get used to it, if it hadn’t been turned to slight mush by the sickness and the nice warm bath.

So, he got into the bed and burrowed into the clean sheets with a happy smile, not seeing the ‘oh my god, he’s being adorable like a puppy looks’ that Hardison and Parker shared as he whispered a soft thanks.

“No problem,” Hardison said. “Here scoot over, Parker picked a movie.”

And he did so gladly, even if he knew it was a play to get him to sleep again. He wasn’t fighting them, his brain felt warm and he wasn’t thinking straight enough just yet, so he let them cozy up to his sides as a movie he couldn't name played.

He napped till the evening then he ate more soup and he would complain about different nutrient intakes and diversity in a diet, but he was just glad that they cared enough to bring him food – and he would really have to thank the kitchen staff later for that too – while also not burning down his kitchen.

That evening, he stayed awake through the movie, which was a shitty horror movie that Eliot had never heard about and could have gone his entire life without knowing about it.

However, sleep took him for the night just as easily and he was looking forward to the day he could stay awake and think straight again. That day was not the next day, however, which passed in a similar fashion.

But, while he felt and looked like a wreck, on the fifth day back at the brewpub, he felt slightly better. His nose was still completely stuffed but with all the tea, the bath and resting his voice, his throat was much better already, even the coughing subsiding little by little. His appetite was still shit and he had no energy, his head was also constantly thrumming and his muscles hurt like he’d been fighting for hours, on top of his healing injuries that had fallen into the background of his general discomfort.

Still, while it wasn’t a lot, his head wasn’t so fuzzy anymore either. It meant he felt all the aches more, but he liked that he had a little more control over his head.

Sadly, because he had more control over his head, he remembered how this was all wrong and he should be far away from this.

~~

A/N:

Eliot goes from grumpy man to emotional wreck in three chapters and I commend him for that, because it takes me five minutes max

Also, it’s really hard to write a story when the person from whose POV it is written keeps falling asleep, like sir, I need you to write the fic, stop sleeping.

Fun fact!: I typed this ‘im aorry dioe ruinug your date nifht’ without looking, bc I am actually a shit typer in the sense that I type with two fingers (four if I’m in a hurry), lmao. How I get anything done is a miracle, though I am pretty fast despite it all.

I feel like I should also mention that I know nothing about taking care of sick people and this was written for the emotional care, not the realistic nursing techniques. Also don’t look too closely into what happened to all the injuries, I half forgot, oops

Btw, angstier chapter incoming, fear me >:3

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Cam Boy Rhett

Since the US is celebrating Thanksgiving today I decided to surprise y’all with a tiny little snippet from the life of a college-aged cam boy Rhett. Enjoy!

Rhett changed the movement of his hand to a theatrically slow pump as the cum dripped down his shaft and over his strained knuckles. 

The chat went quiet for a beat. A common occurrence after he blew his load and something that still made his head spin a bit--imagining all those people behind the screen coming because of him. The fairly easy money was definitely the reason Rhett had started his little side business, but when he’d finally gotten a day job and camming was no longer a must, he’d continued doing it, realizing he enjoyed the idea of making strangers come. Secretly, he also enjoyed the anonymous eyes on him. It made him feel tingly and hot and powerful in a way no woman he’d hooked up with had ever been able to.

“Fuck,” Rhett groaned out huskily, giving himself one last stroke that sent visible shivers running through his body. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?” He looked right into the lens and winked, his mouth hanging slightly open, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as he evened out his breathing. With a satisfied sigh, he let go of himself, his limp dick settling against his bare stomach.

The chat sprung to life and a couple of regulars sang their usual praises. Rhett watched the tips pinging in. It was a decent haul tonight, but nothing to write home about. Not that he ever would. He shuddered at the idea of his family finding out what he did to earn extra cash. His father would probably skin him alive. His poor mother… Rhett mentally shook his head. There was no reason to imagine it. They would never find out.

He turned his focus back on the chat and replied to some comments. Interacting with regulars and new-comers alike was important and kept them coming back for more--and what was more important, tipping more. 

Someone tipped twenty bucks for Rhett to lick his hand clean. He put on a show, of course, moaning a bit for an effect as he sucked a couple of his fingers deep into his mouth, twirling his tongue around them. The taste was mild and didn’t bother him. The first time he’d done it at the insistence of certain vocal viewers had made him internally squirm but nowadays it was just part of the gig. And he always got a couple of extra tips if someone paid for that particular deed from his list of paid prompts. Who wouldn’t eat a bit of cum for what ended up being 35 bucks? 

Finally, the chat slowed down enough that Rhett could say goodbye and end the stream. He cleaned his spit-slick hand with a wet wipe and logged onto the account of his cam nick, BallXXXPlayer, on Twitter and sent out a thank-you tweet for a fun stream, promising another one soon. 

Another successful night made him smile and hum quietly as he put away his gear and grabbed his towel.

His housemate and best friend was sitting on the couch in the shared living room, his brand-new noise-canceling headphones on his head, clicking furiously on the PS4 controller. Rhett had bought the headphones for Link after he kept moaning about the… well, about the moaning coming from Rhett’s room when he was streaming.

“Hey,” Rhett said, amused by the crease between Link’s eyebrows. He is kinda adorable when he concentrates like that. Rhett chased away the strange thought and stopped next to the couch. Link didn’t react.  

“Hey!” Rhett repeated, louder, tapping on his shoulder. Link’s gaze jumped to him and he jerked in surprise, flinging the controller on the floor. Rhett suppressed a laugh and watched his friend fumble to reach it while his game avatar got gruesomely murdered. As Link scrambled up with it, he ripped off his headphones and glared at Rhett.

“Don’t do that! Scared the bejeesus outta me!”

“I said hey,” Rhett said in his defense before adding.  “At least now we know the new headphones work!”

Link mumbled something under his breath. It almost sounded like not well enough.

“What?” Rhett asked, trying to read Link’s expression. He knew Link was not a fan of his side business and more than once they’d ended up changing increasingly frustrated words about it.

“Nothing, are you... done?” Link asked, waving towards Rhett’s bedroom. He avoided Rhett’s gaze, concentrating on the television screen instead, even though the game was now paused. 

“Yeah. I’m just gonna hop into the shower. Wanna play together after that?” 

Link froze for a second and it almost looked like his gaze unfocused, but in a flash, he was back to normal and threw Rhett a smile that looked suspiciously fake.

“Sure. Hurry up so I can whoop your ass with my new moves.”

“Ha! Dream on. It’s your ass that’s gonna get the whooping, dude!” Rhett called out over his shoulder before the bathroom door closed between them, cutting the awkward mood with a soft thud. 

All that talk about ass whooping helped Rhett convince himself that it was totally normal that while he soaped himself up, his mind kept drifting back to Link’s ass.

[musicfren]

They’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation) part 2

HI HAVE I, TOLD YOU, THAT, @nottesilhouette IS THE MOST FRIGGEN AMAZING WRITER IN THE WHOLE WORLD? God...why do we do this to ourselves, friggen 3400 word story in the span of 2 days...this is entirely exclusively my fault pay no mind  Read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all, time for slep!

...oh, dear gods, why is Felix here? The spotlight burns into his face like shame, regret bubbling up in his stomach. He doesn’t remember challenging Marinette but he has, apparently, and now everyone’s watching and he has to-- he has to-- fight. Defend himself. 

Or breathe, if he can manage it.

One seems easier than the other. Well, here goes nothing. Felix steps forward and calls engarde. 

“Ophelia did nothing but obey the men in her life!” He cries, stepping forward, gesticulating wildly. The crowd gasps, and Felix doesn’t understand why until he realizes he's still holding the sword prop, white-knuckled grip around its hilt. Marinette’s eyes go wide with surprise and Felix nearly blurts out an apology right there. But then a glint of something sharper flashes in her gaze, burning with determination and suddenly Felix isn’t feeling quite so confident. It’s too late to quail now. He steps forward and matches her, still talking. “She’s hardly enough of an independent person to qualify as a character.” 

“What would she be, then?” Marinette’s voice is steady, calm, and Felix is wildly, irrationally envious of it. He can’t work out how to make his statements come out smooth, suave like she’s managed, so he goes for the next best weapon: rage.

“She’s little more than a symbol, a prop,” he spits, and the crowd reacts appropriately. Something in his chest loosens at the idea that he’s performed correctly. Something in his heart wrenches.

Marinette sends him a snide look. “You would know. You’re a model mannequin.” 

They’re circling each other now: Felix is brash, forceful, cutting broad slashes through the air with each sweeping generalization he makes. Marinette is steady, precise, pulling apart the stitches of his defense with needle-fine precision. His pulse quickens; a glance at the audience shows she’s winning their favor. This isn’t the clever riposte and quick banter they expected, and Felix is coming across as dim-witted at best. 

“Well, what is she then? You have so many judgements, it’s time you raised an opinion of your own-- or do you have no policy but to raze mine?” Felix pushes her back, scrambling for repost. He needs to be interesting, he needs to be clever, he needs to-- turn it back onto Marinette before the crowd realizes he’s faking, that he doesn’t want to be here, that he’s… scared. 

His tongue sours at the words, and he hates himself for saying them. Marinette shoots him a glare full of challenge, and for an instant he considers conceding right there. Marinette believes so strongly in her cause, and Felix is desperate to apologize, to reconcile, to just acknowledge the points she’s making. But he’s trapped now, caught in the reputation he’s built for this audience and his own pride, and he has nowhere to go but forward. 

Or backwards, apparently, because with each point Marinette makes, crisp and concise and clear, Felix finds himself frantically retreating further and further.

“Ophelia is the only person in the play who recognizes that Hamlet needs help.” 

“That’s not true--”

She cuts him off with a slice.  “She’s the only person who notices and tries to stop him, who cares enough to call him out on his actions, to hold him accountable to the promises he made before his mad plan, to who he used to be.” 

“The entire argument is milquetoast--” He stabs desperately.

“They speak of beauty and reputation, of expectations and the way one’s actions will never outweigh the image others have of them.” 

“They speak of madness and prostitution!”

They’ve become locked in combat now, their blades darting in the scant space their words leave behind. The crowd presses forward, squeezes the stage almost to bursting. Nino presses his face to the camera lense, not wanting to miss an instant.

“The argument is framed against women but its themes are centered on Hamlet’s own realization of the position he’s found himself in. It breaks the adrenaline rush long enough to show him, in all his grief and desperation, the reality he’s constructed for himself. They speak of agency!” 

“Ophelia has none!”

“Ophelia reminds him that he does!” Marinette’s voice finally raises. “Ophelia reminds Hamlet who he is, what he has, if only for a moment. Ophelia grieves for him, for his loss: of his father, of his sanity and dignity and agency. She acknowledges that he is a liar, but remembers the man he used to be, the person he put work into being.” 

“She laments the loss of his attention, nothing more.”

“To write her statements off as such discounts the tone and the manner with which they are intended; she is returning his madman’s accusations with compassion and reason, she is the only person who has done so, who will ever do so.” 

“Why should I take her seriously when no one else does?!” It’s a mad, desperate response as he finds himself teetering at the edge of the stage, and he’s unbalanced. He swings again, unhinged. 

“None of the men in her life-- not her father, not her brother, not god himself-- take her seriously until she dies.”

“She trips into a river.” Finally, Felix is in charge of this conversation; this, Marinette cannot deny. It is his strongest point, and the only point that matters. He steadies himself, holds his sword like a shield to defend his statement. 

“Her death is not an accident. Her death is the culmination of the climax. Her death is the reason anyone stops long enough to notice how far gone Hamlet is! Her death tethers Hamlet to the person he used to be, who loved her once, who remembered what it felt like to choose what he did and who he was.” 

“That makes her nothing more than the physical manifestation and harbinger of Hamlet's descent into madness,” and Felix puts on a smirk because he knows he should. 

Felix wishes he was being honest, passionate the way Marinette is being. Felix wishes her voice didn’t seem so far away, calling from a world he remembers existing in but can’t find his way back to anymore. Felix wishes he was talking to her in a realm even close to reality instead of the mirage he’s operating in, desperate not to fall through. 

Instead, he steps forward from the edge of the stage and keeps his sword aloft. “She’s trapped in the societal confines of traditional womanhood. She’s nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right.” 

Marinette stops moving forward to meet him, drops her arm. Felix is thrilled, and sick and confused, doubly so when he notices the ferocity in her expression. It is not one of someone who has given up. It is one of someone who is about to pounce.

“You’re right, she is nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter. No one cares what she has to say. So she makes it matter. She dies, and she is finally heard. You’re right, and she’s a genius for the way she wields it like a weapon.” Marinette smirks, matching his smugness with self-assured pride, and taps his wrist with her sword. His own slips easily out of his grasp, and he trembles; with what emotion, he cannot place. “Being able to do the work of all these men in 58 lines doesn’t make her less of a character, Felix. It makes her more of one, and more power to her for what she’s able to notice that no one else will. It’s not her fault men can’t manage it.”

 Felix finally snaps. “My sense is not less than yours!”

Marinette pauses, and very very slowly, grins. It’s terrifying, predatorial. She rakes her gaze down his body, and he shivers. “I had thought to agree but this battle of wits has proven very much so the opposite. When she blows him a kiss and winks, Felix collapses where he stands. 

It’s over. The tension the assembled students have been holding in their collective lungs for the last five minutes erupts into cheers and thunderous applause.

“Bravo, bravo.” says Nino, pushing through the crowd, most of whom are still frantically scribbling in their notebooks. Felix can scarcely bring himself to look up, his face burning with humiliation. The room around him is rapidly becoming a confusing blur of angry lights and prying eyes.

“You guys were amazing, I’ve never seen anything like that before! Honestly I should turn this in just like that.” Nino moves around to get a few more shots of their faces, lit up under the harsh theatre lights.

“No way!” shouts someone from the crowd, “I’m turning it in first!” “--can’t believe how easily Marinette just eviscerated Felix! I thought he was good at literature but--” “--she’s so clever, he could barely keep up--”  “--he’s not very good at this, is he--”

Someone else laughs and soon the whole crowd is bickering, arguing over who will lay claim to Marinette’s mental prowess and Felix’s mortification. 

“Enough, ALL of you! That was completely uncalled for. This wasn’t for you to take advantage of. None of you-- none of you-- bothered to state your own position, your own opinion. All you did was encourage my attacks, which were honestly in poor form.” Marinette hardly stops to breathe. “And anyways, I’m only more coherent because I’ve done weeks of research on this character. Felix kept up to someone who wasn’t just thinking on her feet, and his points still had credibility-- do you know how many literary analyses I’ve read on his position just to try and work out how to defend mine?” Marinette leans over and offers Felix a gentle smile and an outstretched hand. He gratefully accepts.

Felix takes her hand and pulls himself up with it, and stands shoulder to shoulder with her, looking out at the sea of chastised faces. “And now you think you can turn in our work-- her work, really-- and our performance as your own as if you have any claim to it-- it’s disgusting. Marinette poured herself into caring about this, and… and I should’ve listened to her, but I don’t get to take credit for the work she’s done to be this person. I need to do the work myself. You’re manipulators and thieves if you think you deserve any part of what she’s done.” 

“Hey, everyone is manipulated by something. Hamlet, Claudius, Horaito… you would know, right?” Marinette looks at him again, soft and shy and concerned through her lashes.

Felix swallows hard, glances at the cameras still rolling. Yeah, he would know.

“Thank you.” He says, stumbling and trying to hide the way his legs are shaking. “I, um… I guess I’d better put these swords away before someone stabs themselves.”

Nino slaps a hand on his shoulder so hard he nearly falls back down again. “Felix, my man! Get that grumpy black uniform off you!”

“Um… what?” Felix turns in confusion, head still spinning.

“You, my friend, are stage-hand no more! We’re still missing a Hamlet, and I know I’ve found the perfect one right here!”

“...WHAT?!?” 

As the world around him starts to blur, Marinette slips her hand into his and squeezes, shooting him a fond, amused grin. “You’re going to do great, Felix. I’ll see you on stage.” She presses her lips to his cheek, soft, warm, and… the scene fades to black to the sound of cheering.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Riley + Sunglasses + Undercover (7)

masterlist.

Read it on AO3. 

Second to last chapter! All I can say about this one is....there will be lots of screaming when y’all are done reading. 

*****

Riley was vaguely aware of Mac turning off the shower as she muted her comms and pulled her hair out of her face between waves of nausea. His soft “Holy shit” barely even registered over her own voice in her head, replaying the conversation with Petrov. 

Call off your dogs and let us and everyone else leave the hotel, and in exchange I will return your locket and won’t expose you as a fraud.

Over and over and over again, her mind replayed the moment where she’d threatened to throw him out the window and watch him splatter on the ground. 

And if I don’t agree?

Then I will use my recording of this conversation to clone your voice and command your men to stand down myself before throwing your useless body out the window and taking bets on which direction your blood will spray when you splatter on the pavement.

Unwillingly, she pictured doing just that. While falling, Petrov flailed his arms and legs, like if he just tried hard enough, he could grab onto thin air and save himself. He landed on the concrete like a wet sock. 

The mental image made Riley puke again, bile burning her throat. 

She’d liked it. The thrill of power, the high-stakes challenge, the adrenaline rush while threatening Petrov. For ten minutes, she was the kind of woman who could stand her ground against Matty the Hun. Riley understood now why Matty fed her reputation as a cold-hearted bitch. A persona like that was brutal, but effective. Riley liked wearing that mask, and that scared the shit out of her more than anything else. 

Mac stroked her spine, murmuring “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” His touch didn’t electrify her. It didn’t send her pulse racing and make her breathing uneven. Instead, his touch was soothing, relaxing--grounding her in reality. 

When there was nothing left in her stomach, she wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet. Mortification creeped over her as she realized Mac was kneeling beside her wearing a towel. Wearing only a towel.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. She needed to get out of there. God, she needed to get out of there right fucking now because the worry creasing his face and his lack of clothes and the fact that she’d just threatened to murder someone in cold blood and kind of liked it was too much to handle all at once. 

Mac looked at her intently, completely not caring that he was practically naked. “What happened?” She looked away instead of answering. ”Riley?” 

Riley spied his earpiece sitting on the counter--confirmation he had no idea what she’d said to Petrov. “Mac, I...the person I was in there...she was terrifying. And the worst part was the longer I was her, the easier it was. I liked being her, and then it got out of control.” She met his eyes. Whatever he saw in her face hit him like a punch to the gut; he sucked in a breath and momentarily froze. His reaction vanished in a flash, but Riley didn’t miss it. God, what did he think of her right now? 

As if in answer, Mac pulled her into a hug, strong arms holding her steady. “It’s over,” he cooed. “You did what you had to do.” The second his arms wrapped around her, Riley felt all the tension begin to drain from her body, a shuddering sigh escaping her lips in relief. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Riley buried her face in his neck, arms weakly raising so she could cling to his broad, surprisingly cool shoulders. She didn’t have the energy to wonder why his skin was so cold. 

Riley focused on the feeling of his hands on her body--one squeezing her waist, the other pressed below her shoulder. It felt as though Mac was the only thing stopping the world from dropping out from under her and sending her plummeting into an abyss of things she didn’t necessarily want to confront. 

There was something extremely intimate about sitting on the bathroom floor with Mac that had nothing to do with feelings or the fact that he was essentially naked. Intimacy had nothing to do with sex, and it had everything to do with truth. Being able to tell someone her truth, show someone her most vulnerable self, and their response was You’re safe. I’ve got you.-- that was intimacy. Riley didn’t hesitate to let Mac see her at her most vulnerable. And when faced with her vulnerability, Mac tucked her into his chest and reminded her she didn’t have to deal with shit alone. He wasn’t great at verbal reassurances, but Riley didn’t mind. All she needed was for him to just be there. 

I love you, she thought. Almost as if he were responding, Mac pressed a light kiss to her bare shoulder. They’d broken so many boundaries already that night she didn't think twice about it. It just felt right. 

Taking in a shaky breath, Riley let the scent of expensive soap and Mac fill her lungs as she fully leaned into him, trusting him to support her no matter what. 

“How did you get the scar on your right arm?” he asked after a few minutes of soothing silence. She knew what he was doing. Riley welcomed the distraction. 

“Which one?” 

“On your forearm, below your elbow. I felt it earlier.” 

She finally pulled away. “Oh, that one. I burnt myself while straightening my hair a couple weeks ago. Turns out hot tools and earthquakes are not a good combination.” Her joke fell flat, but Mac had the decency to smile anyway. 

That stupid smile. That stupid smile on his stupid handsome face with his stupid chiseled jaw and his stupid blue eyes. She looked away. 

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid. 

Mac’s hand slid down her back, a brief, light touch. It was nothing more than a simple I’m here. Even though it was meant to be friendly and supportive, it set her every nerve on fire. Mac’s hand fell away too quickly, as if he didn’t intend to touch her at all.

She could still feel his lips from their last kiss. 

For five minutes, he was just her best friend, but now those pesky feelings were back, full force. She didn’t know enough biology to explain the pain in one’s chest when all they wanted was to be with someone. All she knew was that it hurt. A lot. Those little touches transformed from her lifeline to her destruction. 

Riley glanced back at him and found Mac studying her. There was a softness in his eyes that wasn’t normally there. Just enough to make her wonder...no. He didn’t like her like that. Didn’t want her like that. 

Regardless, the look reminded her that she owed him an apology. “I’m sorry I snapped earlier. You can call me ‘Riles.’” She missed the nickname. 

“Okay.” He cupped her cheek, fingertips tangling in her thick hair. She fought the urge to lean into his touch. “What do you need right now, Riles?” It was too much. The look in his eyes, the hand gently cradling her face--he did everything right, and it was all too much, and something inside her snapped. It might’ve been her heart. 

“I need you to stop looking at me like you want me, because we both know you don’t.” 

He recoiled as if she’d slapped him in the face. Clearly she’d hurt him, but she didn’t care. The stolen glances, standing too close, holding doors open for her and only her--stuff they’d done for years--all of it needed to stop. What used to be normal was now a cruel trick. The universe laughed while it played her for a fool. 

She loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone, and he only saw her as a friend, or worse, a sibling. 

Riley stood and walked to the sink to rinse her mouth out, snatching the tiny bottle of mouthwash on the counter. In the mirror, she watched Mac scramble to his feet, barely catching his towel before it slipped. 

“Riles--” 

She spat the mouthwash into the sink, the taste of bile mercifully gone. “For fuck’s sake Mac, put your pants on.” Riley threw the empty mouthwash bottle into the trash with too much force and stormed out of the bathroom. She heard the frantic rustle of fabric as Mac got dressed. He’d be out in seconds. 

She needed to commit to breaking her heart now. Stringing herself along on false hope was destroying her. Her feelings were unrequited, end of story. She was stupid to think them finding themselves alone in a hotel room would turn out the way she wanted it to. She and Mac might act like more than friends, but they were, in fact, just friends with very few boundaries. 

He practically ran out of the bathroom, footsteps muffled by the carpet. “Riley, what is going on?” Mac grabbed her wrist and spun her to face him. 

“Let go of me,” she growled. He released her wrist immediately. It was unfair, she knew, to direct all the anger she felt at herself toward him, but she did it anyway. 

“Is it because I kissed you? I know you said it was okay, but if it wasn’t I need you to tell me, Riles.” He sounded like he was on the verge of panic. 

Maybe it was his tone, or the wild look in his eyes, but something about him in that moment pushed her over the edge, sending her plummeting past the point of no return. 

“No.” Riley couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. “It’s because I want you to do it again.” 

*****

I want you to do it again. 

She put it all out there, clear as day. And Mac didn’t register it until it was too late. Until she was scrambling away from him as fast as she could. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Every time he looked at her, Mac couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted her. Wanted to be with her, in every way possible. Her eyes said she was feeling it too. 

Those fucking eyes. Beautiful, but annihilating. A bridge from his soul to hers. 

I want you to do it again. Words he never thought he’d actually hear come out of her mouth. Voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I want to do it again too.” 

Everything stopped as soon as the words left his mouth. His heart. His lungs. The thoughts ricocheting in his brain. Maybe even time itself. All awaiting Riley’s response. 

It felt like an eternity had passed before she answered. “What?” she said softly, unbelieving. 

“I want to kiss you again. And again. And a thousand times after that.” It took every ounce of his self control not to just grab her and kiss her until she forgot her own damn name, but he needed her to come to him. 

Riley inched forward. “Only a thousand?” Teasing. She was teasing. 

“Millions. Trillions. Or, until either you’re sick of me or I die trying.” 

“I could never be sick of you.” She was close enough now that Mac could feel her breath on his lips. 

“Guess I’ll just have to die trying then.” He gripped her hands and squeezed before grazing his fingers along her arms. She gasped. Mac flashed back to earlier, at the auction, when he grazed the exposed skin in the middle of her back. So that’s what it took to make her gasp like that again. With painstaking gentleness, he held her face with both hands. 

“Can I kiss you?” Riley nodded. A nod wasn’t confirmation enough. Not right now. He prompted, “I need you to say the word.” 

“Yes.” 

He leaned in slowly, savoring the precious, electrically-charged moment before their lips met. Her perpetually cold hands gripped his bare waist, and for a few seconds Mac forgot how to breathe. He’d loved Riley for years, but in the last few months the switch finally flipped and he was desperately, undeniably in love with her. She was his best friend, his partner in crime (sometimes literally), his confidant, his ally. She was the ground wire to his circuit. She was Hope when his was lost, Courage when he wavered. She was the person who, above all others, he could trust, and together every challenge could be overcome, every problem could be solved. 

Mac traced her lips with his thumb until he couldn’t resist any longer, tilting her chin up for the kiss. He stared at those soft, greedy lips he’d thought about far too often before moving closer and brushing his nose against hers, as if drawn together by some unseen force. He’d felt that gravitational pull toward her for weeks, and now that pull solidified into an invisible string connecting them. He pulled back a fraction of an inch, just enough to meet those entrancing brown eyes of hers, and the instant he did, Mac knew he would follow her to the end of the earth. 

Slowly, he slid one hand into her hair, thick dark curls tangling between his fingers. Riley leaned into his touch, and he held her gaze and smiled, tucking a curl behind her ear. Finally, for real this time, Mac kissed her, soft and uncertain. She smiled against his mouth, and it wrecked him. Utterly, completely wrecked him. Mac’s whole body ignited. He laced his fingers deeper into her hair as she pulled his body against hers. 

Mac memorized everything about this moment: the feeling of her lips on his, the sweet smell of her perfume, the way her nails just barely dug into his back. There was no lust behind it, not like before, just affection, tenderness, and safety. 

Pure, undiluted love. 

Of course, that was the exact moment Bozer chose to check in on Riley over comms. Mac had never wanted to murder his best friend more than he did in that moment. Somehow, Riley managed to unmute her comms and explain that she was okay and just needed a minute. Mac didn’t know how she did it. Words were utterly foreign to him. 

She muted her comms again. “Now, where were we?” Her eyes glittered. 

Riley curved her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, their mouths meeting again in a searing clash of lips and tongue and teeth. It was passionate, hungry, desperate. Their bodies wound together, each with a hand in the other’s hair, deepening the kiss and pulling the other impossibly closer. Fireworks flashed on the backs of Mac’s eyelids, and lightning coursed through his veins, but at the same time, kissing Riley was relaxing and reassuring, like being wrapped up in her was the safest place in the world. 

The kiss lasted forever and ended too soon. 

Riley pulled away first. Mac gripped her waist to stop her and pull her in for another kiss but paused when he beheld the searching look in her eyes. Her eyes flitted about, and her expression was a mix of delight and confusion edged in hunger. 

For a brief second, he entertained the thought of that hungry part of her coming out to play. Dude, slow down, the little part of his brain still capable of logic chastised. He focused, waiting for her to say the words she was trying to form. 

"We should go before Bozer starts asking too many questions," she finally said. Well that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.  

"Bozer needs to stop being such a helicopter parent." 

Riley snorted. "Then he wouldn't be Bozer, would he." Fair enough. She gave him a playful shove. "Put the rest of your clothes on so we can go." 

He wanted to talk about the kiss. He wanted to talk about what the kiss meant, but Mac got the impression that Riley wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. 

Mac retreated into the bathroom to finish getting dressed. He glanced back at Riley, only to find her already staring. Their eyes met, and she looked away. 

Clothes back on, he crossed the suite to where Riley stood gazing out a window, having finally given up shamelessly ogling his body. Reaching for her hand, Mac followed her line of sight to the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean in the distance. “Ready?” he asked. She nodded once and smiled, letting him lead her out of the suite. 

Without letting go of her hand, Mac opened the door for Riley, and found himself face to face with two well-groomed men in nice suits, each pointing a gun at Riley’s chest. 

“Whoa there! I think you guys have the wrong room,” Mac said, squeezing himself beside Riley. One of the guns now pointed at his chest. 

The man on the right sneered at Riley. “Oh, I think we’ve got the right one. Isn’t that right, Danika?” He stepped closer, pressing the gun underneath her chin. “Or should I call you Riley?” 

Beside him, Riley paled. Well, shit. 

*****

Desi was out of the room before Bozer could even blink. He scrambled after her, catching the door before it slammed behind her. 

Bozer stepped into the hallway just in time to watch Desi bash Petrov’s men’s heads together, sending them tumbling onto the floor. They never saw her coming. She stood over their unconscious bodies with a triumphant smile on her face. Death incarnate dressed up like a Barbie doll, Bozer thought.  

Mac and Riley stood frozen for a second, mouths gaping, before Riley’s lips curled into a wicked grin and she snarked, “Damn, I should give you a raise.” 

Wordlessly, Desi strode down the hall and pressed the elevator button. 

“Where are you going?” Bozer asked. 

Desi grabbed the closest man by his ankles and dragged him to the elevator. “Sending the dogs back to their master.” 

The elevator arrived--empty, luckily--and Desi dragged the man inside. Mac and Riley lugged the other one in behind her. Desi pressed the buttons for every floor and stepped back out, waving at the bodies as the doors slid shut. 

“So who’s going to tell Matty?” Riley asked. Unsurprisingly, no one volunteered. 

“Loser makes the call.” Bozer held out a fist. 

The problem with settling matters via “Rock Paper Scissors” was that the game had nearly the same outcome every time. As usual, Mac lost, but only because everyone else cheated. Mac always played “rock” on the first round, so the rest of the team played “paper,” and Mac was declared the supreme loser. It only got messy when someone played “scissors” just to fuck shit up. That someone was usually Desi. 

In their hotel suite, Mac looked like he wanted to die on the spot while Matty chewed him out for using Riley’s real name while they were undercover. He’d confessed that after the meeting with Petrov, he and Riley had a not-quiet argument that Petrov or his men must’ve overheard somehow. 

Mac and Riley didn’t seem to be upset with each other now, so Bozer wondered what they fought about. Riley even gave Mac a quick shoulder squeeze and a grim, knowing look that set off warning bells in Bozer’s brain that something changed between them. 

After further deliberation, Bozer realized that he’d never known his friends to raise their voices at each other and fight. He’d witnessed many full-blown screaming matches between Mac and Desi, but never with Riley. 

Bozer didn’t know what to make of that. 

Desi and Riley changed into pajamas (bless fake-vacation ops) while Mac was on the phone and decided to check the other room for bugs, in case Petrov somehow managed to plant one while he was in there. Now alone with Mac, Bozer decided to do a little investigating of his own. 

He didn’t waste any time beating around the bush. “So, what’s going on with you and Riley?” Bozer knew Riley had feelings, and he was pretty sure Mac did too, although he didn’t have explicit confirmation. 

“What do you mean?” 

Bozer decided to play dumb. “You two have been acting weird ever since we got here, and now you got into a fight that led to your covers being blown? Something’s up.” 

Mac shot him an exasperated look. “Dude, I know you know more than you’re letting on. Out with it.” 

“My information is not mine to tell.” He paused. “What happened in the other room, Mac?” 

“I kissed her,” Mac confessed with a sigh. 

“And?” 

“And she kissed me back.” 

Bozer was excited for them--he really was--but he was also worried. Mac still hadn’t fully dealt with everything that transpired in the last year, and Bozer worried he’d keep using a relationship to hide from it. And if he did that, then Mac may very well do to Riley what he did to Desi. 

And if Mac and Riley ever ended things badly...Bozer would have a front row seat watching two high-speed trains derailing, and there would be little he could do about the near catastrophic destruction. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Bozer asked gently. 

Mac looked taken aback. “Why wouldn’t I be? She’s everything I want.” 

“Mac, I just think you should take a little more time for yourself before diving into another relationship.” 

Frowning, he argued, “Why? If you think part of me is still hung-up on Desi, you are clearly mistaken.” Well, fuck. This was going to suck. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Mac narrowed his eyes, waiting. “Can you honestly tell me that you’ve fully dealt with everything that happened with Codex and your dad?” 

Mac opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out. 

“What I’m saying is that I think you need to take more time to get your shit together before going all in with Riley. Otherwise, you’re risking letting that kind of stuff get in between you.” And drive you apart, like it did with you and Desi, Bozer refrained from adding. “You need to deal with it, but you don’t have to do it alone. You have me, and you have Riley. And I know there are some things that I will never understand, like stuff with your dad, but she does.” He took a deep breath. “Let someone in, Mac. Let her in. The allure of banging her brains out is strong, I know, but you’ve got to build that solid foundation first.” Bozer grinned. ”And make it out of real, reinforced concrete, not the ruined, crumbly stuff we made as a prank in eighth grade.” 

Mac chuckled. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern, Boze, but I’m fine, really.” Bozer didn’t believe him for a second. “Besides, I can’t do that to Riley. I can’t turn around and rip it away from her like that.” No, that conversation would not be pretty. 

“At the end of the day, it’s your choice. I just don’t want you to have any regrets.” 

Mac pulled him in for a hug. “I know,” he said. Quieter, he added, “Believe me, I know.” 

*****

It was a little after two am, and all Riley wanted to do was sleep. The auction felt so long ago, yet it had only been seven eventful hours ago. 

She let Desi explain that they’d found a bug in the other room, on the underside of the door handle. Petrov must’ve placed it when he let himself out. Riley cursed herself for being too caught up in Mac to consider a small detail like that. 

“Well, we’ll deal with it in the morning,” Mac said, looking just as guilty as she felt. “We all need sleep.” Riley nodded in agreement. She glanced at Mac, then Bozer, then Desi, then back to Mac again, knowing the others were doing the same. It was the first step in their “who’s sleeping where” routine. 

Riley didn’t have enough energy to battle for a good spot to sleep, so she pulled rank instead. “My op, my bed,” she announced. Without waiting for a response, she unceremoniously plopped on top of the fluffy duvet and closed her eyes. 

After a few minutes of squabbling that Riley didn’t bother paying attention to, someone slid into bed beside her. She cracked her eyes open just enough to see Desi rearranging the pillows. 

One of the boys turned the lights off, forcing Riley to finally crawl under the covers. She curled up on her side with her back to Desi. 

Sleep beckoned, but her brain was still buzzing too loudly to slip into blissful unconsciousness. Riley tried to turn it off, focusing on her breathing instead. With each exhale, she felt herself sink into the mattress, one body part at a time--first her feet, then calves, thighs, hips, torso, arms, shoulders, neck, head. She took one last deep breath and felt her whole body relax, becoming one with the bed. Her brain quieted at last. 

Across the bed, Desi whispered, “Are you okay?” 

Truthfully, Riley had no idea. She’d had such a rollercoaster of a night that she barely knew which way was up anymore. On the bright side, things seemed to be working out with Mac. But, at the same time, the consequences of being with Mac--Desi getting kidnapped, Mac accidentally blowing her cover--nagged at her. 

“I will be.” A true but vague answer. 

“For what it’s worth,” Desi said, “I saw you under the mask. Kind, brave, wickedly smart you. I know you scared the shit out of yourself, just as much as you scared Petrov, but you didn’t scare me. You were more in control than you think. And besides, I wouldn’t have let you cross a line you couldn’t uncross.” 

Riley didn’t have words to respond, so she just reached across the mattress and found Desi’s outstretched hand. The woman slept like a starfish, taking up way more than her half of the bed. Riley squeezed her hand, and after a second, Desi squeezed back. 

Her last thought before drifting off was that maybe she and Desi could be friends after all.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hey you like Hadestown right? Well its got the perfect prompt for something angsty with a bard: "Where is she?" "What do you care? You'll find another muse somewhere." Maybe because someone kidnaps the reader and the bard in question has to get her back?

A/N: I legitimately choked on my cup of iced tea when I read this prompt. You are cruel Nonny. Absolutely cruel. And I feel attacked. Obviously, I couldn’t wait to write this. I went with Valdo because “my muse” is the #1 pet name I have him use, and with Jaskier let’s be honest, even if he did fall for the reader, his true muse is still Geralt. Word Count: 2839 Rating: M - Kidnapping, violence, threats of violence, blackmail, murder, descriptions of injuries - seriously, y’all it’s dark

Your heart swelled with pride as you watched the crowd rather than the performance, noting how even the most prim and proper of the nobility in attendance were tapping their feet or nodding their heads as Valdo Marx worked his magic for the University crowd. It didn’t matter that there were other bards set to perform in the evening’s showcase, he had clearly already stolen the show.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” an unfamiliar voice said, close to your ear.

You nodded, recognizing that Valdo was coming up on one of your favorite parts of the song he was playing, the section he often described as yours, and not wanting to talk over it.

“It’s a shame tonight will be his final performance.”

“What are you talking about?” you snapped.

You tried to turn your head to glare at the stranger, unsure if he was simply spouting nonsense or if he thought he knew something you didn’t but not liking it either way, but he caught the back of your head in the grip of his large hand, forcing you to remain looking forward.

“I don’t want to cause a scene Sweetheart,” he hissed. You gulped as you felt something sharp press into your ribs. “So why don’t you just take a walk with me. Nice and easy, there we go.”

You felt sick as he coaxed you mockingly, moving toward the door through the back of the crowd. You knew that from where he walked you, Valdo wouldn’t be able to see, but you hoped that someone else might, and at the very least could alert him to your distress when the show was over.

“Where are you taking me?” you hissed, determined not to give in so easily.

You squirmed against his grip, now vicelike against your arm. For a moment you thought you caught the eye of a curly-haired and well-dressed woman in the crowd and she frowned briefly, puzzled, before turning away. No one else seemed to notice. Your heart sank.

“Relax, pet. My employer just wants a word with you. And your lover.” You could hear the smirk in the man’s voice. “No shut up and stop resisting before I have to do something…unpleasant.”

~

Valdo bowed, basking in the claps and adoring cheers, throwing winks and kisses at the crowd, playing up his flirtations even though it was common knowledge across the continent by now that he had taken a lover and was quite loyal to her. As he preened and charmed, he sought you out, caring more about your smile than any of the other praise he was offered. Confusion knitted his brow when he couldn’t find you. Wrapping quickly, he stepped off the stage, pushing his way toward where he had seen you last.

“Valdo,” a soft voice called out to him.

“Ah, Triss!” he greeted the mage with a somewhat forced smile, continuing to move and relieved that she made an easy effort to keep up with him. “How lovely to see you. I am terribly sorry, but I don’t have time to stop and chat just now. But if you’re here for the whole festival we should catch up. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Yes, the mysterious, Y/N. I’ve heard all the rumors. Assuming she’s who I saw and not some…exotic foreign princess or ethereal fae queen, you’re not going to find her out here. She was going somewhere with Gizrin Virs man.”

Valdo’s head whipped around to look at his friend so fast his perfectly coifed curls bounced. “What? When? Was she alright? Where did they go?” he snapped.

“During your penultimate song. She didn’t seem hurt but it also didn’t look like a friendly chat. I lost them in the crowd before I could see where they were headed.” Triss sighed at the concern and rage warring on Valdo’s face. “Relax Valdo, I’m sure you’ll find her and she’ll be fine. If she keeps up with you, she’s not some wilting rose.”

He snorted in amusement. That much at least was true. You were a force of nature and he was often content to just ride along in your wake.

“Now, what I can tell you is that Gizrin has a pavilion near the southern edge of the festival grounds. It’s much larger than necessary, a hideous shade of green and gold, and has a steady stream of attractive young people coming and going. You can’t miss it.”

Triss held out her hand expectantly. Valdo looked at it and then up at her face with its raised eyebrows and knowing smirk, then back down at it again.

“Are you planning to strum a ditty at him?”

He sighed and handed her his lute, which she took with a nod and a promise to keep it safe for his return.

~

“Where is she?” Valdo asked, storming into the pavilion that Triss had described. “Where is Y/N?”

About a half-dozen scantily clad men and women who had been lounging on the couches therein scattered at the sight of the furious man. The only one who remained was a young man, barely more than a boy, soft milky skin identifying him clearly as a noble, likely Girzin’s latest misguided patron. He casually inspected his nails.

The man scoffed. “What do you care? You’ll find another muse somewhere.”

Valdo fought the urge to wrap his hands around his scrawny neck. “Where. Is. She?”

“Gone. Six feet under the ground maybe, or in a heap with the rest of the refuse where she belongs by now.”

Before he could reign himself in, not that he particularly wanted to in that moment anyway, he crossed the remaining space between them and gripped the other man’s collar in tight fists.

Pulling him close, Valdo snarled. “Don’t you dare speak of Y/N that way. I know that Gizrin took her. I don’t know why and I don’t care. Tell me where they are before I tear this tent apart bit by bit, starting with you.”

The noble drew in a sharp breath, stammering something about his title, meaningless in reality and purchased for a handful of gold and favors, and how Valdo couldn’t do that, should unhand him that instant. Instead, he shook the boy like a terrier with a rat, bared teeth and flashing eyes close to his face just to get his point across.

“Okay, okay!” he cried out, dropping his bluster in a panic. “Gizrin left an hour ago. Said something about an appointment by the docks and some peasant whore. Please don’t hurt me!”

“Now get out of my sight, and if so much as a single hair on her head is harmed, know that I will hold you personally responsible and will hunt you to the ends of the Earth to make you pay.”

He shoved the noble away, causing him to stumble. As Valdo towered over him, he scrambled to his feet and fled, pale-faced and sweating.

~

Valdo was cautious as he moved toward the docks, whole body taut and fingers itching to rest on the hilt of his hidden blade. Still, when he spotted the three figures on the far end, he projected an air of casual indifference as he approached, strolling up as if joining a picnic. His eyes roved shrewdly over the scene. To one side was Gizrin Virs, a short, sandy-haired man, around Valdo’s own age though he looked older because of the pocks and weather-wearing on his skin which spoke to poor personal care. He was pacing. Behind him and off to the other side, was a tall, broad-shouldered and equally blonde man, holding you by the arm. You were stock still and straight-backed. Valdo’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“Ah, Marx, good of you to arrive!” Gizrin called out congenially. “I had been wondering when you’d show up. I’m sure sweet Y/N was starting to worry.”

“Dove, are you alright?” Valdo asked, ignoring Gizrin.

“I-I’m fine Valdo,” you answered, voice trembling and sharp with fear. “E-everything’s f-fi-fine.”

“Let her go Gizrin.”

“No, I don’t think I will. See, you made a fatal mistake Marx, and now I hold all the cards.”

He stepped forward, a showman commanding the stage, and his bodyguard followed, dragging you roughly with him, making sure that your love saw exactly what the situation was.

“Alright, let’s not do anything hasty,” Valdo said, holding his hands up in surrender, swallowing thickly to keep his voice from tremoring. “We can talk about this.”

No one was more surprised by his hesitance than Valdo himself. Especially when facing a poor bard and even worse small-time crime lord like Virs. Normally, he would have seen the threat and taken it as a challenge, both a mental and physical exercise in outwitting his enemy. But the sight of you standing there, knife pressed beneath your chin and tears rolling down your cheeks, one of which was already bruised and purple, made his blood run cold with genuine terror.

“Are you trying to negotiate with me?” Gizrin asked with an incredulous laugh. “You’re in no place to bargain. Not if you care about your precious Y/N’s well-being.”

“You clearly want something from me, or you wouldn’t be doing this. Is it money? Information? Some connection of mine that you need leveraged? Tell me and it’s yours. Just let her go.”

“No. I think she’ll be staying right here with Hector until our business is finished. Just to make sure you follow through.”

The mountainous man in question flashed Valdo a malicious grin and used your hair to yank your head back, exposing your throat more thoroughly to his large, heavy blade. You bit your lip to keep from crying out at the shock and pain, but a small whimper still managed to escape. The pitiful sound drew a sharp breath from Valdo and he mentally vowed to make sure both men suffered for hurting you.

“See, here’s the thing Marx, you’re in my way, and I need to make sure that you not only get out of it, but stay out. Especially now that Dandelion has decided he cares more for chasing some witcher through the wilderness and Essi’s dead of smallpox, there isn’t much true competition left. If you’re gone, then the choice for entertaining the courts will be myself or talentless lesser bards.” Gizrin gestured broadly, bell-shaped shirtsleeves flapping in the sea breeze around them. “The choice will be obvious.”

“That’s what this is about?” Valdo reeled back as if he had been hit, fury reaching a white-hot pitch within him. “You’re threatening her life because you’re, what, jealous?”

“You fail to understand. With you out of the picture, I will have my pick of commissions. No one will ever laugh or look down on me again. I’ll have the fame I deserve.”

“You deserve to die in obscurity, you bastard,” you suddenly snapped, lashing against Hector’s grip.

Valdo chuckled at the look on Gizrin’s face from your words. It wasn’t as eloquent as he might have spoken, but you’d still managed to strike with precision and great effect.

And then the other bard’s expression grew dark. “Cut out her tongue,” he growled.

“As you say boss.” Hector used the hand in tangled in your tresses to turn you toward him. “Hold still pet, or else you’ll just make the hurt more. I bet you’ll be a pretty sight all bloodied and silent.”

You thrashed in his grasp, wild and desperate to get away from the dagger now drawing close to your face, not caring about how your hair pulled or your neck wrenched.

“Stop!” Valdo cried out. “Please, stop. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I knew it. I had you the minute you fell in love.” Gizrin laughed. “We’re all going to go back to the festival like friends and you are going to, quite publically, announce your immediate and complete retirement. Then you’re going to disappear to some obscure little fishing village or whatever and never show your face in high society, or anywhere worthwhile, again.”

“That’s bullshit!” you shouted, even as you saw the surrender on Valdo’s face. “You were made for the stage Valdo, you can’t give that up.”

His emerald eyes met yours and you could see the tears swimming in them. He tilted his head softly and smiled adoringly at you.

“Sweetest rose in the garden of my heart, my beloved, I would gladly give it all up rather than lose you. If this is what it takes to have you back in my arms again, than this is what I will do.”

“Adorable,” Gizrin drawled. “Let’s get on with it then.”

~

You watched on in horror as Valdo spoke to the gathered crowd, massive and murmuring with excited curiosity. He claimed that he had found a new purpose in life and that the life of a troubadour was no longer for him. To hear him speak, it was as divine revelation, the realization that he was not meeting his true potential. And yet his voice was dull and lifeless, a recited list of things to pick up from market. A hush fell over the crowd as the words and their meaning began to settle into minds. His shoulders slumped as he walked away, ignoring the shouted questions from every corner of the open space.

“A pleasure doing business with you Marx. I’m sure retirement will suit you. And remember, if you renege on your end of the deal, I’ll have her killed and deliver her head as your encore bouquet.”

Gizrin nodded, and Hector shoved you forward, stumbling straight into Valdo’s chest. He wrapped his arms protectively around you, squeezing as if there was no way for you to be close enough to satisfy him. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head, breathing in the scent of you and you felt him shaking beneath your fingertips.

As they walked away, laughing, you finally let yourself cry, for fear and for grief, too lost in your emotions and the feeling of Valdo’s soothing hands stroking along your spine that you did not see the look exchanged between him and the curly-haired mage.

~

That night, as the festivities faded into small gatherings and quiet activities, you and Valdo walked through the camp, arms wrapped around each other’s waist as if afraid to let go.

“Where are we going?” you asked, realizing that you were going in the wrong direction. “Our tent is that way.”

“I just have one bit of business to take care of, and then we’ll turn in,” he replied distractedly, looking around.

Finally you approached a woman, standing alone at the edge of one of the large, communal bonfires. You recognized her as the one who you had tried to get to help you earlier and wondered if she in fact had.

“Triss Marigold,” she said, offering you her hand and a smile. “It is such a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you, and Valdo is one of my dearest friends. I am sorry that it’s not happier circumstances though.”

You shook her hand in return. You had a vague recognition and knowledge of the name, but not enough to offer a statement mirroring her own.

“Did you get them?” Valdo asked impatiently.

Triss rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Of course I did, who do you take me for? This way.”

She led the way out into the surrounding forest, conjuring a small globe of bright white light to float beside her when the trees became too dense for the firelight to penetrate. A few minutes later, you found yourself in a clearing and there, dangling from a snare of vines were the two men you had quickly come to hate with every fiber of your being.

“Gentlemen,” Valdo said with a cold smile. “Lovely to see you again. I think we have some unfinished business.”

“You think you can threaten me right back Marx?” Gizrin scoffed. “It doesn’t work like that. You don’t scare me.”

Hector merely sneered, eyes boring into you.

“No, no. I don’t intend to threaten you. That would be beneath me.”

Quicker than a striking snake, Valdo whipped out a thin blade and slit Hector’s throat, leaving him to choke and bleed to death.

“I’m going to kill you for daring to lay a hand on Y/N. And Triss has already agreed that you two will make lovely fertilizer for the plant life here. No one will ever find your bodies. And the best part? No one will ever remember you.”

“I don’t normally condone such violence,” Triss explained. “But this seems an appropriate exception.”

“You don’t mean it,” Gizrin stated unconvincingly. “You wouldn’t…it won’t save your reputation or your career, you already said that you were giving it up.”

Valdo laughed, high and harsh and a tingle ran down your spine. “You think I care? I’m Valdo Marx, I can handle a little professional inconvenience. I’ll bounce back. This is personal.”

[portals-to-a-new-world]

Come Hell or High Water Chapter 4: Where You Go

Warnings: Steamy, Brief violence/descriptions of medical stuff, language

Word Count: 3,466 (!!! I KNOW)

A/N: Um surprise! I’m not dead! This is so unbelievably late, I know and I am so so sorry, y’all. I have many reasons, but let’s just say life and plot. I hope the longer chapter will help make up for it and that y’all will enjoy! Title credit goes to the oh so supportive and amazing @bakerstreethound​ who has literally been the saving grace for this series ILY BBY

Series Masterlist

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Jim’s poor choice in sunscreen would have been funny if he wasn’t acting so pitiful, not that you could blame him, of course. Leonard ended up staying at home with him while you and the rest of the gang went out to finish up back to school shopping with Joanna. Which was an adventure in and of itself. Between the crowds of pushy parents with disinterested kids and the stifling heat, you were left wondering more than once if the sunburn could really be that much worse. On the bright side, you managed to sneak off to the bookstore with Joanna and had picked up a few – okay maybe more than just a few – books to add to your collection. Leonard, per usual, had plenty to say about that when you returned later that evening.

“(Y/n), you already have more books than you know what to do with!” He glared in exasperation at the books in your arms as you walked up towards the front door.

“You can never have too many books, McCoy,” He harrumphed as he stepped aside to let you into the house. “Besides,” You set the books down once inside, grabbing three to hand off to Joanna. “Not all of them are mine,” You winked over your shoulder at him, grinning when he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“And I thought I spoiled her,” Joanna giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek before she darted up the stairs with her haul.

“Oh, don’t worry, y’ know tomorrow is date night, I’ll spoil you just as much as I do her,” You headed up the stairs as well, giving him a pat on the chest as you walked by.

“Hey, hey, hey, now hang on just a minute there! It’s my job to spoil you, not the other way ‘round,” You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him as you reached the top of the stairs.

“Leonard McCoy, I adore you and your southern values, but that’s old fashioned; even for you,”

“He can’t help it, (Y/n). He’s just that old,” Jim’s voice sounded out from behind the door on the right, earning a scowl from Len. You snorted and continued into the bedroom you and Leonard were sharing.

“Bad news, Jim. We’re all out of painkillers,” Leonard barely finished his sentence before Jim was yelling again.

“What I meant to say was that he’s always right and we’re all always wrong,”

“Oh, how about that, I just found some!” You rolled your eyes in amusement as Len grabbed a nearby hypospray and headed across the hall.

“You’re a cruel man, Leonard McCoy! Threatening the sick and afflicted,” You called after him, grabbing what you needed for a quick shower.

“Yeah, Bones, I could be dying!” You could almost hear Len’s eyes roll, and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face at the mental image.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” The sound of a hypospray being administered was quickly followed by a yelp. “There, give it a few minutes to kick in.” You rushed into the bathroom before Leonard could return and question you further about what you had planned for tomorrow night. You took your time, hoping Leonard would let it go. Fortunately for you, he got assigned table setting duties; and by the time you got downstairs was deep in discussion with Donna and Fred. Supper also passed without incident, and you forgot about it, quickly saying goodnight to everyone before rushing upstairs to start on one of the new books. You were midway through the second chapter when Leonard came into the room, closing the door behind him. “Do you really think I’m old-fashioned?” His question threw you for a moment, but you swiftly caught up, setting your book down.

“That depends,” you said with a raised eyebrow. “Do you really think it isn’t right for me to spoil you?”

“Of course not! I’m not from the dark ages!” You gave him a small smile before returning to your book. “I would, however, like to know how you plan to do so,”

“I’m sure you would,” You laughed. He huffed in frustration, finally moving away from the door to strip down to his boxers and crawl into bed. “You’re annoyingly stubborn, y’ know that?” You smiled mockingly as you replied.

“You have absolutely no room to talk, McCoy.”

Leonard continued to pester you all day Friday, trying to get you to spill what you had planned for the evening. He finally gave up after you told him that you’d arranged for him to give a lecture at UGA on the physiology of Vulcans. In reality, you’d managed to get last-minute tickets to a local country music festival. You weren’t a huge fan of the genre yourself, and Len tried to keep it under wraps that he was; in fact, the only reason you knew was that time you walked in on him singing along to Hank Williams while working in his office. The day seemed to fly by in your excitement, and before you knew it, it was time to get ready. Anxiety began to creep in as you gathered everything the two of you would need. What if he really doesn’t like what I planned? You were drawn out of your thoughts by a loud knock on the bedroom door.

“(Y/n), I’ll meet you at the truck. It takes a bit to get the old thing started,” Leonard’s voice came through the door.

“Okay!” You called back, reaching to grab your comm. A quick glance at the Chron had you scrambling into a pair of shorts and a tank top. You had a little over two hours to get to your destination, which was an hour and a half’s drive away. By the time you made it downstairs, Leonard had finished coaxing the old truck to life and stood leaning against the passenger side door, talking to his mother. As you approached, his eyes locked with yours, a smirk playing at his lips. Eleanora turned to follow his gaze, smiling warmly when she spotted you. 

“You look so pretty, (Y/n),” You blushed deep and grinned at the older woman.

“Aw, thank you!” Leonard seemed to agree, as his eyes hadn’t left your form since the moment you stepped outside. This, of course, didn’t slip El’s notice, and she gave him a sharp smack to the chest and a faux disapproving look. He at least had the decency to offer an apologetic smile as she shook her head in amusement before walking back towards the house.

“Y’all kids stay out of trouble, y’ hear?” She called from the door.

“Of course! We’re leaving all the trouble here, with Jim,” You giggled. Leonard just scoffed, reaching out to pull you against him once the door closed.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” His hands settled on your hips, lips turned up in that criminally adorable little half-smile that had your heart skipping a beat.

“Nowhere near as gorgeous as you, Leo,” You replied. His smile turned into a full-fledged grin before he leaned down to claim your lips in a kiss. You melted against him as he deepened the kiss, silently requesting entrance with a drag of his tongue across your lower lip. You opened up to him without hesitation, your tongue dancing with his as the heat grew between you. He finally had to pull back for air, tugging at your lip before moving to your neck.

“Why don’t we forget whatever it was you had planned,” He nipped softly below your ear. “Just park the truck in this spot I know,” You had to bite your lip to keep from moaning as he trailed kisses back down your neck. “Let me peel these off of you,” His hand dropped to play at the edge of your shorts. You ran your hands up his chest and into his hair, tugging on the roots.

“As tempting as that sounds, Doctor McCoy,” He groaned and pulled you even tighter against him as you reached into your back pocket. “I’d really hate to waste these tickets,” He pulled back, eyes widening as he read the name of the festival.

 “How the hell-” Anxiety tickled at the back of your mind at his less than enthusiastic response.

“I managed to pull a few strings,” You said, shrugging. Leonard still looked skeptical, and you had a feeling it was the southern gentleman in him rebelling against the idea of you doing things for him. “Don’t get too excited though, they’re just general admission, we still have to fight to get good seats,” He finally broke out in a grin, wiping out any worries about him not liking the surprise in an instant. His lips slammed into yours, the goofy grin still present. Leonard took the tickets from you and set them on the seat of the truck before his hands resumed their exploration of your body. His lips never left yours as he moved, the kiss dripping with love and affection, and it quickly grew heated. You finally had to pull back, albeit reluctantly. “We really do need to go, it’s a bit of a drive to get there, and I’d really like to get decent seats,”

“How far is a bit?” He asked, grabbing the tickets to look at the venue. “Athens. That is a ways away,” He stepped aside, gesturing dramatically towards the seat. “After you, sweetheart,” You hopped into the truck with a grin, sliding across the bench seats to lean against Leonard when he got in. He placed a kiss on your forehead and intertwined his fingers with yours. You settled into a comfortable silence as he drove, broken only by the occasional story connected to places you passed. His thumb stroked your knuckles soothingly, and you were nearly drifting off as you finally pulled up to the gate. “Damn it,” Leonard huffed in frustration as he tried to find a parking spot. While the crowd wasn’t monumentally large, it was still enough to fill a football stadium, so naturally, parking was a nightmare. By the time you managed to make it to the entrance, the first band was already on-stage, and the only place you could find a spot to sit was at the very edge of the lawn. Still, Leonard already seemed to be enjoying himself, so you weren’t too bothered. The musicians themselves were actually pretty impressive, and two hours passed in the blink of an eye; most of it spent with his arms wrapped around you from behind, swaying subtly to the music.

“Hey, Leo?” You extricated yourself from his embrace as one of the bands finished their set. “I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?” He shook his head, pulling you back against him and stealing a kiss.

“I’m good, thank you,” He murmured against your lips.

“Well how am I supposed to leave now?” You joked, leaning up to kiss him again before you turned and headed in the direction of the concession stand. Annoyingly, the crowd around you was extremely dense, and you had to duck and dodge your way through them. You barely made it ten feet when you heard the sound of a fist impacting someone’s nose behind you, followed by a surprised yelp. You spun on your feet, intending to help whomever the cry belonged to, but it seemed everyone around you had other plans. You had almost given up when the attacker’s voice rose above the crowd.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here, Leonard McCoy,” Ice flooded your veins, and you began to shove your way through the unyielding crowd. The voice was female, leaving only one potential identity for the attacker. You finally managed to break through, rushing forward to put yourself between Leonard and the woman. “Get on up outta here, this is private business between me and my husband,”

“Ex.” You turned away from her, ignoring her disbelieving sputtering as you dropped to your knees beside Leonard.

“Excuse me? Just who the hell do you think you are?!”

“Are you okay?” You asked as you handed him a few napkins. He gave you a thumbs up, too preoccupied with trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose to actually respond before a hand came down on your shoulder.

“Bitch, I asked you a fucking question,” She tried to yank you backward, but you shrugged out of her grip with ease. “Who the fuck are you?” Growing annoyed, you stood to your feet. She stood maybe 4 inches taller than you, with dark auburn hair and brown eyes. You offered her your hand, not in the least bit intimidated.

“Lieutenant Commander (Y/n) (Y/L/N), Chief Security Officer of the flagship USS Enterprise, and girlfriend of one Leonard McCoy. Judging by your peachy personality, you must be Jocelyn. Pleasure to meet you and all but, unless you take a step back and leave us alone, I will not hesitate to put you on your ass.” Her mouth fell open and closed in outrage before she lunged at you with an animalistic screech. You dodged her easily, which only served to piss her off even more. She spun back around and ran towards you again. With the crowd of nosy patrons blocking your path, you had no choice but to brace yourself in a defensive stance as she got closer. You managed to block the first wild swing of her arm, but the second connected with your face, her nails digging deep into the skin. Ignoring the stinging pain, you grabbed her wrist as she swung again and twisted it sharply, forcing her to the ground.

“You bitch!” You let her go, turning to walk away as she continued to cuss up a storm. “She broke my fucking wrist!” The crowd had started to disperse, mumbles of “Just another drunk fight” could be heard all around as they ignored Jocelyn’s hollering.

“It’s not broken, just sprained!” You called back, but she was too busy yelling for “Someone grab that whore!” to pay you any mind. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you out of here,” You helped Len to his feet, letting him drape an arm over your shoulder as you guided him to the exit gate. You were both silent as you made your way out to the truck. Leonard tried to argue when you dropped the tailgate and sat him down on it, but his bleeding nose forced him to plop down with a frustrated ‘hmph.’ “I’m gonna call and let El and them know what’s happened,” He nodded in acknowledgment, once again holding his nose with a napkin. It only took a couple of seconds before Mrs. McCoy’s voice came through the communicator.

“YN?” You cringed slightly, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

“Hey, El. Um so, we ran into Jocelyn here at the festival, and uh, we had a bit of a scrap. We’re fine though, just uh…wanted to let you know before word got around.” You could hear the scrape of chairs in the background as Donna and Jim overheard your call.

“Oh my god, are you sure everything’s okay?” You looked back at Leonard, who was still holding his nose.

“Yeah, I mean, Leonard’s nose might be broken-”

“I’m fine!” He called, though the nasal tone of his voice didn’t really help his case.

“-And I’ve got some scratches, but she was too drunk to do any real damage,”

“What about her?” Jim’s voice came through the speaker. You cringed hard, knowing what was coming.

“I uh…well….I mean, she swung first…..”

“(Y/n) what did you do?” You sighed in defeat.

“I sprained her wrist,”

“That’s it? Ow!” Jim’s shout was followed by a sharp smack, so it wasn’t too hard to deduce what had happened. “I mean, glad to hear you guys are okay!” You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips.

“Thanks, Jim. I’m gonna see if Len needs to go to the hospital about his nose, and then I’ll let yall know when we’re on our way back, okay?” You said, reaching behind the truck seat to grab the medkit Leonard had squirreled away.

“Alright, talk to you then. Drive safe!” Eleanora said before the line went dead. You shut the door and headed back around, opening the medkit on the way.

“Alright, let’s take a looksy,” You had barely made it around the back when the med kit was pulled out of your arms. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“My nose is fine, it’s stopped bleeding, unlike those scratches,” He said, pointing with one hand and rooting around in the medkit with the other. You brought your hand up to your face and hmm’d in surprise when it came back covered in dark red.

“I guess her nails were longer than I thought,” You said as you hopped up onto the tailgate. Leonard shook his head as he pulled what he needed to clean the scratches out. You closed your eyes as he tilted your face up and got to work. The silence let your mind begin to wander, and you became aware of the music in the background. Guilt washed over you as you realized that you were missing out on at least a third of the festival. “Sorry we had to leave early,” He paused in his movements, waiting until you opened your eyes to respond.

“You get attacked by my ex-wife, and yet you’re the one apologizing to me? She must have hit you harder than I thought,” He ghosted a smile when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Very funny. We wouldn’t have run into her if I hadn’t-”

“Did you become a psychic and didn’t tell me? Darlin’ there’s no way you could have known she’d be here,” He resumed his task, and you closed your eyes, returning to your thoughts. He was right, it wasn’t something anyone could have anticipated. Still, you had wanted this to be perfect for him, and being forced to leave was about as far from perfect as you could get. “I don’t have a dermal regen with me, so I’m going to have to stitch it the old-fashioned way,” He said as you heard him rummage around in the kit again. You huffed in frustration. Sure, Len had the steadiest hands this side of the galaxy, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

“Sure you can’t just kiss it and make it better?” You joked, trying not to wince as he started on the first stitch.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I wish I could,” If you weren’t so preoccupied with trying to be still you would have noticed the tightness in his voice, and if you’d have had your eyes open you would have seen the way his jaw clenched with every whimper you tried to suppress. Mercifully, he only had a few stitches to do, so it was over quickly. “Alright, you’re all done,” With the worst part over, you instantly picked up Leonard’s tone, and as he moved to clean everything up, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Leo?” He said nothing, just continued putting things back in the medkit. “I really am sorry this happened-”

“If anyone should be apologizing,” He snapped the lid closed, still avoiding your eyes. “It’s-”

“If you say ‘me’, I will actually break your nose,” He looked over at you, mouth open to argue but you continued before he could speak. “See, if I’m not allowed to blame myself, then neither are you. You’re not the one who started the fight, there’s nothing you could have done to help, and you damn sure didn’t force me to come on shore leave with you,” You hopped down from the tailgate and walked closer to wrap your arms around his neck; ensuring that he would be looking in your eyes as you spoke your next words. His hands fell to your hips as he let you finish. “There is nowhere in the entire universe I’d rather be than by your side, and a few scratches can’t even begin to compare to the thought of not having you in my life.” You choked on the last word, and Leonard pulled you into his chest, burying his face in your hair.

“How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?” He murmured. He didn’t bother trying to hide the tremors in his voice as he held you close. You held each other for a short while longer before you pulled back to offer a smile. Leonard released a deep breath, a faint smile gracing his own features as he rested his forehead against yours.

“C’mon, McCoy. Let’s get you home.”

Tags:

@bakerstreethound​

[dumbchickwrites]

Be Mine — part 1

Pairings: Erik Stevens x Reader

Warnings: none, just soft! Erik.

Requested by @wakanda-inspired : How about one of the Royal cousins falling for a palace handmaiden but she's not really messing with them like that at first because she sees how many girls leave their room weekly?

A/N: No keep reading tag, sorry! I’m so sorry it took so long, but I kept changing the story over and over again, I wanted it to be good! I went with more of a friends to lover trope. I hope you like it! 💛

Part Two Part Three

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

It had been months already.

Erik didn’t know why or how, but one day, it was like a switch flipped inside of him. He wanted you. And when Erik wanted something, he did everything in his power to get it.

You were one of the Palace handmaiden, not quite an assistant to the Royal family, but not quite a servant either. You’d been working for them for quite some time now, enough to be able to call Shuri and T’Challa your friends and go to the Queen Mother for advice whenever you wanted. You had been there when Erik arrived in Wakanda to rip the nation away from T’Challa’s hands, the entire conflict, then Erik’s therapy and redemption. After all of that, you had built a strong friendship with him as well.

But Erik didn’t want to be just your friend anymore. He wanted more.

The sun was almost at its zenith when Erik barged in his cousin’s office — unannounced. T’Challa, unbothered, didn’t even look up from his report as Erik took place on one of the chairs in front of the desk, legs open in a manspread as if he owned the place.

“N’Jadaka,” the King greeted, eyes still glued to the documents. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my office on this fine morning?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

T’Challa sat back in his chair, giving his cousin his full attention, as his fingers came to stroke his facial hair. “Let’s hear them.”

“You and (Y/N). How long have you been friends?”

“Why?” T’Challa narrowed his eyes.

“Just answer the question, cuz.”

“I don’t know, almost a decade now.”

“You know her pretty well, right?”

“I would think so, yes.”

“So you know the type of dudes she likes?” Erik’s fingers started drumming on the armrest of the chair.

“Yes, and it’s not you,” T’Challa added with a smirk.

“... Nigga is that what I asked??”

“No, but I knew where you were going with your questions. (Y/N) wouldn’t be with you, not with your current behaviour.”

Erik frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

T’Challa gave him the look. The look that screamed don’t bullshit me.

“N’Jadaka, you have more women going in and out of the Palace than I have Doras. If this was any other place on Earth, you’d have caught an STD already.”

“Look, T,” Erik propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “I came in here mask off and shit to ask you what I could do to win the girl. Why won’t you help a brother out?”

“Wi— she’s not a prize to be won! And I won’t help you because I know what you do to women. You will only hurt her.”

Erik kissed his teeth. Though he knew how much T’Challa cared about you, he couldn’t help but get frustrated at the lack of support his cousin was showing. He thought that out of all the men out there he’d be happy to know you were in his hands.

“Man, I won’t hurt her, I swear. I lo— I like her a lot, okay? I wanna be more than her friend.”

About two dozen questions started swirling in T’Challa’s head as he eyed Erik, but he decided against voicing them. Instead, he let out a deep sigh. It wasn’t every day that Erik let his mask of toughness down, which meant that maybe his feelings for your were real.

“You need to stop with the women, if you want to have a chance.”

“That was kinda obvious.”

“Was it, N’Jadaka? Was it really?”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Aiight, what else?”

“Don’t rush anything. She enjoys the flirting and the get-to-know-each-other part of a relationship.”

“Okay, but we already friends, though.”

“It is best to take things slow, trust me.”

Silence fell in the room and T’Challa started focusing on his work again.

“Wait... that’s it?”

“Yes, now get out of my office. I have work to do.”

Feeling a little defeated, Erik left the King’s office. He hadn’t told him much, nothing that would be remotely helpful. So he decided to go see Shuri. Maybe input from a woman would be better.

Afrobeats and bright lights welcomed him as he stepped in Shuri’s workplace. It was rare to find the Princess outside of her lab, since it was her safe space.

“Aye, lil cuz!”

“Ugh, not him,” he heard Shuri groan.

“What the hell is up with you and your brother today? Y’all giving me hella attitude and shit,” he said, sitting down on the stool next to her.

“That seat is taken, cuz.”

“By whom?”

“Shuri, is it supposed to— Oh,” you stopped in your tracks, eyeing the Prince. “Hello, Erik.”

Scrambling to his feet, Erik let you sit down. When you did, Shuri immediately went to work on a device glued to your arm.

“Hey, Princess,” he smiled, his gold canines shining under the artificial lights.

He always called you ‘Princess’, rarely by your first name. And he always smiled at you. Even when he wasn’t in a good place mentally and didn’t feel like physically smiling, just the sight of your gorgeous eyes and radiant smile was enough to warm his heart.

“I didn’t see a guest leave your room this morning,” you pointed out with a teasing smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did actually,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

He didn’t expect to find you here, so now he didn’t really know what to do.

“What’s that?” he tilted his chin towards the tiny device on your arm.

“None of your business,” Shuri said.

“Shuri and a few other researchers came up with an upgrade for the contraceptive implants,” you explained. “I volunteered to try it out.”

“Huh...,” Erik crossed his arms over his chest, his massive biceps threatening to rip the fabric of his shirt. “So you busy today? I mean, after this.”

“No. Why? Do you need me for something?”

“Uh, yeah. I thought we could finish our book, you know. Been a minute.”

Your book. When Erik was in therapy, there was a period when he didn’t want to talk to anyone besides his therapist. He spent entire days in his chambers, in the dark. Until one day you stepped in the room, opened the curtains to let the sunlight in, left his food tray in the hallway and sat down on his couch to read out loud for thirty minutes. Sometimes it was an African history book, an African American history book from his own collection, tales and African mythology, fiction, whatever, it didn’t matter.

You just wanted to show him that someone cared enough to spend time with him even if he didn’t talk. Now it had become a habit for the two of you to sit down on his balcony, taking in those beautiful Wakandans sunsets he loved so much, and read.

“I’ll be there.”

*

“And the end!” you closed the book and stretched your limbs with a groan. “What did you think?”

You frowned when Erik looked away from you, still silent. It wasn’t his type to keep his mouth shut after you finished a book.

Slowly, you reached for his hand, your palm warm on his skin.

“Erik,” you squeezed, getting his attention. “Are you okay?”

“You know, I went to see T today. Went to ask for advice on how to get a girl,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

You wanted to make a sarcastic remark, but you bit your tongue, letting him speak. Another gentle squeeze encouraged him to keep talking.

“But it’s not any girl, you know? I can’t keep her out of my mind, I see her around every corner of this big ass place, she smiles at me a lot — I love it when she does.”

Your mind went in a frenzy, trying to put a face on the description he was giving you. The only person you could pinpoint was Kemi, the other handmaiden to the Royal family who happened to be your best friend.

“Is it Kemi?”

“What?”

“She smiles at you a lot. Actually, she’s completely charmed by you but —,”

“No,” Erik said, but you ignored him over your rambling.

“— She just wants a taste of what you do, nothing else, but don’t tell her I said that —“

“It’s you.”

Lips parted, you stared at him, not quite understanding what he just said. The beats of your heart grew louder and louder, until you could hear them in your ears. Like a film in slow motion, you removed your hand from Erik’s.

“Please say something, Princess.”

“How dare you?” your voice was just above a whisper.

“How dare I what?”

“Who do you think I am? You think I’m one of those girls you bring in and out of here like this is a brothel?”

“What?”

“I will not become another trophy on your wall,” you rose from your seat, dusting your dress. “I will not be another random name on your list.”

“Did you listen to a word I said?”

“Yes! And how do I know this isn’t what you tell every other girl strutting in and out of here like it’s Johannesburg Fashion Week?!”

“You think I’d go ask T’Challa about some random girl?!” Erik stood too, levelling with you.

“I don’t know what I think, Erik. I just— I can’t. I cannot and I will not.”

You turned on your heels, making your way to the door of his chambers.

He couldn’t let you go. Not like that.

“Princess,” he called, his voice sounding strained.

Without turning around, you corrected him.

“My name is (Y/N).”

[allhaildaddykeanu]

Valentine’s Day is Best Spent with You (oneshot)

 IT’S FINALLY HERE MY LOVELIES! I managed to pull my lazy ass together and finish this mess. Happy late V-day y’all. I love you. 

Tags: Fluff, Smut, a -slight- daddy kink but ya know oh well

 The date was February 14, a day that I somehow found myself to despise and not really care about at the same time. The truth was that the holiday of Valentine’s Day never showed me much mercy for constantly being single on the day. Sure I’ve had a few or so guys come along, but for some reason they never managed to stick around long enough to celebrate the holiday with me. I was forced to watch an endless amount of ads and commercials targeted at the many loving couples of the world throughout the beginning and middle of February, and the sight of decorations put up in the stores and some restaurants. Everywhere I went I was constantly reminded of my loneliness. All in all, Valentine’s Day seemed to have a thing against me, and there was nothing I could do about it. The only plus side for the mere existence of this so-called holiday was all the discounted chocolates and candies in the stores the very next day. It was the perfect excuse to allow myself to indulge in my love for sweets without wasting too much of my money.

 While all of those things have been a part of my life for the past few years, this year was the total opposite. This time around I had a boyfriend to celebrate with, one I knew would do so much just to impress me. Dating Keanu Reeves was a privilege that I only ever dreamed of having, and I still wasn’t too sure if this was real life.  Yes, Keanu Reeves, that beautiful angel of a man, was all mine. I expected this day to be the best so far, and I had every reason to. Somehow, I woke up to find myself alone in our shared bed. I went to bed alone but Keanu told me that he would be home by the time I was up in the morning. All of the sudden my mind started drifting into negative thoughts, most of them fueled by my self-doubt.  I mentally rolled my eyes at myself, knowing how Keanu would react if he knew I had these thoughts. After rolling onto my other side, I checked my phone and saw that there were no notifications, other than those from my social media apps. ‘Why hasn’t Keanu texted or called me?’ With a sigh, I got out of bed and grabbed my phone, heading down the hall to the kitchen. Once I noticed that nothing was different, that there was no bouquet of my favorite flowers or any small present, that small amount of hope left in me had faded. The best thing for me to do was to just go about my day like it was any other boring one.

 Within an hour, I had made some coffee and breakfast for myself and sat down on the couch to watch some of the news. I checked my phone again, this time reading my notifications from my twitter, instagram, and facebook. My most recent post on instagram was a photo I took of Keanu and I when we were out having lunch the other afternoon. Keanu had a slight smirk on his face as he looked at me longingly. I remember getting my phone out to capture his demeanor, knowing that I could always have it to view whenever I was missing him. Now, while Keanu looked like a cute little puppy – as he usually did – I was a grinning idiot. I noticed my hair was a little messy from the light breeze and there was a stain on my shirt from the piece of pasta that I had just dropped myself. There were a ton of likes and comments, with more being added even though the post was already a little over a week old. I smiled to myself at the sweet comments made by family, friends, and strangers.  I turned my phone off and returned my attention to the television before turning it off as well. At that point, I didn’t have any motivation to do anything. After scrambling around the thoughts of what I could or should do, I decided to go into the study room and practice playing on my upright piano. I then spent nearly half an hour messing around with scales and random bits of songs that I remembered well enough to play, I heard someone softly clap, causing me to jump with a shriek and somehow fall off of the piano bench.

“Good one, hon.” Keanu laughed, moving towards me to help me up. I felt every inch of my body tingle and spark with both excitement and pleasure once Keanu’s hand touched my arm. I let out an involuntary moan of joy, causing Keanu to let out another small laugh.  

“You really missed me that much, huh?” He asked with a smile, knowing good and well that I had. I felt a warm blush spread across my cheeks as I smiled sheepishly and pulled Keanu down to the floor. He obliged and sat down besides me, suddenly grabbing me to face him, his arms wrapped around me.

“Someone’s an eager boy,” I replied as I wrapped my legs around his waist, giving him a soft peck on his lips.

“You’re damned right I am.” He growled, crashing his lips against mine. I managed to let out a quick snicker before he shoved his tongue into my mouth. I was more than welcoming of his taste, which mainly consisted of cigarettes and spearmint gum. This time I could taste a slight hint of coffee and maple syrup, causing me to hum in delight. I pulled away and looked up at him, his face showing confusion.

“You had me worried for the last few hours,” I admitted, causing Keanu to give me an apologetic look with his big brown puppy eyes. “I thought I would spend today all alone.” Keanu frowned and placed a kiss on my forehead. He lifted my chin so I was looking at him.

“Did you really think I would do that to you, (y/n)?” He gave me another saddened look before holding me against his chest.

“I would never do that to you, baby.” He muttered, giving me another kiss, this time on the top of my head. “Not a fucking thing could drag me away from you. If I can help it, I will spend as much time with you, especially on a special day like this one. You are my entire world, (y/n). Never forget that.”

There was a slight pause, one filled with only the sound of our breathing.

“Ke-keanu,” I stumbled as I pulled away to look at the older man, making him grin. “I love you so much.” He cupped my face with his hands, “I love you, too.” I was suddenly pulled into another kiss, his tongue sliding across my lips before entering my mouth. I decided to play along and fight for dominance. After a quick hum from Keanu, I managed to overtake him and slide my tongue into his mouth. I slowly made my way around his teeth, once again cherishing the unique taste of tobacco and mint. Keanu then pushed me away, grinning like a child who had just tasted candy for the first time.

“You know,” he started, running his hand through my hair. “We haven’t had the chance to do anything in this room.” I felt the heat rise to my face before I managed to give him a smirk.

“Then wait are you waiting for, Keanu?” I whispered, knowing how much it turns him on. And right on cue, his deep brown eyes seemed to grow dark with lust.

“You’ve really done it this time, (y/n).” He maneuvered himself to where he was on top of me. “I have to fuck you. I need to fuck you.” He let out with a groan, grabbing the sides of my torso and running his large hands up and down my body. Without a second thought, I felt my core begin to ache as my panties became damp. ‘And all it took was his voice,’ I thought to myself, wondering how I ever became so submissive to a man.

“Please,” I whimpered. “Daddy.” With that, Keanu groaned loudly and began to strip me, starting with his Arch shirt I was wearing. I hadn’t changed after getting out of bed, so I wasn’t wearing a bra or any pants. Left only in my panties, he ran his nose from my navel up to the valley between my breasts. I felt his hot mouth as he planted soft kisses all over me before he went for my collarbone. I let out a sigh of relief when his tongue touched my skin and he began to leave bite marks on me, making sure to suck on them so there would definitely be dark marks for later.

“I’m sorry my angel, but we’ve gotta skip the foreplay if we’re gonna make it to lunch on time.” Keanu stated, standing up to pull off his t-shirt and jeans, as well as his underwear. I stared at the sight of a fucking god in front of me. My eyes traced over his well-toned body and his semi-hard cock. I took notice of his infamous scar that marked his abdomen, conjuring thoughts of my tongue in the slight valley of the scar. I licked my lips and felt myself burn and ache for him even more. He was down on his knees and hovering over me, grabbing a fistful of my thin panties before swiftly ripping them off of me.

“Keanu!”

“Oh hush, woman.”

I let out a huff of annoyance but it was instantly replaced with a guttural moan once Keanu thrust two fingers inside of me with no warning.

“Mhm, that’s what Daddy needs to hear from his baby girl.” He praised, pumping in and out of me at a gentle pace. I could hear the sound of my soaked sex being penetrated by his fingers, further edging me on. As soon as I began trying to grind my hips against his touch, Keanu clicked his tongue and shook his head.

I let out another whimper for him, begging him to fuck me. He leaned down to kiss me, his swollen lips molding perfectly with mine.

“Please.”

He pulled away, grabbing his cock and beginning to pump himself. I gave him a pleading look to let me touch him, and so he slid up to my reach. I replaced his hand with my smaller one, starting at his head and rubbing his precum down on him to lubricate him. Just to tease him, I pulled my hand away, gave it a lick, and sat up to spit on it. The face of my lover had become contorted with a mix of anticipation and desire once my slick hand touched his shaft.

“(Y/n),” Keanu moaned. “Fuck..” I smiled at my achievement and continued to jerk him, feeling his cock grow harder. He let out a deep growl of annoyance before jerking away from my touch. I was going to ask what he was doing but I was cut off with my own shriek once Keanu shoved his entire length inside of me. He filled me entirely to the point where his tip was jammed against the back of me, the feeling that practically pulled moans from my mouth.

“Mmm, Keanu.” I breathed, moving my hand to my clit and rubbing tiny circles onto it. Keanu shut his eyes as he moved slightly in and out of me, making sure I could adjust to him. He shuddered with pleasure, my walls quickly loosening their grip on his cock. Within a matter of a few seconds, Keanu was able to slide in and out of me with little resistance. I hummed to myself, letting out another string of soft moans as the combined effort of Keanu’s cock and my fingers on my clit pushing me closer to climax. Once his hands tightened their grip on my hips, his fingernails going deeper into my skin, I quickened the movements of my busy hand. I looked back up at Keanu and he moved down to kiss me, quite sloppily, and began to thrust faster and harder.

“I’m so close,” I whimpered, and he responded with a nod and a harsh groan.

“Me fucking too.” Keanu growled as he flipped us. I gasped at the change, giving him a slightly bothered look.

“Just ride me, baby girl.” He purred as he bounced me up and down. I gave in and started bouncing myself, starting at a quick pace. Keanu smiled before he leaned up to kiss and suck on my right breast, swirling his tongue around my nipple. He bit down rather roughly, earning a yelp from me. After leaving possible marks, he made his way to my left breast and nipple, giving it the same treatment. I groaned as I managed to flip us back to our original position, which I preferred to be in when I’m coming. Keanu’s thrusts became quicker and sloppier, now only moving an inch or so within me instead of pulling himself in and out completely. I let out a low growl as my fingers were rubbing against my clit at an inhuman speed, feeling the much-anticipated fire in my abdomen burn even hotter.

“Come for me, (y/n).” Keanu moaned, his voice low and harsh. “Come for Daddy.” As soon as the sentence left his mouth, I felt the bundle inside of me snap and release the agonizing pressure built up within it. I felt hot liquid push against and soak my hand, Keanu noticing and replacing that hand with his. He always enjoyed it whenever I squirted, especially when giving me head because he could lap it all up with his tongue. My body had been overcome with all kinds of slight convulsions, such as my toes curling, my head being thrust back, my eyes rolling into the back of my head, and my entire body quaking in pleasure and complete bliss. Before I could even begin to come down from my high, the sound of Keanu letting out a loud mixture of a moan and a yelp interrupted me. He cried my name as my walls had squeezed around him, and I felt his cock grow softer once he emptied himself inside me.

Keanu pulled out of me and flopped himself onto the dark wood floor. I giggled softly, grabbing his attention. He pulled me into his grasp and kissed me tenderly.

“You’re absolutely perfect, (y/n).” He breathed as he looked into my eyes with his dark brown ones, which now had a pure and blissful look in them.

“You’re welcome.” I replied with a grin, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Well, beautiful,” he looked down at us and then to the clock on the wall. “I’ve got a romantic lunch set up for you, and I’d hate to miss it.”

[mahri-archive]

Save 1: Candle

Rating: Teen+ Tags: Thancred x WoL if you squint, Child Abuse, Cutscene Expansion, Second Person Narration Category: Gen Characters: Mahri Rhivesa, Brendt, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Alisae Leveilleur

____________________________________________________________

Your name is Mahri Rhivesa. That’s what you tell yourself on the caravan to Ul’dah.

Who you were before, what your father named you, isn’t important. That person is dead and you rose from her ashes. You’re born on the caravan to Ul’dah, picking your name from sounding out syllables under your breath. You feel Flicker’s pull on your aether, the small bennu pulling you up out of your funk as you remain sitting in your seat.

You slowly fall asleep and dream. 

You hear crackling fire, a gentle voice, and a voice calling you angrily to arms, Warrior of Light. “You think you can fell the one true god?”

You think about how you want to fight, want to protect, want to make amends for the things your father made you do. To bring light where he’d kept you in the dark.

You feel...in place. Right where you need to be. You feel the comforting weight of a scepter in your hands and an accompanying buckler on the left arm. You feel yourself move to attack the source of the voice-

“...hey. Hey, you!”

You open your eyes, sitting up. Your back hurts from sleeping in a sitting position and your neck hurts from subconsciously keeping you from hitting your head on the bumpy journey. You rub your neck as you look around, seeing a concerned look from one of your fellow passengers. A Hyur with dark tan skin and blond hair, dressed in black (like you — you wonder how, since it’s probable he doesn’t have the temperature tolerance you have, thanks to Flicker), who’s watching you.

“Are y’all right, lass? You were moanin' somethin' fierce for a while there.” You open your mouth to respond, but he keeps talking, “Feelin' the effects of the aether, I reckon. You'll get used to it, though, don't worry.”

You give him a small nod and look outside the caravan. You see two armed men, riding astride Chocobos, join the sides of your caravan and note their blades made of brass. You put a hand on the scepter hilted at your waist, preparing an opening of frost should they turn out to be bandits. A voice from in front of the caravan calls for it to halt and you have a sinking feeling that you’re going to get practice in.

You hear the word “inspection”. That’s a question: what’s the difference between law enforcement in Thanalan to the Shroud? Are they much different from state-funded bandits? You remove the hand from your scepter, wanting the element of surprise should things turn ugly.

An armored man walks to the back of the caravan and you wonder how the Elezen children right in front of you can be so calm. You watch as the man fails to be subtle in adding a small bag of his own to the bags in the back. He makes a big show, plucking it up and shouting, “Sir, look! Somnus!”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and close your eyes. You don’t have time for this. You have an appointment at the Thaumaturge’s Guild that you have to meet or else your search for the power to defend yourself from your father’s control will be delayed. Again.

“Business as usual,” the grizzled passenger snorts and you flick an ear in his direction, opening an eye to look at him. Just in time to see an arrow flying directly at him. You leap from your seat, pushing him to the side and grabbing the arrow mid-air. You glare into the desert sands, spotting black scales glittering under the sun. In full view of the Amal’jaa archer, you squeeze the arrow’s shaft as you light it on fire. You reduce it to ash and blow it like a kiss towards the archer, smirking. 

The armored men scramble to respond, shouting at the caravan to go. The driver takes off, urging his chocobos onward. You barely manage to sit back in your seat in time, eyes still locked with that of the archer. You wink with your orange eye, letting them glare angrily into your blue eye.

“Don’t know how you can handle fanning the flames on that kind of excitement,” the grizzled passenger remarks. “It’s not good for the heart.”

“Then my life isn’t good for my heart,” you reply.

He gives you what can only be described as a Look. “You be careful 'round them Brass Blades, lass. Bastards'll have the shirts off your back if they fancy it. Like common bandits, they are, only less honest.” The grizzled passenger looks over his shoulder to where the Brass Blades and the Amal’jaa are fighting, then gives you a grin. “Thank the gods for sendin’ some beast men to the rescue.”

“That’s certainly an unorthodox way to put it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. You look over to the Elezen children. They still look nonplussed, though you can tell that they’re watching you. They’re subtle, but you know some tricks: the one who favors blue has their book pointed in your direction and it allows them to steal glances and the one who favors red has an ear focused on you as they pretend to try to resume a nap.

“Them young’uns don’t much care for conversation, see,” the old hyur replies. Either he’s in on their attempts at subtle observation and is trying to get your attention off of them or he’s attention-starved as all older men tend to get. You humor him, running a hand through your fluffy black hair before fixing your black leather jacket. 

He introduces himself: Brendt. A peddler. You cross-reference his name from the names of people you know work for your father and don’t recognize it from there. He picks you out as an adventurer and he’s not right, but he’s also not wrong. So you give him a nod, since it’s easier telling a lie that someone already believes. He talks more, seemingly more for his own entertainment than for actual conversation with you.

That is, until he asks you, “What attracted you to adventurin’ in the first place?”

“To gain power,” you answer because that’s true. “I’ve had...an interest in thaumaturgical arts for years. It’s not like you can utilize those for any peaceful purpose, so...adventuring it was.” And, just like that, you muse, Mahri Rhivesa is an adventurer. It’s a useful enough cover that you’re willing to take it.

“I imagine ye can use thaumaturgy a lot to protect people,” he replies and you have to stop yourself from blinking. Did he just put words in your mouth about protecting people? You’re not opposed to protecting others, it’s just...presumptuous. And telling. Like he knows more about your backstory than you’ve let on in this conversation. Or that he’s making assumptions that all adventurers want to protect and help. You don’t know which is more dangerous.

He talks of the Adventurer’s Guild and you note important facts down mentally, things to keep up your cover should the children continue watching you once you’re in the city. You were going to focus on mastering your magic, becoming powerful enough that any agent your father sent after you would be cinders, but you didn’t like the idea of these children and whoever they worked for knowing the truth about you. They could have been polite and simply asked instead of employing an old peddler to disarm you. That might’ve made you more cooperative. Now they get to deal with a mask.

Unknowingly to you, the words Brendt uses to describe Ul’dah as your caravan approaches the city will be used to describe you to the Antecedent of the Scions in a linkshell report. “Deep in the desert, she rises like a wild, solitary rose amidst the dust and rock. A right symbol of defiance, eyes like fire and ice. Her name: Mahri Rhivesa. Your man Thancred might want to keep an eye on her: she all but dared an Amal’jaa to a brawl and I think the only reason she didn’t is because she didn’t have the time to. That’s the kind of woman you want on hand if you’re fighting primals.”

Your first few days in Ul’dah, you’re more on edge than you figure you would have been without the two Elezan kids following you around. If the blue one thinks you can be distracted by a strolling Carbuncle, they’ve got another thing coming. You play out your cover, playing the part of ambitious adventurer. It’s not a part you thought would have you searching for a runaway young noblewoman.

“What does she have to run away from?” you ask yourself in the privacy of the Ul’dahn desert. “Stability? Comfort? An honest home? Family who loves her?” 

Flicker sits on your shoulder, her orange feathers glinting softly in the sunset. She nudges your cheek with her beak. You turn and she presses her forehead against yours. A wordless plea to remember that, despite everything, you have family who loves you too. Even if it’s just her, it’s more than you’ve ever had.

Flicker returns to the sky to be your eyes and you remain on the ground.

You find leads. The noblewoman was somewhat sloppy, making you wonder if she cares if she’s pursued or if she’s truly in that much desperation not to think of these things. You track her to the Sultantree and it’s there, when you’re within sight range of the tree, when you feel a tingle down your spine that will swiftly become familiar in the coming years. It’s the sense of being watched from the shadows and over the years, you will be able to differentiate when he’s watching you from shadowy perch from when others watch you.

Thancred Waters has a unique energy about him that’s unmistakable and it carries in his gaze.

The young noblewoman is praying to the Sultantree when you find her. That’s your third hint that she’s not just a young noblewoman: from what you can tell, only one noble family in Ul’dah had that particular eccentricity. The family of Ul. The sultanate.

Before you can say anything, one of the seven hells breaks lose. You move without thinking, burning and freezing and protecting in a way that will have a habit of getting you noticed. The sultana will remember the way you moved, like a dancer who was well acquainted with her partner Danger. Thancred will remember tactics, like your preference for fire and your tendency to throw yourself as close to the problem as possible (he will have trouble forgetting the way you leapt at the voidsent with hands open into claws of fire. He will have trouble forgetting the burn scars you keep hidden beneath gloves, even when the scars are gone. In the far future, when you are separated from each other, he will wonder if you fought with such ferocity for Minfilia).

A sultana saved, you find yourself opening your eyes in more ways than one.

You hear Thancred out multiple times, becoming acquainted as allies until he finally coaxes you to the Waking Sands. You learn to hear the true sincerity of others, dropping your armor of cynicism. You hear what is unsaid by your fellow Scions: that you are the expendable Echo-wielder, that you are loved, that you are their weapon, that you are their friend.

You think, constantly, about how they only know a lie. Mahri Rhivesa is you, true, but...you wonder about, mayhap, putting down the mask. Letting them know parts of how you’re like this (though, you wonder if they care about you or just the Echo you wield. ‘Tis hard to say).

You feel...much. You feel used, and yet...you feel welcomed. Thancred seems to sense that his presence calms you and he, with charismatic ease, rescues you when the other Scions become overwhelming. You feel like you’re exactly where you belong, on missions with him and during downtime with him. The two of you discuss places, various hidey-holes you’d both spotted. You will feel relief using those spots in the future and imagine his smug laugh to calm your nerves. “I told you this was a good spot.”

All of this is nothing but a start.

[fanfixsavelives]

Rose Gold - Sebastian Stan

A/N:  Starting a collection of imagines/ drabbles based on songs. This one is based on Rose Gold by Pentatonix. Request a song and/ or person!!! This is trash y’all... not as good as my other ones that I’ve written. 

Warnings: None. Fluff maybe? 

Words: 1970

Your vacation to London was almost over. You'd seen all the sights, done all the tours, and been to all the museums, and you were still a little disappointed. If you really admitted it to yourself, you were hoping to find the one. You'd seen it in all the movies, even that one TV show you liked to watch. But sadly, no one had bumped into you and spilled coffee on your shirt. No one had asked you for directions, and anytime you needed directions, there was- coincidentally- always a woman there to help you.

You pulled your coat closer around you, warding off the London cold. You were on your way back to your hotel from the coffee shop you had visited everyday. It was a quaint little hole in the wall that had excellent service and wonderful pastries. You and the owner were already on a first name basis. As you walked down the street, eyes on the cobblestone sidewalk, you counted the steps you took before you came to an intersection. Then, without any warning, the heel of your shoe got caught in the crevices of the stoned street. You felt yourself falling forwards. You barely had time to mentally face palm. Your body tensed up, bracing yourself to hit the hard ground. But you never did. You looked around frantically to see that an arm was holding your waist and a hand had caught your arm.

“Are you okay?” A deep voice asked. There was no accent. He was American.

You nodded, scrambling to stand up. “Thank you so much.” You laughed, looking the stranger in the eye. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue that you'd never seen before. The stranger had brown hair that was combed back on top of his head. He had broad shoulders and thick arms that probably meant he spent some time at the gym.

“No problem.” He replied with a smile. “That could've been bad.” You nodded, not really knowing what to say. The stranger seemed to pick up the tension in the air and shook his head. “What am I thinking? I'm Sebastian.” He said, holding a hand out.

You took his hand. “Y/N.” You announced.

“You're from the States?” He asked.

You nodded again. “You too.”

“Kind of. I'm originally from Romania.”

“Really?” You asked, curiosity laced through your tone. “That was always on my list of places to visit.” You added wistfully.

Sebastian looked around and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Hey, you look like a coffee person. I'm looking for a good coffee place, do you know one?”

“I just came from one, actually. I could show you... if you want.” You offered.

Sebastian smiled. “That would be great, Y/N.” He beamed.

You turned around and started back from the way you came. “So, Sebastian, how long are you here?” You asked.

He sighed. “Today is my last day.”

“Really? Where do you go from here?” You asked curiously.

“Uh... New York.” He announced.

You stopped dead in your tracks. “Really?” You asked. “Are you a stalker?”

Sebastian looked confused. “No... why?”

“That's where I'm headed. Don't tell me you got roped into working ComicCon too?” You joked.

Sebastian chuckled. “Kinda.”

You scoffed. “No way. This is crazy.” You muttered.

Sebastian chuckled. “Yeah. It is.”

You turned the corner, pointing to the coffee shop. “Here it is.” You announced. “Can I offer my superhero a cup of coffee? On me.” You insisted.

“Well... if you insist.” He smiled. He opened the door for you like a true gentleman. The waitress behind the counter smiled at you and waved. You waved back.

You walked over to a booth that you had claimed the past week and slid in. Sebastian slid in across from you. “So... you work at ComicCon?” You asked, sliding a menu towards him.

“In a way.” He nodded, shrugging. “What do you do at ComicCon?” He asked.

“I'm in charge of scheduling and location.” You announced proudly. “I also do some marketing.” You bragged. “And... a lot of other things. But the other things are the most important.”

“Wow.” Sebastian breathed. “Sounds crazy.”

You shrugged, a blush rising to your cheeks. “I get used to it. It's a lot of fun getting to know people I would never know otherwise.”

Sebastian nodded, his eyes not leaving you. “I know that feeling.”

A waitress walked up to you. “What can I get for you?”

“I'll have my normal, Elizabeth. And can I get one of those chocolate-y things that you gave me last time?” You asked.

“Sure thing Y/N! And for you sir?” Elizabeth asked excitedly.

“I'll have the same. Thank you.”

Elizabeth took the menu from the table and waltzed off. You stared curiously after her. What was going on?

You studied Sebastian's face. “You look so familiar.” You announced.

Sebastian's brows rose. “I do?” He asked. “Why ever is that I wonder.” He smirked.

“The only Sebastian that I can think of is... oh no. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner! You're Sebastian Stan.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You shook your head. “Why would I feel uncomfortable?” You asked.

Sebastian stared at you... at a loss for words. “Well... not to brag, but generally women get a little speechless around me.”

You sent him a look. “That sounds an awful lot like bragging to me.” You commented.

Sebastian laughed. “I can't believe we haven't met before.” He shook his head in unbelief.

You shrugged. “Like you said, my job is crazy.”

Only a minute later, your coffees and pastries came. You and Sebastian had a fun time trading stories and getting to know each other. You stayed in the coffee shop until long after it was dark.

Finally, the owner of the coffee shop all but forced the two of you to leave. Sebastian offered to walk you back to your hotel, and you gladly accepted.

“You were right. That coffee shop was amazing.” Sebastian chuckled as you approached the hotel.

You nodded. “I told you.”

Sebastian stopped suddenly, grabbing your arm to stop you with him. “Y/N, if it's okay with you, I'd like to kiss you on your doorstep.” He announced seriously.

The smile fell off of your face. You nodded slowly.

“And also, if it's okay with you, I'd like to get to know you better. Take you on a few more dates?”

You giggled, looking at the ground. “Of course.” You managed to squeak out.

He walked you up under the awning of the hotel, and right in front of the door, he turned to you, put both hands on your jaw, and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. It was soft and perfect. When he pulled back, he sent you a small smile before you turned to open the door.  

You felt giddy. You knew you weren't leaving London disappointed. You had met the one.

/ / /

6 MONTHS LATER

A knock on your hotel door had you groaning in frustration. You'd dealt with many frustrating ComicCons, and every time, you thought you might just lose your job yelling at them. At some point people should ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

And to add to all of the tension and stress, you hadn't seen Seb in two weeks. You were anxious for him to get to the hotel. “Who is it?” You called.  

“Um... Ms. Y/L/N? Someone requested to see you in the lobby.” A squeaky voice announced.  

You rolled your eyes. “Who?”

“I'm not sure. They just said it was an emergency.”

You hit your head against the wall. “Alright.” You conceded. “Tell them I'll be down in a minute.” You begrudgingly grabbed your all access badge and your clipboards and stomped out the door. You took the elevator down, hoping that it would get stuck. Unfortunately, it didn't. You entered the lobby and looked around. You grabbed one of the young staff members. “What was the emergency?” You asked.

He looked at you confusedly. Then he nodded in understanding. “Nothing ma'am.”

You sighed. “What do you mean nothing? I was called down from my room.”

Hands covered your eyes. “Sorry about that.” You knew that voice. But it belonged to someone who wasn't supposed to be here for two more days. “I wanted to surprise you.”

You smiled. “Are you prepared to make up for it?” You asked.

The hands covering your eyes were removed and you were turned around. Strong arms wound around your waist. You came face to face with the very person you had been so excited to see. “Seb!” You exclaimed, kissing him.

He chuckled and kissed you back, deepening your kiss. He pulled back. “C'mon. I've arranged for you to have some time off.”

You smiled at him. “How did you know?”

He smirked. “I just do.”

He drug you by the hand to the parking lot and to his car. “You're not supposed to be here for another two days.” You scolded.

“And you're complaining?” He asked, opening the passenger seat door for you.

You slid into the seat and reluctantly parted with his physical contact. “No... not at all.” You replied.

“Good. Because I thought... since we're so close to the beach, we should take a drive down the coast.” He announced, sliding into the driver's seat.

He took your hand and pulled out of the parking lot. “This was such a needed surprise.” You said suddenly as the ocean became visible. Sebastian pushed a button and the roof of his car started to move back.

Sebastian looked at you for a second. “I figured you were stressed. I was getting stressed.”

You watched Seb's hair get blown by the wind. It was getting longer. He was growing it out for his next role in a Marvel movie.

You and Sebastian had driven for so long, that there was nothing around you but country and the ocean. You'd laid your head on Seb's shoulder and attempted to close your eyes, but Sebastian's presence had you too excited.

Suddenly, Sebastian was pulling off on the side of the road. You sat up and looked at him oddly. “What are you doing?” You laughed.

“C'mon.” He prompted, motioning for you to get out of the car as he climbed out. “C'mere.” He encouraged.

You apprehensively climbed out of the car and followed him. He stopped in the middle of the empty highway, staring down the endless road. “What are we doing?” You asked. He looked at you, taking off his sunglasses. He dug around in his back pocket. “Seriously, Seb. What if a car comes?” You laughed nervously.

Sebastian dropped on his knee right in front of you. “Y/N, before I met you, I was looking at my life like it was this highway. It doesn't look exciting. Straight, the same scenery, nothing but boring old Sebastian Stan. Then I caught you- literally- falling. And you took my into that coffee shop. And you made me feel like someone important. You threw a curve in the road. You added scenery. You added beauty. And the only way I think I could survive now, is if you agreed to be mine forever. I love you, Y/N. And I always thought that marriage was foolish... but you have me whipped. Marry me?”

You gasped as he opened a velvet covered box and revealed a ring. You nodded. “Of course! Yes!” You exclaimed. Seb hurried to slip the ring on your finger before standing up to kiss you. The two of you stood there for uncountable minutes, soaking in each others' presence.

Want to be tagged? Let me know! No age limit! 

[pinknerdpanda]

Secret Santa

Word Count: 1188 Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam Warnings: Dean, Alcohol, Annoyed Sam Requested by: Nonnie

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Panda Presents celebration. This was beta’d by @hannahindie and @wheresthekillswitch.

x

Secret Santa

“You don’t think it could be Jody, do you?”  Dean’s brow creases in concentration as he sips his beer lazily. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jody. Who doesn’t? Amirite, Sammy?” Dean elbows his younger brother suggestively at the same time Sam is bringing his own bottle to his lips. Golden droplets of liquid spill onto the table and Sam jerks his head to look at Dean, annoyed. Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he shrugs, “Sorry. I mean, I just don’t think of her like that.”

Sam shoots me a look across the table and I shrug. For the last two days, the only topic of conversation Dean has been interested in discussing is that of the identity of his “secret admirer.” The envelope actually says “Secret Santa” but Dean seems to have made up his own mind as to the intentions of the mysterious benefactor.

As soon as he'd laid eyes on the neatly wrapped package, he started rattling off the names of would-be senders. The list includes every woman Dean has ever laid eyes on, it would seem. Everyone from Donna, to Rowena, the lady in Lebanon that cuts his hair, the waitress at the truckstop in Reno; for a second he wondered if Claire had sent it. But the thought was too troubling for him to think about too long.

Every time he brings up another candidate, my heart sinks a little more. Of course, he doesn’t realize that, because he’s hardly stopped to breathe, much less consider the idea that the only woman he has yet to name may actually be said sender.

Sam knows. He’d guessed before I’d said a word. And now, as I endure another one of his long, deliberate stares, and Dean rambles on, I regret the whole thing.

“I mean, I can’t say I would blame her,” Dean’s lips twist in a cocky smile. I don't even know who he's talking about and I'm not sure he really knows at this point either. “I mean, she’s not the first woman to wish she had another ride on the Dean-train. Woo-woo!” He honest to God holds his fist up, imitating a conductor blowing the whistle on a train.

That’s more than Sam can handle and he stands, beer in hand and makes his way to the furthest pool table. Dean turns to face me, and the knot in my gut tightens. His olive green eyes are sparkling in the light directly above our table and being this close I can count the freckles splayed across his nose and the tops of his cheeks. He smiles, the lines around the corners of his eyes pronounced and his lip curves up on one side. He takes another swig, and wipes his thumb across his lower lip and I swear on everything that is good and holy, it’s in slow motion.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Dean’s gaze is locked on mine and I can feel my brains scrambling. “You got any ideas?”

My eyes dart to the bottle between my palms and I bring it to my lips, trying to stall for time. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just one of those times where you see something and think of someone and just know that they will love it. So you buy the thing. But then, to keep the thing from being misinterpreted as too big of a thing, or to avoid questions like “How did you know I have always wanted this thing? Are you stalking me?” or “What does this thing mean? Does this mean you want this thing to be a thing? Or is it just a thing?”, you take the anonymous route, rather than confessing ten years of unrequited love and hope for the best.

This is not the best. This is the worst.

“Dean,” my eyes roam over every detail of the label on my bottle of beer, refusing to meet his. “I, uh...it’s just that…” I clear my throat. “It was me. I gave you that present.”

There. It’s all out there. For better or for worse, it’s all on the table and there’s nothing I can do to take it back or explain and oh my god is it getting hot in here and the music is just so loud right now, I can’t even…

“I know.”

My mental ranting comes to a screeching halt and I jerk my eyes to meet his. An amused smile is playing at his plush, pink lips and I make a concerted effort to keep from staring at them.

“What?”

“I know it was you.”

All of the anxiety I’d just been swimming in begins to boil in frustration as I gape at him. “How long did you know?”

He licks his lips and looks at the table. “As soon as I opened it.”

“Dean Winchester! You are either lying to me, or you are an asshole,” I roar. He doesn’t look remotely afraid by this, incensing me more. “Actually, the answer is c. all of the above. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, you’re probably right. I can be an ass,” his eyes are warm as they find mine again. “I really didn’t mean to drag it out this long. I just kept thinking you would own up to it eventually. After a while it was fun to watch your reactions and so I tried to see how jealous I could make you. You're really adorable when your face turns that bright pink color and your nose scrunches up. Yeah! Exactly like that.”

I look away, my face on fire; whether it’s from the beer or the frustration or embarrassment, I don’t know and it really doesn’t matter.

“Oh come on, don’t be too upset,” he lays his hand on mine and I try really hard to play it cool and nonchalant. But I wrench my head to look at our hands on the polished table. He chuckles. “I loved it, y/n. It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten. Honest.”

I snort, still not trusting myself to speak and risk looking a bigger fool than I already do.

“Actually, since we’re being honest. I guess,” he starts, his hand trailing up my arm, over the curve of my shoulder and up to my face. His rough thumb sweeps across my cheek and it feels like heaven. “I guess it would be a good time to say,” he leans in and presses his lips to mine. He tastes like mint and beer and for a second I feel like I am floating ten feet off the ground. He pulls back enough to look in my eyes. “I love you, y/n.”

He kisses me again and this time, there’s a fire to it that is exciting and sexy and probably grossly inappropriate in a public setting, but I don’t care. This time, when he pulls back, we are both gasping for air.

“Well, since we are being honest,” I begin. Dean grins, his thumb rubbing absently across my jaw.

“Yeah, y/n?”

“I want a 1964 Mustang convertible for Christmas. Light blue, please.”

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

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Christmas Tags: @sillesworldofwriting

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Lena Luthor x reader (Yesterday, our history; today, for now)

Request:  Lena x reader : lena gets jealous after seeing someone kiss you at one of her gala 

a/n: guess which garbage monster decided to make a little childhood friends to present time drabble. THIS garbage monster decided to make a childhood friends fic, because I want it and I think it kinda fit this particular scenario. You’re a little bit of a big time fairtrade coffee mogul, it’s obscure and I’m craving coffee currently, so naturally this is what I come up with. Forgive me if it seems like I’m just spouting out terms... it is most definitely because that’s exactly what I’m doing LOL

For SOME reason I was in some grand mood to write something a little angsty and piney... for what reason? I truly could not tell you. Apparently I’m due for one of those again. Thanks for reading y’all!! :D

- - - - -

If you were to be candid and outright, you would readily admit that you resented the business world. You’re self-aware enough to understand the privilege of working hard and watching it pay off, and living comfortably is something that’s never been foreign to you.

You weren’t born into all the wealth you had now - you were proud to say you toiled for what you could call your own. In spite of the leg up you knew you got from certain family members, it humbled you and you never took your gains for granted.

As you found yourself standing in a giant room among the people who you should consider your peers, it went without saying you were jaded and unimpressed.

Where you could, you tried to withhold judgement; after all, not everybody was insufferable and irritating with their prestige, though you also knew a lot of them believed they were destined for it.

Self-worth is a subjective commodity, and where one person draws motivation could be quite strikingly different from the next. Still, you had enough interactions (far too many, you concede) with these kinds of people to be intimately aware of a certain unspoken but commonly held truth: if they’d lost all their money and power in an instant, it would be more than their net worth that’s lost.

Even so, you didn’t necessarily loathe the wealthy elite so much as you just can’t find many people worth respecting despite the all-encompassing competitiveness to have the unwarranted abundance of it.

Life, you know, is saturated with this mentality in general, and it only aggravated you now because you knew you were intended to befriend these people and maintain good rapport.

You wish it wasn’t so easy to give in to the sentiment of othering yourself whenever you contemplated your fortunate circumstances, yet you could count on your one hand the number of true allies you could rely on and vouch for personally.

When you glanced at the L-Corp gala invitation that you found in your mail, it was not your first thought to dread another night of reluctant obligation, but rather of one old friend you were much too aware of not having seen in years.

You wouldn’t say you were avoiding her - not entirely, anyway. You were simply distracted with the course of your life and needing to better it for yourself. You had a never-settling unease about not being good enough, and though this was a noble insecurity to have, it proved relentless and omnipresent.

Throughout your boarding school experience, Lena Luthor was as unassuming as she was brilliant. Though now, you surmise, she entertains the facade of grandeur, and you’ve still yet to put together how to reconcile what you know of a young Lena and what you’ve seen of her now.

You’ve always admired her from afar; that much wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise, however, was the inexplicable draw that possessed the two of you and created an otherwise unlikely alliance of mutual understanding.

You were the new kid of freshman year, having missed three months of the beginning of school to relocating with your aunt and her family from Central City. Lena was the youngest acquisition of the Luthor family, and that particular news followed her like a shadow.

Still, you watched as she prospered in spite of it and just as you felt yourself falling into her gravity, you also somehow caught her in your orbit.

The two of you were an anomalous pair, you in your modest willingness to remain indeterminate and ordinary and her with the effortless dancing on the precipice of obscurity and greatness.

Even then at that young age, you had the distinct notion of not wanting to hinder her in any way you possibly could - even then, she would scoff at your foolishness. For as much as a friend could love you, she did. And for as much as you were pining for her successes and happiness, you did.

You dreamed often and you played often together, and as much as you did you also studied and philosophized and aspired. The adventure of youth was indeed a journey, and you would never change the reality of having Lena in your corner for those formative years if you were faced with the decision to start over.

You hadn’t thought much of it then, but the only time you ever stood up against anyone or anything was when someone by the likes of Veronica Sinclair gave Lena trouble; and there is much that could be said about that now in retrospect.

Lena gave you loyalty as fierce as your own, and though it often went unspoken, you knew you’d both felt it.

It was only with little sadness that you watched awe-struck and proud as she walked to the podium to receive her diploma, and you knew she would be heading off to MIT.

As for yourself, you would charter the route that just like any other wide-eyed, hopeful teen your age imagined for themselves would most benefit from in the long run. Your aunt, with her modest conglomerate of companies in a wide array of sectors, only asked of you to do what you could do best.

You’d graduate from an Honours International Development Studies program and sought after your pipe dream to not change the world, but to merely help it.

For years, you would hear stories from the wind of the Luthor scion and Jack Spheer trying to find the ever elusive cure to cancer, and you’d heard that they were making breakthroughs with their nanotechnology.

Even then, you’d felt rather inadequate, and much to your displeasure you found that in a room full off big business moguls and politicians you still felt just as small as you always had.

It was with great bemusement that you remember you’d finally accepted an invitation from L-Corp as you looked around you at the filling ballroom, and you’re usually not so absent of mind.

You begin to realize just how out of place you feel as you watch pairs of people filing through the entrance, all figures of prominence and varying levels of affluence trying to take up the most space in the room. You feel so very unprepared and not at all in your element and you almost regret your decision to go about this event alone.

It’s only for a few hours, you concede, and you’ll take your leave the very second it’s socially acceptable to do so. You wonder if you can even evade Lena again, though it’s becoming more and more evident how unlikely that will be. You don’t have the excuse of being in another country altogether to justify your absences.

Perhaps you’ve made a big mistake by coming here tonight.

You don’t have the time to ponder it further, however, when you feel a presence sidle up beside you.

“Now, I don’t usually act so brash and forward, but I must simply know why exactly it is you are without company this evening.”

You don’t recognize the woman when you turn to face her. At first glance you see she is conventionally beautiful with her dark brown eyes and an angular face.

She’s wearing a deep green gown and she seems the epitome of refinement. She seems rather young, perhaps only a few years older than you, and somehow much more... everything.

“That is, unless it’s only a matter of time before she makes her appearance and I learn yet another lesson regarding my presumptuous inclinations,” she adds.

You smile politely and already feel yourself get reluctantly pulled forward into the game of social obligation. Still, you are curious.

“Well, Miss... you would be correct in your observations. I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, and if I ought to then I apologize-”

“Beckett, and it’s absolutely divine to make your acquaintance.”

You have exactly milliseconds to both process and react to her moving in close to kiss you just near the corner of your mouth, and if there’s any look of astonishment and utter confusion on your face, she’s ignorant to the display.

You’re left stuttering and stumbling on words, and you’re vexed at just how out of touch you are with how to behave in these events and how to deal with such forwardness in general.

“Miss-”

“Oh, please, call me Alona, we can allow ourselves to be on a first name basis.”

“Right, yeah- okay-”

“I confess, I know quite a lot about you, (Y/N). You’re making rather significant waves that are crossing into my circles. I am most curious about your story.”

You’re still silent, standing before a woman and her force of nature as she glides easily from thought to thought, almost taunting you in a way to keep up.

“It’s the most inspirational anecdote. Your aunt, Theresa Everett, she’s such a character too. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing her while she was still active and the most prominent in 2013. And now, you’re an entrepreneur! You’ve really separated yourself from all that, haven’t you?”

You inhale shakily as you scramble to recollect your thoughts - there’s very little reference points you can bounce off of, but you force yourself to believe it’s enough. Having to talk about your work, at least, is something you enjoy and you don’t have to think too hard about that.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily word it like that. It’s not so much of a rebranding as it is just really focusing and cutting back the excess of resources at my disposal. I’ll take what I need and no more or less, and it’s proven to have worked out if the exponential growth of the farms I’ve overseen is any indication.”

For her part, Alona looks attentively at you, and if you weren’t so overwhelmed by her larger than life introduction you would perhaps be more than willing to indulge her conversation and speak in depth of your work.

You think there’s a hint of impudence to her when she smiles at you, but the observation is moot by the time you’ve detected it.

“I’ve always thought so highly of you, and it is so refreshing to see I’m not wrong in my high regards. What is it now, you have locations in Peru, Guatemala, Colombia if I recall correctly?

“I truly, truly commend you for your upholding the ethical crusade. It’s apparent that every single one present in this room has something similar in common with another, and perhaps this is what you and Ms. Luthor share; the unfailing resilience to chase a simple dream.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in contemplation and you regard the woman carefully. There’s an agenda hidden somewhere - there always is, and you’re just about close to scratching the surface of it. You’re suspicious, and part of this game is to do everything you can to make sure you don’t show it. You consider your next words as carefully as you can, but you’re just steps over the edge.

“And still I wholeheartedly believe a simple dream is the one distinctive catalyst that provides solutions where there might be questions, and curates possibilities where there are only hypotheticals.”

You inhale sharply and feel the broiling of your intensity and mild agitation. You think to try to reel yourself in - you’re well aware of the flurry you become when you get going about correcting people who are just so very wrong.

“But respectfully, I decline your belief in my upholding some crusade of ethics - as far as I’m concerned it’s pretty rudimentary that we treat every individual involved in our business relationships with the same amount of respect as we are given by default as the ones with the monetary resources. Business is a mutual give and take. It’s our responsibility to foster all aspects of the whole to benefit from the sum of all the little parts.”

Alona smiles at you again, and you’ve no doubt now it’s positively devilish in its scheming.

“I am so awed by your passion, how remarkably you guard your tenets. That tenacity should be harnessed. If you need any assistance in the form of governmental influence, which I’m sure you will no doubt encounter if you haven’t already, I will personally see to it that I have some sway in your favour.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Beckett, I can assure you we are quite self-sustaining at this time and it’s actually beneficial that we’re on the fringes of politics-”

Suddenly, you think you feel the air escape your lungs and your eyes widen almost comically. There’s a far off part of your brain that’s mostly shut off currently, but you can hear a distant echo of this is some bullshit movie moment, come from the depths of your mind when you finally see her.

You begin to think just how wrong you were to ever have stayed away from her. You think you should be rewarded for your ability to have ever done so at all.

Lena is so much more than you ever remembered of her. You’re only minutely aware of being cut off mid-sentence before you realize it was you who stopped talking altogether. You think you feel your jaw go slack, and Alona at least takes note when she acknowledges the new presence.

“Lena, you’ve outdone yourself as always.”

“Alona, your attendance always pleases me,” she says in greeting.

You can feel the distinct tension of various things left unsaid in your little trio, and when neither woman broaches the physical boundary tethering you all together, it’s Lena who decides to start severing the tie.

“How is Mr. Conroy? I’m sure Johnathan is doing well?”

“Yes, quite. He almost didn’t want to make it today, I’m sure you can understand, what with the last L-Corp event being quite the target for trouble.”

Alona smirks mischievously in delight and you can only watch in slight horror at the show you’ve inadvertently become an audience for.

“Of course, that’s justifiable. I almost thought it’d been best if we all just stayed home,” Lena says cuttingly.

“Oh, but here we are. Your bravery has always impressed me, Lena.”

Lena just smiles sweetly and she’s a considerable distance away from you - at least, as much as what you perceive suggests. You can just feel the tug of her and not a single part of her body is touching yours, and yet you feel the fire of your skin ablaze by her presence alone. She might as well have been playing matches on your being.

Somehow, and this has always amused you, watching people recognize the notion that they’re not wanted anymore becomes potent enough to become an entirely new entity, and you love watching how they react.

Alona decides to take her leave, but not before she kisses you on the cheek in departure and bids you a good evening, and you really wish you’d learned to expect the unexpected as if you hadn’t experience this same conundrum just several minutes ago.

You barely register that Lena’s sweet smile falls into a scowl. You’re not quite sure why exactly it is she has such a disapproving glare. You refuse to indulge the possible reasons why it would be there.

Even after Alona is gone, you and Lena don’t share a word for the next few moments.

When she finally looks up at you, she’s no longer glowering at some inconsequential woman you happened to have encountered, and you can see the imperceptible widening of her eyes as if she’s really taking you in.

You wonder if you should assure her that your presence isn’t a trick of reality - you can hardly believe it yourself, but Lena breaks the silence.

“You’re a lot taller than I remember,” she mutters teasingly.

“And you’re more radiant than ever.”

In spite of the long years absent from each other’s lives, the familiarity of Lena makes you feel both parts nostalgic and something akin to a return - like a conversation that picks up where you’ve left it as if it never ceased at all, and in a way, that’s exactly what you two are.

“It’s good to see you’re just as much of a kiss-ass as you’ve always been.”

You smile at her remark, and it’s decisively more than you can ever say you’ve had as of late; this alone should be cause for alarm.

“Naturally,” you grin. “To what do I owe this pleasure of your exclusive attention?”

“Don’t you know I only ever host these events to draw you out of whatever cave it is you’ve hidden in all these years? I should be asking you that same question.”

You see a flash of something like hurt and hesitance in Lena’s eyes. You know it because you felt it yourself. You think perhaps she can see it in you too.

There’s a compulsion in you to apologize, but for what, you couldn’t even begin to articulate.

There’s just too much and all the same, there’s very little to answer for at all. You wouldn’t change the way your life has turned out. Though, you can’t speak for Lena.

“I’ve been away,” is all you supply, and you marvel at your uselessness.

Lena smiles at you in a way that you can very much tell says, well no shit, but the fondness that’s there regardless has distracted you.

“Of course,” she says, and then, “how’s Theresa doing? She’s well, I take it?”

You’re thankful for the cop out and you take it.

“Yeah, she’s thriving as always. She asks about you often still.”

You barely register what you’ve said before you can even think to take it back.

Lena looks rueful when she replies, “I’d almost be shocked if she hasn’t kept up with the news as everyone else has.”

It takes everything of your being to will yourself not to hug her.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, I do.”

You begin to realize the depths of your struggle, and the profoundly evident lack of knowledge you once had of your best friend’s life makes itself ever present all in one booming crash in your chest.

You grapple for something, anything to reach out to her.

“So... how’s Jack?”

Lena inhales sharply and her lips purse slightly, “he passed away.”

You feel it more than you hear it - the fall of something in your gut hanging in suspension in your lower torso.

“Fuck, I’m sorry-”

“It was either him or Supergirl,” she states softly.

You fiddle with your hands awkwardly. You’re becoming painfully aware of just how invasive your entire body feels in relation to Lena, and you wish you could just disappear or at least transport your being to some other timeline that has nothing to do with the current one.

You think to blame yourself entirely, of course when you concede that Lena has finally found someone worthy of her, the universe decides to muddle it up eventually.

You worry about just what that could mean for you.

“That must have been almost half a year ago. Often I wonder just how much more I can be put through the wringer before I snap. It feels like it’s simply a matter of time before I become everything I’ve always feared.”

You snap out of your reverie of contrite at Lena’s admission.

“You know you’ve always been above that. Plenty of times, you could have done just that, but you never have. And I think it’s because you’re just not capable of it. I’ve never once seen something you weren’t capable of handling.”

Lena sighs deeply, “I don’t think I want to find that breaking point.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to,” you say affirmatively.

You’re both silent in contemplation. Lena looks softer, and you wonder about it as you parse through the memories of the Lena you once knew and what you’re getting now.

Even if you didn’t know her as you did, you still believe entirely that she looks absolutely magnificent. She can fill an entire room without a single word, and you realize then with sneaking suspicion this is just how she’s managed to infiltrate every corner of your life you thought you’d abandoned.

The familiar sensation of pride swells in you again, and a sort of daze falls on you as you smile at the contentedness it gives you. It’s almost enough to distract you from the sad exhaustion you can see hiding just barely veiled within her eyes.

“So, coffee is it?” she asks.

“What?” you think you feel your entire body snap into another awakening as you hurl back into the conversation.

You see the slight uptick of her lips form into a smirk, and you don’t bother to resist thinking about how much you’ve missed it.

“Your business? Fairtrade coffee now, I suppose you never really intended to succeed your aunt?” she prompts, slightly teasingly.

You think you can smack yourself for your misgivings.

“Yeah, that- yeah. Right. I mean, I wasn’t always so deeply taken by what she had her companies’ shares in. It could be said that I’ve rebuilt, but really I’ve just tried to involve myself in areas that interest me and I can invest entirely in; not just monetarily either. My whole heart’s in it, and it’s much easier that way.”

Lena looks contemplative as she deliberates your words, and then, “it seems if it becomes personal that the stakes are so much more higher and there’s so much more at risk, do you find that to be the case?”

You tilt your head in consideration, you try to not give credence to the inexplicable longing you suddenly feel at having Lena so close, yet so very far.

“Arguably, maybe people’s expectations of me have deviated. The risks are only as substantial as the reward. The company’s interests may be refocused, but mine, at least, remain unchanged.”

Lena studies you meaningfully and you feel your body come alive under the weight of her gaze.

“I have always admired your determination to chase after your aspirations. I’ve also always envied your freedom to do so,” she says wryly.

You give her a small smile, “it took me a while to get where I am now. I haven’t always gone after what I really desired.”

Lena glances at you, and when you catch her eyes you hurry to distract yourself with more words, anything to keep you from falling apart for just a little bit longer.

“It takes a lot of trial and error, and without a doubt it’s taken its time... though it goes without saying that the answer sometimes has been right in front of you all along.”

At some point, you think your words have stopped having a singular meaning and you think they’ve become latent with more complex, underlying feelings you feel the least bit prepared to address.

You add hastily, knowing you ought to say it if it weren’t already evident, “for what it’s worth, Lena, it seems as though you’re doing great for yourself.”

Perhaps, you believe, she’s always appreciated your uncanny ability to understand what she needs to hear, to listen to what goes unsaid for her. Even now, you think you’re not just imagining it anymore and you can see the vulnerable adoration in her eyes.

Lena smiles at you, muted with the quiet tones of a lament for time lost and of time yet to lose. Still, you see the endless gratitude that goes unuttered but entirely indisputable.

“When will you be flying off again?” she asks.

“Not for another few weeks.”

I missed you, goes unsaid.

“If it weren’t already plain, it should be mentioned just how much my evening has been made now that I got to see you.”

I’m proud of you, goes unsaid.

“Well, rest assured I feel exactly the same way,” you say earnestly.

I thought I’d lost you, goes unsaid.

There’s a tension palpable enough to cut through, and you feel it stifling you quickly, filling you like concrete.

You’re tired of the feeling of having unfinished business with Lena - for as long as you can remember, your story has never felt quite finished, and you don’t suspect either of you are willing to let it get to that.

“(Y/N), this doesn’t have to be farewell.”

The sentiment doesn’t help in maintaining your pretense of composure.

“No, I don’t want it to be.”

Not again, goes unsaid.

“Then why waste any more time? We may not know the future, but at least we have now.”

I won’t give in to the fear of having lost you wilfully again, goes unsaid.

Lena’s eyes make a slow descent from your eyes to your lips, and you can feel the slow drag of them trail to your bowtie. She lifts her hands and fixes it, taking gentle care in lingering more than a stranger would.

Lena’s not a stranger though, not entirely.

She’s grinning fondly at some secret joke.

“You always refused to wear just a regular tie. You thought it was too conventional.”

You grin at her observation, “I was a pretty pretentious kid.”

“Well, that’s quite alright, you looked much better in these anyway,” she smirks.

You feel the rising warmth of a blush rushing to your cheeks. Somehow, you think you’ve experienced equal parts death and renewal all at once. Somehow, you know you’ll both do better this time.

[unashamed-shipper]

Living With You

read on ff.net and ao3

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve

rating: t+ for sexual joking, swear words, and violence

pairings: nalu, gruvia, gajevy

characters: natsu, lucy, juvia, gray, levy, gajeel

Lucy rose up from her deep sleep with a grin on her face. She slept well last night, having dreams about a movie she saw a few weeks ago with Levy and Juvia. With a yawn, she lifted herself up only to find Natsu’s face inches from her own. Lucy gasped and let out a muffled noise and scrambled away from him, hitting the floor soundly.

How the hell did she fall asleep with Natsu, and in the same bed no less? She fell asleep in the chair, but her head was on his chest when she awoke. The only thing that was between them was the thin blanket covering him. She scowled when she remembered that Levy covered her with a blanket in the middle of the night, and she pictured the smirking woman’s face in her mind. She knew her friends wanted her to be in a good relationship for once, but this was going too far!

Lucy stood silently and dusted off her knees and rotated her wrists to make sure that there was no pain. Once she found there was none, she stepped back from Natsu’s bed and sat down on another chair. The one she sat in while she slept was far too hard, but since she slept so hard last night there wasn’t any problem.

She looked toward Natsu’s sleeping form with a smile, watching his chest rise and fall. It was good that he was able to sleep after having the anxiety attack. He needed it, especially with his hectic night job. Lucy hoped that someone had called them and explained the situation to his boss. Then again, they were pretty good about his work hours and letting him go home to sleep if he needed it.

Tiptoeing across the room to go across the hall, Lucy began to open the door when she heard Natsu’s sleepy voice calling out to her to say good morning. She froze with her hand on the door handle, not sure of how to handle the situation.

Well, at least if she had an anxiety attack over this she was already in a hospital.

Her chest seized with warmth and her stomach with ice before she turned, her anxiety already starting to pull at her. She knew that it was going to be a problem with Natsu all hooked up to the IV’s if she collapsed, so she shoved the anxious feelings back down. Natsu was more important than what she felt right now.

“G-Good morning,” she greeted, cursing herself for stumbling over her words. She had known this guy for a while now! This was no time to act awkward! “I’m just going to get some coffee. You want some?”

His eyes brightened up at the mention of caffeine. “Sure! Thanks, Luce. You’re the best.”

“Sure thing,” she said, turning her body and dropping her eyes to the floor. This was going to be quite interesting when she got back.

If Natsu was energetic without caffeine, he was twice as much with it. The coffee seemed to amplify his ADHD, which she learned about when a doctor was asking him about any medication he took for it when she was reading a book last night. She found it interesting and understandable that he had it: he was very hyper and inattentive at times but able to hyperfocus on things he was absorbed in, such as technology. Lucy decided to read up on the learning disorder later and made a mental note to look it up online once she got home and had free wifi.

Natsu’s stomach grumbled, and Lucy jumped at the noise. It was a good thing he didn’t make that sound during the night, otherwise she would have woken up instantly. Lucy felt her own belly make a noise and feel quite empty, and she and Natsu exchanged a knowing glance and smile. They knew exactly what to do about this problem.

Order food up to his room.

Sure, it wasn’t quite hotel-worthy food, but it would fit the bill. With a shiver up her spine, Lucy remembered that this would be the first time eating breakfast with Natsu since their conversation in which Natsu had told her, ‘anything for a friend’. Her stomach churned when she recalled the words that he had told her, and it wasn’t just because she was hungry.

Focusing her attention on food, she called down to the cafeteria and asked if they could get some food up to their room. Once they ordered a rather large amount of eggs, toast with jam, and bacon, Natsu requested some pancakes and juice.

“More coffee, too!” he said, throwing his arms up in the air which jiggled his IV tubes in his arm.

“No, Natsu. Cancel the coffee, please.” Lucy glared at Natsu, and in turn he pouted at her as she hung up the phone with a thank you.

“But Luce…” he began, and she shoved a finger on his lips to silence him.

“I don’t want to hear it. You had enough caffeine for one morning, mister,” she told him, her eyes narrowed.

Natsu made no further complaints, and Lucy now noticed how close she was to him. Her finger was still on his mouth, and his eyes were dilated. Lucy’s face flushed and she pulled away quickly, withdrawing her finger from his lips.

“Thanks for ordering food,” Natsu said, his eyes not meeting hers, and she noticed just the slightest of blushes on his face.

“D-Don’t mention it,” she replied, her eyes on the floor. There was silence for a few moments before they heard the door open.

“Good Morning, lovebugs! How’d you sleep?” Levy grinned smugly, and Juvia giggled into her palm.

“Levy!” Lucy hissed, and Levy crossed her arms over her chest.

“Lucy and Natsu were very snuggly last night. Gray-sama and Juvia saw last night that Lucy had her hand on Natsu’s che--” Juvia began, and Lucy jumped up from her chair and covered her boss’s mouth with her hand.

“Oh look, I think the food is here! Eat up, Natsu! I’ll see you later,” Lucy said as a cafeteria worker pulled the large food cart in the room.

“But Luce--” Natsu’s words were muffled as Lucy practically slammed the door while he continued his sentence. Juvia lightly slapped Lucy’s hand away, and Levy giggled.

“What do you guys think you’re doing?” Lucy asked with a frown once they were a safe distance away from the door. “You’re going to reveal my crush on him quicker than I want you to!”

“We were just teasing. Besides, if you want to go back there and eat, you definitely can. We just wanted to pop in and say hi,” Levy told her friend, and Juvia smiled softly.

“Well, don’t ruin my love life next time!” Lucy replied, and Levy and Juvia looked hurt. Immediately Lucy felt regret, and she apologized right away and told her friends that she would see them back at the house soon.

“I just gotta eat something and then I’ll be there. We can meet up at two, okay?”

Levy and Juvia nodded, waving to their friend with smug grins on their faces. Lucy huffed as she headed into Natsu’s room once again. Those little scoundrels were going to get what they deserved one day, she was sure of it!

“Hey, Luce. What was that all about?” Natsu asked through bites full of food. The TV was now on, and she could see that the weather was going to get quite cold. She wanted to stay with Natsu, but the awkwardness and the need to sleep in a real bed was just too much.

“Nothing,” Lucy said simply as she grabbed a plate and began to tuck into some bacon and eggs, grabbing herself a piece of toast to finish off her meal.

While they ate, the TV filled up the silence that was between them. Natsu knew that Lucy was hiding something, but what was it?

“I know I already asked, but what was your childhood like? You tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine,” Natsu compromised, and Lucy practically choked on her last bite of eggs. Her anxiety fired up then, and she drew in a breath and steadied her breathing to try to calm herself down. It was only Natsu.

What could be the harm?

“Well,” she began, setting her plate aside and taking a sip of juice, “my mother died when I was four of cancer. She was the one who used to hum to me when I had anxiety attacks, and she was kind and sweet. My father was also back then. But when she died, my father turned to making me the heir of the Heartfilia company. He only cared about me wearing fancy dresses and meeting suitable heirs for the company.”

Lucy drank the rest of her juice before continuing. “He...he would sometimes tell me that I was worthless and should have been born a boy. If I was born male, then I would be a rightful heir instead of having to marry to take the company out of his hands. He also said that I wasn’t pretty without the dresses and that I shouldn’t wear anything that I was comfortable in, even if it was just a shirt and skirt like I normally wear. He told me that he was disgusted with me and that I am a terrible daughter.”

Natsu listened for a moment, digesting Lucy’s words. How dare a father say things like that to his daughter? If he had a daughter, he would tell her that she could wear whatever she wanted and that she was beautiful in anything she wore.

“Your old man seems like a drag,” Natsu said, “besides, Luce, you’re pretty with or without clothes!”

Lucy gasped and flushed bright red, and Natsu looked at her with confusion. A few moments later, he realized what he said.

“I meant--I meant you look pretty with or without fancy clothes!” he said, but Lucy was already giggling out of nervousness. She didn’t say anything other than giggle, her face brighter than Natsu’s rose locks.

“Besides, my dad used to say that my mom was pretty in anything she wore,” Natsu said, his face flushed pink as he looked anywhere but her eyes once more.

Lucy grinned and felt embarrassed, but she was thankful for the sentiment. Reaching toward him, she threw her arms around his neck. Natsu pulled back at first, confused by the sudden action.

“Thank you, Natsu. It really means a lot when you listen to me about my past,” she said as she pulled away after a few moments.

“No problem, Luce,” he said with a grin and a thumbs-up.

After all, he could listen to her talk about her life for ages and never get bored. 

Aww, some fluff and angst for y’all! Next chapter will have more Gajevy hehe

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